Lyonel, with gentlemanly aplomb, took Diana's arm and led her to the four Almack's patronesses who held court that particular Wednesday evening. Diana was pronounced a sweet girl within Lyonel's hearing. He leaned his head down and said to her, "How much will you pay me not to tell the Countess Lieven the truth about you? Sweet, ha!"
But Diana wasn't to be drawn at that moment, for she'd spotted Charlotte in close knotty conversation with some of her cronies. She squared her shoulders, inadvertently increasing her bosom, much to Lyonel's interest. "I think," she said, her eyes turning green as the moss on an Irish stone, "that dear Charlotte is up to her old tricks again. I dislike being the subject of too many sentences."
Then, to Lyonel's surprise, she added, "I do not have too much powder on my face this evening, do I?"
He gave her face due consideration. Her arched brows and absurdly long lashed were a shade or two darker than her rich blondish hair, her nose was thin and neither too long nor too short, and her full lips were now slightly parted as she awaited his opinion.
"You will do," he said abruptly, his own lips tightening. "A waltz. Come, you have all the august permission needed. Remind me to teach you some of the other dances."
"That is too much hopping about for me," Diana said.
"You afraid that you will pop out of that gown?"
"Your memory is most tenacious."
"And your bosom, my dear Diana, is most attracting."
"Worthy of your exalted attention? Even now that you've got a little amour?"
"She, I venture to say, is even more well-endowed than you are, but no matter. I shall simply make do with what is available."
She called him a name, and he threw back his head and laughed deeply. Heads turned toward them, Charlotte's in particular.
Lyonel took her in his arms and whirled her into the middle of the ballroom. "I've never been called that by a lady before," he said after he'd guided her expertly past an older couple.
"I am not questioning your antecedents, merely commenting on your character."
Lyonel realized with a start that he was enjoying himself immensely. The misery he'd lived with for the past months had magically disappeared. The betrayal was still there, making him way, making him question any and all motives of the so-called weaker sex, but Dianaimpertinent, burly-mouthed girlHe firmly tucked away further considerations and whirled her about in a large circle that made her breathless with excitement.
"I love that!"
"As I said before, you are a natural dancer."
"Oh, heavens, there is dear Charlotte, glaring at me. I do not understand it, Lyonel. Why should she so dislike me? Is it that she is still in love with you? Is she jealous?"
"Diana, I don't wish to speak of Charlotte or of my unfortunate, very brief engagement to that particular lady."
"I wish you would just tell me. You know I shall find out what ---"
"Keep your tongue behind your teeth or your beating just might take place sooner than you expect."
To draw him, she said in what she thought an intrigued tone, "Ah, there is Monsieur DuPres. He is giving me the mostthorough inspection. I think I shall dance with him. Do you think he will try to seduce me?"
Lyonel didn't change expression. He was a very experienced old hand at verbal fencing. Usually, the fencing had been with his gentleman friends, not ladies, who tended to agree with him with nauseating regularity. It was most intriguing. "I shall take you to him when the waltz is ended. Perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me of his technique?"
"You are most provoking."
"True. Now, one more bigouch! Diana, take care with my feet and your heels."
"Sorry."
"The devil you're sorry!"
He whirled her around so quickly that she had to cling to him to keep her balance. Again, that very discomfiting feeling assailed her, deep in her stomach, and she stared up at him, her hand tightening unconsciously on his shoulder. He would have sworn an oath on his favorite stallion's head that he would be immune, but he wasn't. Making love to Lois --- Lord, he'd lost count --- should have rendered him as uninterested as cold ashes in a summer grate, but here he was becoming as quickly aroused as a randy goat. He quickly pulled away from her, his mouth tight. He would hand her over to DuPres and damn the consequences.
But he didn't, of course. He steered her, eyes straight ahead, back to Lucia, who was surrounded by four gentlemen waiting for Diana to alight in their vicinity.
Lucia was congratulating herself on her brilliant strategy. She'd been the pleased recipient of several observations by other ladies, telling her that Lady Danvers' malicious gossip was all of a piece. "If she is not careful," Lady Ombersely had pronounced, "she will find herself outr. I, myself, will cut her!" Of course, Lucia had no intention of so informing dear Lyonel of the true state of affairs.
His look was a cool stare as he handed Diana over to the nearly drooling Sir Mortimer Dunlevy, the vacuous sod.
"I am going to the card room," Lyonel said, unwillingly following Diana with his eyes as she smiled up at the sod. "If I am not mistaken, Dancy will be endeavoring to lose his damned shirt. He believes himself the master of piquet. Indeed, I just might trounce him myself, then tell him in no uncertain terms ---"
"No!"
Lyonel bent a sapient eye on Lucia. "Why the devil not?"
"I told you, my boy, that I should like to leave things just as they are. I wish to wait and see which way the wind is blowing."
"Unfortunately, my dearest Aunt, you are not making a whit of sense. I shall do what I think is appropriate." He raised a hand when he saw she would protest further. "I won't say a word until I deem it necessary, however."
Lucia had to be content with that. She watched him stride across the ballroom floor, stopping to chat with friends, nod to acquaintances. She saw young ladies' eyes follow him with wistful hope as well as older ladies with not so wistful looks in their eyes. Her heart no longer ached for him. Diana was fast bringing him back to life and perspective.
Unfortunately, Lyonel was still in the card room when Monsieur DuPres solicited Diana's hand in a waltz. Before she replied, she found herself looking over the group of people, searching for Lyonel. He wasn't there. She tossed her head, smiled at Etienne DuPres, and graciously gave him her hand. If Lyonel returned --- and she prayed he would --- he would have something to chew over.
Because she was continually looking for Lyonel, she merely nodded and agreed when Monsieur DuPres spoke. He, however, was most pleased and completely unaware of her mental defection. He was a bit surprised when she kept agreeing with him on his compliments to her, but all considered, it was an excellent sign. Lady Danvers had not led him astray. With years of smooth practice, he waltzed her toward the corner of the ballroom and drew her to a halt behind a large potted fern. A pity, he thought, that there was no balcony here at this dreary place.
Diana came to her senses when her feet stopped moving.
"Why are we stopping, monsieur? The music has not come to an end as yet."
He murmured something in seductive French and glided his fingertip over her cheek and down her throat. "So soft, so pliant," he continued in French, wondering now if the chit was so uneducated not to understand his beautifully turned French phrases.
Diana merely looked at him, a slight frown puckering her forehead. "Soft and pliant? That sounds like some sort of tropical flower."
"Ah, yes, pretty little dove, and your scent, so fragrant, so --- so sduisante ---"
"Sweaty?"
"No!" He muttered something in French again and Diana guessed with stunning accuracy that it was no compliment.
He splayed his hands in front of her, his fingertips but inches from her bosom. Diana took a step back only to feel the fern tickling her shoulder blades.
"You are ripe for the plucking, are you not, ma petite?"
"No," she said. "No, I am not ripe for anything except perhaps for a glass of that very bland punch."
DuPres frowne
d, then persevered. "Your body is ripe, for me. I will give you such pleasure, such ---"
"Bosh. Excuse me, monsieur. I find you excessively tedious. I wish to return to my aunt." Thus annihilated, Monsieur DuPres, his face alarmingly red, had no choice but to escort the ridiculous girl back to her relative. His next stop was Lady Danvers. He had a few choice words to say to her, and since her French was excellent, he could unburden himself with potent accuracy.
"Why did you dance with that man?" Lucia demanded as Diana fanned herself vigorously with her hand.
"To spite Lyonel, but he wasn't even here. He is most provoking, Aunt."
Lucia smiled. She wondered what she would do if Diana weren't so appallingly honest. "Yes, he is."
Lyonel became more provoking as the night wore on. He did not return from the card room until the early hours of the morning to escort the ladies home. He said nothing, seemingly unaware of Diana's snit, until they reached Lucia's town house. After handing Lucia down, he merely looked at Diana and said, "I trust I do not have to strain my back? Your slippers are still on your feet?"
"They are too large and fell off."
"That is an impossibility. A girl of your sizeCome along, Diana. I wish to seek out my bed without having a headache or an upset stomach."
"Still recovering from your bout of amour?"
"No," he said, his eyes glittering at her nasty tone, "I intend fully to continue with my bouting, just as soon as I've rid myself of you."
She again questioned his antecedents, adding a colorful description of his obvious relation to the braying cousin of a horse.
He laughed and whispered close to her ear, "Jealous, Miss Savarol?"
"Monsieur DuPres did say I was ripe for the plucking," she said. "That was when he took me behind a big fern."
His eyes narrowed, his lips thinned, and Diana, striving to look as demure as a vicar's youngest daughter, kept her own eyes down so he wouldn't see the drawing laughter in them.
"You disobeyed me."
"Oh, I am too fatigued," she said, yawning.
"I am adding that to my list. Your bottom will feel the flat of my hand." His fingers tingling alarmingly from his own image, he strode off, not looking back at her.
It was difficult, but Lyonel managed it. He didn't leave Lois until the following morning, exhausted and rolled in a sleeping ball in the rumpled bed. But there was a smile on her face, he noted, quite pleased with himself.
At least with this bout of amour, he had given her pleasure, something he prided himself on. He was an excellent lover and found that a woman's moans and groans added to his own passion. The only fly in the ointment was the flitting image of Diana's face in his mind's eye as he caressed Lois' delightful breasts. He found himself wondering as he finally fell into his own bed if Diana would moan and groan, or even perhaps scream when he pleasured her.
Stupid fool.
She would probably yell at himYes, a rutting pig, that's what she would call him. She would probably slap away his hands when he would try to caress her, be disgusted at the thought of his tongue coursing over every inch of her body
At least he was too tired, far too long gone from his bouts of amour to become aroused at the thought of thrashing her bare bottom with his bare hand.
Diana, innocent of bouts of anything remotely sexual, knew only that she felt more alive when Lyonel was with her. She realized, somewhat surprised, that neither of them knew much about the other. They couldn't seem to stop fighting long enough to just talk.
Talk, she decided, drifting into the sleep of the unawakened, was boring. Insults were more fun. And Lyonel was so baitable.
She felt only a slight twinge of homesickness as she drifted into sleep.
"You might at least pretend to like it!"
Charlotte dutifully brought her hands down to stroke her husband's back.
"Lord knows you used to beg for it! Are you already planning to cuckold me, as you did Lyonel?"
That brought her out of her plotting fog. She stiffened, feeling him probe between her thighs.
She started to say something, for she was furious at his carping, but he plunged into her at that moment, saying in a hoarse, angry voice, "You will bear me an heir before you take a lover, damn you!"
"Yes," she said just as he was on the point of spilling into her. "Yes, I will have your heir, then you will be out of my bed!"
He groaned, hating himself for being the biggest fool alive.
She waited until he was through and rolled of her. "I think, Dancy, that dear Lyonel will be my first lover. He is so marvelously large and well-formed, do you not think so? And his beautiful mouth and hands"
"Lyonel would never come within a foot of you, Charlotte." He was tired, too weary of the farcical marriage even to be drawn. He had lost a man he considered a friend, and all for a woman who hadn't been real. God, that he could have been such a fool.
"We will see," she said, and yawned in his face.
"You are a bore, my dear wife. I fancy I will visit the theater tomorrow evening. I saw a lovely young thing there a week ago. She, I think, will be most accommodating."
"If you are thinking of that voluptuous sweet, Lois Braden, you can forget her."
He was thinking about the stunning Lois, and his wife's knowledge of her momentarily left him speechless. "How the devil do you know her and her name, for God's sake?"
"Men, my dear Dancy, are so nave. It hurts me so to tell you that she is also now under Lyonel's protection."
Dancy sucked in his breath, but there was no anger against Lyon.
"Perhaps," he said, "Lois has a sister."
"They are all sisters of a sort, are they not? Cheap little harlots who ---"
He laughed. "You are truly priceless, you know that, Charlotte?"
"Shut up, you pig."
"I just lost five hundred pounds this evening. You might consider a lover who would pay for your services. Help defray the cost of all your gowns and the like."
Charlotte, her tongue leaden in her mouth, at least for the moment, slid out of bed and grabbed her dressing gown.
"Why bother, my dear? I have already seen everything you have to offer."
"I would say the same of you, Dancy. Would be that I had seen you more clearly before I consented to bed with you."
"You have no idea how much in accord with you I am on that!"
5
Are you listening, or am I talking to deaf ears?
—AESCHYLUS
"Diana, didn't you hear me?"
"I heard you, but I wasn't attending."
"Just leave, please, I should like to speak to Lucia privately."
"Why?" Diana demanded, lighting up like a Roman candle.
"Go to the park and play with the children, Diana."
"Yes, my dear," said Lucia, her eyes on Lyonel, "and take Jamison with you."
Diana didn't want to leave, but she saw no choice with both of them against her. She gave Lyonel a final frown and left the drawing room.
"Now, my boy, what is it you wish to say to me?"
"The most unfortunate event has transpired," he said. "A solicitor, a fellow named Manvers, came to my home this morning. It would appear that my great-uncle, Oliver Mendenhall, is quite dead, and I am, as you already know, his heir. He owns a sugar plantation on Tortola and I am now the proud possessor not only of the sugar and rum and molasses and whatever, but also of about one hundred slaves.
"He even wrote in his will about the Ashton whelp. You have told me the genealogy, Lucia, but I am still not certain that there is not a closer relative."
"And if there were?"
"I should dump the mess into his arms. Slaves, Lucia! One hundred of the poor souls. Damnation, I want nothing to do with any of this. What the devil am I do to?"
"You are his heir, my boy, just as you are also mine. Let me remind you that even if there were another closer relative, your duty would still be clear. There would be no dumping. Your responsibility is to carry out the w
ishes of your great-uncle."
"His wishes are, briefly put by Manvers once I poured a brandy down him to clear away his damned legal phrases, that I am to go to the plantation, look things over, and then decide, based on firsthand observation, what it is I wish to do."
"That sounds most reasonable to me." It is most unfair of me, Lucia was thinking, to be pleased at poor Oliver's demise. But, in all fairness to her own machinations, it couldn't have occurred at a more propitious time, and poor Oliver had been a very old man, a good ten years her senior. Lyonel, the dear boy, would escort his cousin back to the West Indies.
"It further appears that until I arrive, a manager by the name of Edward Bemis is running the plantation. Manvers intimated --- and I doubt his sources, for after all he's had no time to inquire --- that the man is something of a scoundrel."
Manvers was obviously a very astute man, Lucia was itching to say. He had observed Lyonel's doubts and, despite the brandy, applied pressure when he deemed it most useful. "I suppose that there are cases where slaves are terribly abused," she said, adding coals to the fire.
"That makes no sense! Why would a man abuse someone whose job it is to make him money?"
Lucia offered an elaborate shrug. "Don't be a nodcock, Lyonel. Think about some of your friends who allow their tenants' homes to deteriorate into shacks, who care not one whit if the children on their estate are even fed, the lords and ladies who treat their servants as things to obey their every whim without complaint. I can see no dichotomy in that. I think the world for the have-nots is a most cruel and unfriendly place."
He looked thoughtful. "You are right, of course. One wonders if their lot will improve once slavery is abolished."
"I doubt it. After all, dear boy, in England we have no use for black slaves. If we did, I doubt there would be such zeal against it."
"Again, you are probably right." He ran his hand through his hair. "It's just so damnably unexpected."