Duchess in Love (18 page)

Gina looked at him sympathetically. “It—she—looks quite comfortable in his front hall.”

“You've seen her? Damn it, she's
naked,
Gina! What were you doing in Sladdington's house anyway?”

“I wished to see my husband's triumphant piece of art. I must have heard about it from a hundred people. I believe Sladdington traveled to Greece solely to obtain one of your statues, and it certainly has raised his consequence.”

“Bastard,” Cam said. “What's he doing exposing young women to naked statues, anyway?”

“Oh, you don't have to worry about that. She's not naked,” Gina corrected him.

“She's
not
?”

Gina shook her head. “He's wrapped something about her waist.”

Cam was silent, appalled. “He's given Proserpina a nappy?”

“Not a nappy. More a—a—” She stopped, clearly at a loss for words.

“That's perfect,” Cam said gloomily. “I'm known in London as the sculptor of Proserpina in a diaper.”

Gina barely stifled a yawn. “I'm sorry,” she apologized.

“Might the Marquess be miffed?”
Cam read aloud.
“The Duchess has a Brother.”
What the devil is this?”

“The blackmailing letter. It was sent to my mother, at her house in London.”

“Very odd,” Cam said, frowning. “This letter is nothing like the first.”

“I never saw that one.”

“When I wouldn't believe the letter existed, Father had to show it to me. I can't remember exactly, but I think the handwriting was different. And it was in French.”

“But it must be from the same person,” Gina objected.

“How many blackmailers are there who know this particular piece of information?”

Cam shrugged. “Could be many, by this time. Who have you told about your real mother?”

“Only my closest friends.”

“Well, that was damn stupid if you wanted to keep your birth a secret!”

“I prefer not to be called stupid,” Gina remarked. She tossed off the few drops remaining in her glass and stood up. “This has been an absolutely charming interlude, but I am growing weary.”

Cam looked up at her from under heavy-lidded eyes. “No need to take a snit.”

“Your comment is preposterous. No matter how many people I told about Countess Ligny, none of them had any idea that I have a sibling.”

“If you do have a brother. The phrasing is extremely odd. Don't you think so?”

“I thought it was rather amusing.”

“That's what I mean.
Might the Marquess be miffed?
The first letter was awkwardly phrased. I remember that my father came to the conclusion that a servant in the countess's household was responsible. No person who writes uncomfortably in his native tongue could turn out a pertly alliterative question in English.”

Gina leaned against the fireplace. Cam pretended to study the letter while he watched the line of her thighs. She had the prettiest legs he'd ever seen. She was fine-boned and slender, from the tips of her elegant fingers to the tips of her slim feet.

He didn't want to leave. So he kept pretending to look at the paper in his hand and, at the same time, reflecting on how much he would like to have those legs wrapped around his waist.

After a while she cleared her throat.

He looked up.

Their eyes met: green, mocking female eyes and darkly lustful male ones.

“See anything you like?” she asked, gently.

He stood up and took one step forward.

C
arola Perwinkle was not resting peacefully. She was reclining on her bed, to be sure. But she was clenching her teeth and quivering with rage. Her husband—her despicable, dislikable devil of a husband—had not only ignored her, he had not only forgotten to say hello or goodbye to her, he had committed the cardinal sin.

“Fiend!” she whispered to herself, under her breath in case her maid heard from the other side of the room. “Satan! Devil!”

She lapsed into silence, staring at the gathered silk canopy that topped her bed. There was a light knock on the door. Her maid bustled over to answer it, standing in such a way as to shield her mistress from the open door. But Carola recognized the voice and sat upright. “Please, do come in,” she called.

“Good evening,” Esme said, strolling into the room. “I saw a light under your door, so I thought I would check on our little project before going to sleep.”

“It's no use.” Carola looked at her in anguish. “Tuppy has fallen in love.”

“Really? With whom?” She looked interested but unworried.

“Gina!”

Esme snorted. “He'll find no success there.”

“Of course he won't!” Carola snapped. “No one but me would want him, that disgusting, depraved reprobate.” Then her face crumpled again. “It's because I'm so stupid. He's not even interested in me because I don't know anything about trout.”

“About trout,” Esme repeated, rather stunned.

“I read a book about newts because he used to talk about them.” She pointed to it on the table. “
Cooke's Guide to Newts, Frogs and Lizards
. He didn't even mention newts. Instead, Gina started discussing the life cycle of the trout—did you know that she had spent the last few years restocking the trout streams at Girton?”

“The subject has never come up.”

“Well, she has. Apparently the fish died because of mining runoff or something. If I was dramatic-looking,
and
I knew about trout, I might have a chance,” Carola wailed. “I was ready to talk about newts. But he didn't even mention lizards!”

“You're not being fair to yourself. You have beautiful, creamy skin. And lovely curls.” Esme wound a soft lock of hair around her finger. “Look at this! You're a hairdresser's dream. Gina would love to have short hair. You look like a cherub.”

“It doesn't matter,” she said morosely. “He doesn't even notice me. After Gina left all he could talk about was how intelligent she was. I'm boring! I'm wallpaper.”

Tears started to well in her eyes. “I walked all the way across that room just to speak to him. Just so that I could listen to his tiresome stories about newts! And what does he do? Lust after my friend!
Fiend!
” she repeated furiously.

“They're all fiends.”

Tears snaked down Carola's face. “But I love him! He's a boring, fiendish—”

“—newt-discussing,” Esme interjected.

“—newt-discussing man, but he's mine. And I want him back!”

“Then you must attend meals. Lady Troubridge shuffled the seating, and I sat across from the poor man. An empty seat next to him will not increase his affection.”

“I tried to have a conversation in the salon. But all he could talk about was how interesting Gina was because she knows about trout ponds, and I ended up slapping him!”

“I've been wondering…so why did you slap him?”

Her jaw set. “He insulted me.”

“What did he say?”

“First he talked about Gina. And then, as if that wasn't insult enough, he made a horrible remark.”

“What was it?”

“He asked me if I had cut my hair. I said yes, and he said that Gina's hair was one of the most beautiful things about her.”

Esme frowned. “That was certainly inconsiderate.”

“Then he asked me whether I had gained weight.”

“You haven't gained any weight, have you?”

“I don't think so. But he was looking at my bosom. Now I think about it, it's your fault. Because you told me to wear the crimson gown, and obviously it exposed too much of my f-f-fat!” Tears poured down her face.

“He looked at your chest, did he? And then asked whether you'd gained weight?”

“Yes,” Carola choked. “I said no, I hadn't gained any weight. And he said that it must be that I was changing my shape as I grew older!”

Esme took a deep breath. “You behaved correctly, Carola. The man deserved to be slapped.”

“I should have kicked him. I should have slapped him and then kicked him!”

“I wonder what he was thinking.” Esme's eyes narrowed into thoughtful chips. “It's out of character for Tuppy to be so rude.”

“He probably just blurted out the truth. I am getting old. And dried up like a prune. And fat too.”

“That's enough! Those things he said are nonsense. You're no prune. You're like a luscious plum, all sweet and curly.” Esme pulled out one of Carola's curls and let it go again. “I wish I had your lovely hair.”

“I would rather look like you. You stand a good head taller than I do, and it makes you look so elegant. I look like a dumpling. I think I'd better give up hope. He obviously doesn't give a rat's ass for me.”

“Carola Perwinkle!” Esme said, grinning.

“A rat's ass,” she repeated firmly.

“In fact, I think we're making progress. Tomorrow I want you to flirt with another man while wearing an even lower bodice, if you have one. And be sure to stand directly in front of Tuppy.”

“I don't want to,” Carola said. “I'm not very good at flirting.”

“Of course you are good at flirting. It's an innate female trait. Who would you like to flirt with?”

“No one.” Then she brightened up. “Perhaps Gina's husband. He's rather handsome, don't you think?”

“I suppose. He has a nice laugh.”

“Oh, Esme,” Carola said with disgust. “I don't know how you got that reputation! You don't seem to notice a thing about a man except the width of his arms.”

“I have found a man's arms to be prophetic of the rest of him,” Esme said with a wicked twinkle. “Would you like me to lend you Bernie? He responds to flirtation about as well as a piece of firewood, but he is a sweetheart, and you can depend on him not to take you too seriously.”

“Isn't he yours?”

“At the moment, Bernie thinks quite correctly that he is far too foolish for me to consider as a sexual partner.” Esme paused. “That is, if he thinks at all. Bernie is definitely limited in his mental abilities.”

“I'll flirt with Neville. After all, he already knows about the plot. I'll send him a note directly, and we can begin at breakfast.” Carola looked marginally more cheerful.

Esme kissed her cheek. “Mmm, you smell like peaches.” She walked to the door.

“Thank you!”

“My pleasure,” she called back, and stepped into the hall.

She bumped directly into a large male body.

“Excuse me,” came a steely voice just over her head.

Esme steadied herself against the wall. Then she pushed herself upright and dropped a slight curtsy. “There's no need to apologize, my lord. I should have paid attention to where I was going.” Finally she couldn't put it off any longer and looked up.

Why did he have to have such beautiful eyes? They were cobalt blue. Too beautiful for a man.

“Whose room is that?” he snarled. “Was it a
great
pleasure?”

Esme had an icy stare that had held her in good stead over the years. “A
great, great
pleasure.” She let a little kindness leak into her tone. “I only wish that you might experience such happiness some day.” She started to edge around his large body.

But he put an arm out to stop her passage.

“Lord Bonnington?” She had perfected the art of the withering glance and she gave him the full treatment.

But Sebastian had never shown the slightest sign of being cowed by her, and he didn't now.

“You should stop visiting men's rooms. What if someone
other than myself had caught you emerging from a man's bedchamber? Your reputation is already hanging by a thread.”

Fury was building in the back of her throat. But it was against her code of ethics to betray anger—or any other genuine feeling—to a man. So she fluttered her eyelashes instead. “A man or a woman?” she cooed.

“What?”

“Am I discovered by a man or a woman?”

He visibly ground his teeth. “A man!”

She looked at him for a moment, counting silently to forty. Then she rearranged her low bodice with an easy, lazy movement of her shoulders so that it slid even lower, just barely covering the tips of her breasts.

“You needn't bother to answer,” Sebastian said, his voice grating. “I gather you would buy your way out of trouble. A lucky gentleman indeed.”

She gave him a seductive smile. “I always pay my debts.” Her stomach was seething but not a flicker of anger crossed her face. She gave him a slow smile and was trying to think of another provocative comment when he reached his hand out and touched her face, just for a moment.

“Don't.”

There was a stark moment of silence in the corridor.

“Don't what?”

“Don't
do
that. It's not necessary.”

The sexy air fell away from her like a heavy cloak. “You've made your feelings perfectly clear, my lord. You need not fear that I will try to seduce you.”

Damn those blue eyes. They were pleading with her now, trying to take away her anger.

And then he reached out, grabbed her shoulders, and slowly, slowly drew her toward him. He looked in her eyes
the whole time. And she went. Heaven help her, she drifted toward him like a rabbit in the glare of a snake.

His mouth was gentle but her mouth opened, and then their tongues met, and then his mouth wasn't so gentle anymore. And it wasn't until some time later that Esme felt his hands on her breasts, and realized that she had just moaned into his mouth and that she was shaking—

Finally her common sense reasserted itself. She pulled back so sharply that her head rapped against the wall. “If you will excuse me.”

Something faded from his eyes and they were just blue again. “I should apologize.”

She paused.

“For detaining you,” he finished.

A fillip of rage replaced the pounding in her heart. “May I take it that you consider my debt canceled, my lord?”

She made a deep curtsy, making certain that her breasts were entirely visible as she swept down. Only she knew how much her knees were trembling. She could only hope she was smiling. It seemed to be hard to control her mouth.

“Please,
don't
.” His voice was unsteady and low, and their eyes met.

There was that strange feeling again, as if all the sound in the world had been swallowed up.

“I must go,” Esme said, not at all seductively. And she pushed past him without another glance and ran down the corridor.