Duchess Quartet - A Wild Pursuit Part 2

Bea shrugged. "This is a case where dreams have been supplanted by reality. I could not tolerate a husband such as yours, my lady. I'd probably take to him with a blunt instrument. Truly, I am better off in my position."

Lady G.o.dwin was grinning. Bea was surprised to find how enlivened her face was by humor. She didn't look boringly medieval anymore, but sparkling and quite lovely, in a slender kind of way.

"And just what would you do to my husband?" she asked with some curiosity. "And by the way, you must call me Helene. This is one of the most intimate conversations I've ever had with a complete stranger, after all." In fact, Helene was surprised at herself. There was something about Beatrix Lennox, some sort of mischievous sparkle, that reminded her of Esme. Which must explain why she, Helene, was being so uncharacteristically indiscreet.

"I would love to, as long as you call me Bea. I gather that you do not wish for your husband to... play an active role in your life," Bea said, trying for a delicate tone. Subtlety wasn't exactly her strong point.

Helene laughed, a short, rather bristly laugh. "No."

"I would make him sorry, then. I would make him very, very sorry that he ever thought to leave my bed. At the same time that I made it clear he hadn't the faintest hope of returning."

"Revenge is mine?" Helene asked, eyebrow raised again. She rather liked the idea of revenge. There were whole days-such as the one when Rees appeared in the G.o.dwin opera box, doxy in tow-when she thought of nothing but doing Rees serious injury.

"Precisely," Bea nodded. "Besides, revenge is not only sweet in itself, but enjoyable. You, Lady G.o.dwin-"

"Helene."

"Helene," Bea repeated obediently. "You have the kind of reputation that the three other women in this room could only dream of. That is, if we had the desire for such dreams."

Helene looked around. True enough, Bea, Lady Arabella and Esme herself could hardly be called champions of propriety. "Esme is turning over a new leaf," she pointed out. "I believe she does indeed dream of being a proper matron, or widow, rather."

Bea shrugged. "Lady Rawlings may be aspiring to a chaste reputation, but I certainly am not. And I've seen no signs of such ambition on Arabella's part either. The point is, though, that you are the one of us who has been most flagrantly slighted by a man, and yet you are the most prudent of all of us. If I were you, I would be flaunting my affairs before my husband."

"Perhaps if he cared, I would. But Rees wouldn't give a hang, to be honest."

"Nonsense. Men are like dogs: they want the whole manger, even though they don't eat hay themselves. If you have an affair, especially one in the public eye, it will curdle his liver." Bea said it with a certain relish. It was gratifying to see how closely the countess was listening to her. "Not to mention the fact that you will enjoy yourself."

"My goodness," Helene said. Then she smiled again. "Naturally, I like the idea of curdling his liver."

"Your husband has the best of all worlds," Bea insisted. "He has that opera singer, and he has you. The world and all knows that you're faithful to him."

Helene chewed her lip for a moment. "The problem is that I'd have to have an affair in order to flaunt one," she pointed out.

"Precisely!" Bea said, grinning at her. "You have nothing to lose but reputation, and what has that got you?"

"Respectability?"

But Bea knew she had her. She paused and looked at Helene from the top of her tightly coiled braid to the tips of her slippers. Her gaze spoke for herself.

"I think they warned me about women like you when I was in the schoolroom," Helene observed.

Bea fluttered her eyelashes. "So young and yet so diabolic?"

"Something of the sort." But Helene had come down to earth with a thump. She looked back into the depths of her sherry. "It hardly signifies, because I haven't the faintest hope of attracting a man with whom to have an affair, if you must know. No one has made me an indecent proposal in years. In fact, I think my husband may have been the first, and the last, to do so." She felt a crawling mortification at the admission.

"Nonsense. Available men are everywhere," Bea said, giving her an encouraging smile.

From Bea's point of view, Helene thought glumly. She was likely propositioned every other day.

"Men do seem a bit thin on the ground at this particular party," Bea continued. "What about that-that politician Arabella dragged out here? I've forgotten his name." She nodded toward him.

"Mr. Fairfax-Lacy?" Helene asked. "I'm not sure that-"

"I know, I know. I thought just the same: Church fathers, propriety, honor. Old Testament... A boring old Puritan!" Puritan was Bea's worst insult.

"I didn't mean that! I actually find Mr. Fairfax-Lacy quite attractive, but he is unlikely to make imprudent love to me. Let alone in front of my husband. Men simply do not think of me in those terms."

Bea hesitated. She could hardly inform a woman whom she had just met that she needed a new wardrobe. "Sometimes those Old Testament types are longing for a diversion," she said. "If not, why on earth did the man take up Arabella's invitation? This is not the house party for a prudent public servant.

Arabella is not interested in him for herself; she would have told me. Besides, she dislikes younger men."

They both stared across the room at Mr. Fairfax-Lacy, who was talking to their hostess.

"Do you think he knows anything of music?" Helene asked dubiously.

"What's that got to do with the price of oranges?"

"I couldn't-I'm very fond of-that is, I couldn't spend my time with someone who didn't like music."

At that very moment, Mr. Fairfax-Lacy turned to the pianoforte in the corner of the room, sat down with a twinkling smile at Esme, and began to play a lively tune.

"Does he pa.s.s muster?" Bea asked. She herself had been trained on the harp, since her father considered tinkling little tunes to be indicative of ladylike thoughts.

"Not in terms of taste," Helene said a bit sourly. "He's playing one of my husband's arias. You do know that my husband writes comic operas, don't you?"

Bea nodded, even though she hadn't had the faintest idea. Helene was married to an earl. Did earls write comic operas?

"The piece he's playing comes from an opera called The White Elephant. Drrread-ful," Helene said. "Overall, the opera wasn't bad. But that particular song was absolutely dreadful."

"What's the matter with it?"

"The soprano has to sing an F in alt. The poor girl nearly strangled herself trying to reach it, and the audience thought her stays were pinching," Helene said, gazing across the room. "And the overture had so many dissonances that the orchestra sounded as if it were sight-reading the piece. Disaster. It was an utter disaster. The fact that Mr. Fairfax-Lacy liked it enough to memorize the piece doesn't say much for his taste."

But Bea had already made up her mind that Helene and the politician were a possible match, and she wasn't going to allow his inadequate musical judgment to influence Helene. "I'll walk you across the room, and you can improve Mr. Puritan's musical taste," Bea said encouragingly. "Men love it when a beautiful woman corrects them. Meanwhile we can a.s.sess whether he is worth your time and effort. He's old enough to be going soggy at the waistline, which is far worse than a lack of musical ability. Trust me on this."

"It hasn't been my experience that men enjoy correction," Helene said, "and I'm hardly-" but Bea was pulling her across the room like a determined little towboat.

Stephen looked up to find the glorious bit of disrepute, Lady Beatrix, and the graceful Lady G.o.dwin peering over the pianoforte. His fingers almost stumbled when he realized what a mistake he'd made in choosing a piece of music, and he leaped to his feet.

But the countess was smiling at him, and there was amus.e.m.e.nt in her eyes. He gave her a wry grin.

Lady Beatrix also smiled at him, but d.a.m.ned if she didn't turn a normal greeting into a shamelessly wanton invitation. It was something about her eyes, the way they melted into a sultry little examination of his body and lingered around his middle. Luckily his stomach was as flat as the day he left Oxford-or was she looking lower? But the last thing he needed was a flagrant affair with an unmarried la.s.s who already had the reputation of a highflier.

He wrenched his eyes away and looked to the countess. "Lady G.o.dwin, I had the pleasure of hearing a canzone of yours at a musicale some years ago. Will you honor us with a composition?"

Lady G.o.dwin gave him a reserved but genuinely friendly smile and took his place at the keyboard. "I'd be happy to play something else for you, but I rarely play my own compositions in public."

To Stephen's surprise, Beatrix Lennox didn't seem to have realized that he had snubbed her; perhaps she was so ready with her invitations that they weren't even personal. She leaned over the pianoforte, looking like a schoolgirl, an absurd comparison given that her bodice was so low that her b.r.e.a.s.t.s almost touched the glossy surface of the pianoforte.

"I didn't know you wrote music, Helene!" she said. "What a wonderful gift. Will you play us something you have written yourself?" And then, when Lady G.o.dwin hesitated, "Please?"

Stephen had to admit that Lady Beatrix was pretty d.a.m.n near irresistible when she pleaded. Lady G.o.dwin blushed and nodded.

"Would you like to hear something polished or something quite new?"

"Oh, something new!" Lady Beatrix exclaimed.

Naturally, Stephen thought to himself. That sort of flippery young woman would always be looking for the very newest attraction.

Lady G.o.dwin smiled. "All right. But I have to ask a favor of mine own, then."

He bowed. "For the pleasure of your music, my lady, anything."

"I'm working on a waltz at the moment, and it is so difficult to maintain the rhythm during the transitions. Would you and Lady Beatrix dance while I play?"

Stephen blinked. "I'm afraid that I haven't had much practice in waltzing."

Lady Beatrix was looking at him with one slim black eyebrow raised. "One Christmas I taught my grandfather, who is quite unsteady on his feet, to waltz," she put in, with a sweet smile that didn't deceive him for a moment.

She thought he was akin to her grandfather. Stephen felt a stab of pure rage.

"It's not a question of skill," Helene said earnestly. "I'm quite certain that you will be nimbler than my music, Mr. Fairfax-Lacy." She called to their hostess. "Esme, may I employ your guests for a practical purpose? Mr. Fairfax-Lacy and Lady Beatrix are kind enough to attempt one of my waltzes."

"I only wish I were capable of dancing myself," Lady Rawlings said cheerfully, hoisting herself from a chair and waving at her butler. A moment later the footmen had cleared a long, polished expanse down the center of the Rose Salon.

Stephen eyed it with distrust. Holding a seat in the House of Commons hadn't left him a great deal of time to spin women around the dance floor, especially in this newfangled German dance. d.a.m.n it, he'd probably only waltzed three or four times in his life. And now he had to try it before an audience. He stalked to the floor. She flitted out before him, the better to display that round little body of hers. Well, she wasn't so very little. He was a quite tall man, and yet she wasn't dwarfed by his height, as so many women were.

He glanced back at Lady G.o.dwin. Truly, she was very attractive. She looked like a cool drink of water.

"This is so kind of you," she called. "You must tell me precisely what you think."

Stephen snapped a bow in the direction of Lady Beatrix. "May I have this dance?"

"My pleasure," she said demurely.

If demure was the correct word. That sleepy, sensual smile of hers ought to be outlawed. It said everything, without saying anything. And yet it was more a matter of her eyes than her mouth. Why on earth was she bothering to give him, a man her grandfather's age, apparently, such an invitation? Naturally his body didn't understand that it wasn't personal.

"There's a small introduction before the waltz proper starts," Lady G.o.dwin said. She nodded, lowered her hands and the music splashed around them.

The waltz had none of the ceremonial pacing that Stephen vaguely remembered from the waltzes he'd encountered in the past. No, it leaped from the keyboard.

For a moment he was frozen in place, already behind in the beat. Then he literally grabbed Lady Beatrix's waist, pulled her hand into the air, and plunged into the cleared s.p.a.ce.

They galloped down the center of the room. Stephen didn't attempt a twirl; it was all he could do to keep them on time when the music suddenly broke off.

"I'm so sorry!" Lady G.o.dwin called from the pianoforte. "I've set it far too fast. I see that now. One minute-"

His companion was giggling. "You were far more agile than my grandfather." Her face was pink and her chest was heaving.

There was always the chance that her dress would fall to her waist, Stephen thought with a flash of interest. She had glorious b.r.e.a.s.t.s for a schoolgirl. Not that she was a schoolgirl, except in relation to his years.

"You don't seem at all out of breath," she observed.

"We'll start again, please," Lady G.o.dwin called.

Stephen settled his hand more firmly on his partner's waist. This time the music began more slowly, so Stephen ventured a turn. He suddenly remembered that he had once considered dancing a delight, but that was long ago, before he'd discovered politics. Now he had no time for such frivolity. The melody drove them on. It was beginning to speed up again. One Two Three! One Two Three! Faster and faster they circled and spun. Lady Beatrix was grinning like the schoolgirl she wasn't, her eyes shining with delight.

"May I offer you my compliments?" she said, obviously rather out of breath. "You keep to this rather rapid pace extremely well."

Was her compliment in respect to his age? "I should say the same to you," he said stiffly. It was annoying to realize that his hand on her waist was tingling. That he was taking huge pleasure in holding such a ripe piece of womanhood in his arms... and all the time she was thinking that he was fit for the knacker's yard. It was repugnant.

Yet any man would feel a pang of interest. For one thing, he could tell from his hand on her back that Lady Beatrix did not wear a corset. His leg brushed hers as he turned her again. If this dance had been in vogue when I was young, Stephen thought suddenly, I'd be married by now. It was intoxicating to hold a woman in one's arms. No wonder all the old biddies thought the waltz was too scandalous for Almack's. This was the closest he'd ever come to lovemaking by music.

The waltz reached out and pulled them forward. It suddenly grew slower and rather melancholy, shifting to a minor key. They floated down the room on the sadness of it. That deep curve to her bottom lip was not something that could be enhanced by art, he thought absentmindedly.

"She must be putting her marriage into the music," Lady Beatrix said, meeting his eyes. "The music is so sorrowful now."

It was extraordinarily imprudent to remark to a perfect stranger about the countess's marriage! She spoke as if they were acquaintances of old, as if he were her uncle, or her infernal grandfather. And she was waiting for a response. "I would disagree," Stephen said, rather stiffly. "I'm not sure the music is sad as much as resigned."

"That's even sadder," Lady Beatrix observed.

Stephen dropped his hand from her waist the instant the music stopped. He didn't want her to think that she'd enticed him, with all her uncorseted beauty. "That was indeed a pleasure, Lady Beatrix," he said, with just the faintest touch of irony.

She caught it. Her eyelids flickered, and she gave him a languorous look that drifted down his front and made his private parts shoot to attention. "The pleasure," she said, "was entirely mine."

d.a.m.n it, she was worse than a courtesan!

Lady G.o.dwin was rising from the pianoforte. The countess would never be so indecorous. Stephen felt his blood cool to a steady beat just watching her. The fact was, he had neglected that part of his life for too long. Now he seemed to have the unruly enthusiasm of an adolescent, l.u.s.ting after every woman who crossed his path. Steady, he told himself. Steady ahead.

He strode over to Lady G.o.dwin, took her hand and raised it to his mouth for a kiss. "That was a delightful performance," he told her softly. "Your waltz is exquisite."

"No, it isn't!" she protested. "It is far too fast. You must be quite fatigued." But she was smiling.

Stephen decided to take a chance. He turned her hand over and pressed a kiss into her palm. "Nothing you could do would ever make me tired," he told her, looking straight into her eyes.

She truly had a delightful blush.

Chapter 4.

The Garden of Eden.

Regular reading of the Tatler would convince anyone that English gentlewomen seduced their butlers and their footmen on a regular basis.