Seduction In Silk: A Novel of the Malloren World (Malloran) (32 page)

There was nothing for it but honesty. “Fascinated.”

“Then turn it,” he said, guiding her around to one of the handles.

“It won’t break?”

“No.”

She gently turned the handle and the parts began to move with silent ease. “How wonderfully it’s made.”

“Ah,” said Lord Rothgar. “People rarely appreciate that. Perriam, I would enjoy showing your wife my toys.”

He moved away, and Claris stepped back, uncomfortable with being the center of attention. “Toys?”

“Automata and other clockwork devices. A particular interest of his.”

As they walked toward the supper, she said, “Are all these grand people mechanics at heart?”

He laughed. “Definitely not, though Ashart will have invited those who’d appreciate Ferguson. The beau monde has its share of fools and wastrels, but it also has many with the time and money to explore the universe. Or who make money that way. That gentleman in pale green is the Duke of Bridgwater. He’s repairing his fortunes by building canals and shipping coal cheaply.”

“A poor duke?”

“Not reduced to a Lavender Cottage, but yes. Lady Walgrave takes an active interest in silk manufacture here in Britain. Sir Barton Crowe over there has twelve ships trading on the high seas.”

“I think I have the tapestry of the world fixed, and then someone—usually you, sir—unravels parts of it and remakes it in a different design.”

“How boring if it were otherwise. I see Genova directing us to our seats.” He settled her in hers and went to select food. Genova took a chair at the same table. “I think all is in order, so I can demand details of your adventures at your manor house.”

Claris laughed. “Adventures? Most of my days have involved the exploration of forgotten cupboards and the correction of neglect.”

Genova wrinkled her nose at that, but she couldn’t ask more questions, for the Raymores joined them, bringing along a man in sober, dark dress. Claris thought he must be a clergyman, but he was introduced as Mr. Ryder, of Horse Guards. She knew that was the army administration.

He seemed a fish out of water here, but he had an interest in astronomy and mechanics and made some sensible remarks on the subjects. Everyone else at the table was lively and interesting, and soon Claris was relaxed enough to take part in the fast-moving talk. She realized only later that the food had been delicious. She also realized that Ryder had left, unnoticed.

As they rose to return to the performances, she turned to Perry to comment, “I felt sorry for that man. He seemed out of place.”

“He’s a dull dog. Almost a Puritan.”

“That must be it, I suppose. But he seemed . . . I have it. He reminded me of my father. Weighed down by something, even to the edge of reason.”

“Mad? I didn’t see that.”

“I probably imagined it, but my father could appear normal—if it is normal to be sullen and morose—even when the demons churned inside. Then they would explode.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. “All that is past.”

“Yes, thank God.”

For the new entertainment, a couple performed some pieces from opera and then a man did clever tricks, making items appear and disappear, even animals at times.

Claris whispered to Perry. “Does magic truly exist?”

“Only clever tricks, love.”

“But I don’t see how it’s done.”

“That’s his genius. Are you worrying about the curse again? Such things don’t exist.”

At the end of the performance, Ashart asked the man to reveal the secret of one of his tricks and he did so. His skill was magical in its own right.

As they traveled home in a carriage, Claris thanked Perry again. “Though now I’m not sure what’s real or not.”

“A good thing to remember, and often the key to uncovering truth. As are kisses.”

He began to kiss her, there in the carriage, as it rolled through the night streets, doing nothing more than kiss if she didn’t count his fingers on her shoulders and neck, and teasing at the edges of her hair.

Only kisses, but when the carriage halted in Godwin Street, she wasn’t sure she could walk. She managed, with his help, and when she arrived in their bedchamber, Alice was waiting.

Nothing for it. She must undress. She must have her hair undressed and brushed out. As soon as possible she sent her maid to bed, and then she considered her options. This time she slid naked into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

Then, breathing deeply with anticipation, she lowered them so they only just covered her nipples. Her tingling nipples.

He came in and smiled. A lusty, hungry smile that made her laugh with pleasure. She seemed to have no restraint left in her. She stretched her arms wide and said, “Come bed me, husband.”

“You deliciously wicked wench.”

He extinguished the candles, all except one, which he moved to his side of the bed. Then he undressed quickly and joined her, and loved her just as she’d wanted and more.

They lay together afterward.

“This is almost as lovely. Not as fierce, but longer lasting.”

“Sometime we truly must find an excuse to spend a day in bed.”

“A whole day?”

“And a whole night. Loving, teasing, embracing, talking . . .”

“It sounds magical—and impossible.”

“We’ll see.” He kissed her hair. “I’ve enjoyed today.”

“So have I. And we have a lifetime of them.” She instantly regretted that, for they didn’t. “Whenever we want,” she added.

“Encounters are made more wondrous by separations.”

“Yes.” She stroked his chest. “I’ve arranged to go to some shops with Genova tomorrow. Lady Walgrave will probably come. Is she really called Elf?”

“Short for Elfled, the Lady of Mercia.”

“You said she was interested in silk, and she wants to take me to silk works and warehouses.”

“Beware of the obsessed, but buy all you want, love.”

She poked him with her nail. “I don’t need your permission.”

“True enough. But if you beggar yourself, by our agreement, I can’t save you.”

“So be it. I am independent.”

“Except for this,” he said, and kissed her, his clever hands already stirring her passions.

Except for that.

P
erry went to a meeting at Malloren House, hoping to see the end of the mess.

The council the day before had laid out the plans. In addition to the marquess and Cyn, in attendance again had been the high officials of the Admiralty and Horse Guards and the secretaries of state. It had become clear that Rothgar was representing the king’s interest in the case. In that capacity, he had suggested that Pierrepoint and Ryder be offered immunity from prosecution if they would reveal all.

Perry had remembered the king’s concern about innocent men, which he’d suspected meant a personal concern. Pierrepoint or Ryder?

Pierrepoint, he decided, so easily removed from active service. Pierrepoint and the king were close in age but not on intimate terms, so it was probably pressure from the king’s mother, perhaps on behalf of a friend of hers. Irrelevant here, but he’d find out.

The politicians caught the way the wind was blowing and agreed to the plan. The military men were more reluctant and were persuaded only when promised that the traitors would be punished. Pierrepoint must return to active service, and Ryder must never hold public office again. A mild punishment, but he was ambitious, so it would sting.

Today they were separately presented with their guilt and their options. Pierrepoint’s nerve broke almost immediately, and indeed he’d seemed relieved that it was over. He admitted taking or copying documents and passing them on at the Merry Maid. He said the person he’d met there had given the name Harrison.

No connection to France other than there being a well-known family there by the name Harrison.

No matter how pressed, he wouldn’t say why he’d done such things. He claimed to have been bribed, but his demeanor shrieked that a lie. Never had eyes so wildly avoided contact. Threat of prosecution and hanging had reduced him to tears, but he hadn’t changed his story.

Ryder had been harder to crack, but Perry had been struck by the accuracy of Claris’s insight. Beneath the stony exterior dwelled a tortured soul.

In the end he’d used that. The questioning had all been about duty to his office and the Crown. Though Perry was supposed to be an observer, he’d put it to Ryder that his immortal soul depended on his speaking the truth.

Ryder had covered his face with one hand and perhaps even sobbed. “Alas, alas, I have put myself in danger of damnation. I admit my sins. I admit them and beg for your forgiveness on earth, and Almighty God’s in the hereafter!”

“All very well,” Lord Hawke had snapped, “but our forgiveness is conditional upon you revealing the whole truth, sir!”

Ryder’s tale had been similar to Pierrepoint’s. He’d passed on information to a man called Harrison in a private room at the Merry Maid.

“A disgusting stew,” he’d added.

When asked why, he’d not even tried an excuse. He’d refused to answer with all the stoicism of a martyr. When pressed, he’d retreated into prayer. Eventually he’d said, “Hang me if you must, sirs. I deserve it. I will say no more.”

Afterward, Perry, Cyn, and Rothgar had been at a loss.

“What terrifies them more than hanging?” Cyn demanded. “Torture? They believe the French are going to torture them before the hangman gets them?”

“Torture by means other than physical?” Rothgar asked. “What could Guerchy reveal about them that seems worse than hanging?”

“They’re such different men,” Perry said. “There’s no commonality between them at all. It’s damned frustrating to be missing the last key. What worked once could work again.”

“We’ve done our best for now,” Rothgar said. “We’ll pressure them some more.”

As Cyn accompanied Perry to the door, he said, “Chastity would like a closer acquaintance with your wife. She was universally admired.”

“Thank you. I wasn’t sure how she’d cope with the
haute volée
.”

“She has adequate wings, mostly by natural honesty and intelligence.”

“The natural philosophies, yes. I believe we’re to go to a gathering at Sappho’s tonight. Will you and Chastity be there?”

“The theater, I believe.”

Perry left, thinking he must take Claris to the theater. For another kind of magic, he visited a jeweler on his way home.

*  *  *

Claris was in an emporium, overwhelmed, though in a most delightful way, by waterfalls of silk. The room was lined with shelves, each holding a roll or bale, and some were loosed to fall down and display their wonders.

As soon as she or Genova showed interest in any, an assistant spilled some and invited them to feel its quality. If it was a high bale, he would climb nimbly up a ladder. It reminded Claris of the men clearing the ivy off the manor walls, which reminded her of Perry. . . .

He was never far from her mind, but she still enjoyed the silks. Perhaps she would buy some lengths simply to play with.

Genova soon chose three lengths. “You should buy some, Claris. The prices are excellent. So much less than from a shop or through a mantua-maker.”

“A mantua-maker would still make up a gown?” Claris asked.

“Of course.”

So she succumbed to the figured silk that had first caught her attention. Though lighter in weight, it was the exact shade of her pink silk robe. She knew it would make Perry think of bed, even in the middle of a ball.

She also bought a long shawl in pale lilac to go with her lilac gown. It was woven as a piece and had been enhanced with embroidery and fringing. Discarding frugality, she purchased two more, one blue and one green, for Athena and Ellie, and then enough of a heavy brown and gold brocade to make a waistcoat for Perry. He doubtless had more than enough waistcoats, but she wanted to buy him something.

They accepted an invitation to dine with the manager of the silk warehouse and his family, and then it was a long journey back to Mayfair, so Claris put aside any idea of visiting Sir Henry Cheere’s workshop today. But when she saw how close they came to Westminster Abbey, she asked if they could pause.

“I have in mind some marble work at the manor, and I admired his statues in the abbey. He’s retired now, but his workshop continues.”

“Do let’s explore,” Elf said. “I know nothing of the sculptor’s business.”

Claris smiled at Elf’s constant interest in business.

She could hear noise from the work yard, and blocks of marble were being unloaded from a wagon, but there was also a neat shop, and they went in there. The first thing she wanted to establish was that the work produced was as fluid and natural as the examples she’d seen. It was. She admired a bust of a man with flowing hair and vague draperies at his neck that gave the illusion of soft linen.

A middle-aged man came to her side. “An excellent piece, is it not, ma’am?”

“It is. Is this Sir Henry’s work? I understand he’s retired.”

“He is, ma’am, though he still takes an interest. This is by Mr. Crane, trained by Sir Henry, as I’m sure you’ll detect.”

“Of course. How long does such a piece take to make?”

“I could guarantee delivery in three weeks, ma’am, and sooner if there was urgency.”

“Is it suitable to be placed outside?”

“Certainly, ma’am, though such busts are usually displayed indoors. And on a plinth. We have a number of designs to choose from.” He gestured toward a rank of them against one wall.

“I suppose a more normal outside piece would be a statue. Or a tomb.”

The assistant put on a solemn face. “We execute a great many tombs and memorials, ma’am, all to the commissioner’s express design. May I direct your attention to this headpiece for a stone, with mourning cupids?”

Claris turned and was struck by how real the marble cupids looked, with their sturdy legs and round cheeks. A pity they were eternally sad. She couldn’t resist stroking one smooth cheek, as if to console the creature.

Cold, of course.

“What happens if a piece is damaged? Chipped, perhaps.”

“A chip is easily repaired, ma’am. Sir Henry has developed his own formulation of powdered marble and other ingredients, which can restore a piece to perfection. Even a badly broken one can be restored.”

“What if I didn’t quite like the finished result? Could it be altered?”

She could see he thought her a difficult customer, but he preserved his amiable manner. “That rarely happens, ma’am, but some correction can be made. Most easily if material is to be removed, but in the case of a lack, the marble paste can be built up.”

She had the information she needed.

“I want some work done for my house, Perriam Manor, near Windsor. Would it be possible for someone to visit there to consult with me?”

“Certainly, ma’am.”

“Then I shall write when I return home.”

Claris settled back in the carriage, thinking of those cherubs. They were cold, but at least they weren’t smothered.

She hadn’t told Genova and Elf that she was with child, but her baby’s presence became more real every day. It would be born in the spring.

A good time, surely.

And by then, there’d be no smothered babes to haunt Perriam Manor.

*  *  *

Perry was home when she returned and listened with amusement to her description of the silk warehouse. She didn’t mention the visit to the sculptor’s because she wanted to be sure her plan would work before sharing it, even with Perry.

“Are you sure you want to attend Sappho’s soiree?” he asked. “You must be tired.”

“Only a little. A rest and some tea will restore me. I’m only here for a week and want to experience all I can.” She glanced at him. “You haven’t forgotten about Wellsted?”

“No. I believe we can go tomorrow.”

She thanked him with a kiss, delighting that kisses were as natural as breathing to them. Tomorrow, she’d rid her mind of the curse entirely. She was sure of it.

The lady poetess was as unconventional as promised. Her skin was the color of coffee with cream, and her dark eyes slanted over high cheekbones. She wore her long, dark hair in a plait woven with ribbons, and her gown was a loose robe of opulent fabric. To Claris, she seemed magnificent and extremely foreign.

Her company was as unconventional as she was. Claris was introduced to a poetical duke, a female mathematician, and a hunchbacked mapmaker in shabby black.

The event, alas, was not to her taste. She used fatigue as an excuse to leave early.

When she and Perry were in the carriage, he asked, “Bored?”

She had to confess it. “I’m sure I should have been interested in sonnet forms or whether animals have souls, but I wasn’t.”

“Nor I. London is a rich banquet. We don’t have to eat every dish.” He looked at her in a way she’d come to recognize. “A benefit of leaving early is a longer night at home. You could display some of your silken purchases.”

“I could wear the shawl, but the length of silk isn’t made up.”

“All the better to play with,” he said.

“Exactly what I thought when I purchased it.”

Play with it they did, until she protested that she wouldn’t have it ruined. They made love on white linen sheets, the shawl and length of silk draped over the bed rail like a rainbow waterfall.