No. Thankfully, he looked as unhappy about the plight of the poor beasts as she was. As they passed a sad-looking lion with a damp mane, she was half-sure that Henry’s hands clenched into fists.
All right. He was disgusted by the Menbrake Menagerie, as all right-thinking people were. So why on earth had he brought her here?
‘Well.’ She mentally rifled through her research as she and Henry walked side by side, still unsure as to how to begin. ‘I have researched you most thoroughly.’
‘Good. What are your conclusions?’
‘I try not to draw conclusions about the gentlemen I research, unless it’s with a mind to the brides they could choose. With you, it’s a little early for that.’
‘But you must have formed an opinion.’
‘Well—it’s difficult not to form opinions, even if conclusions are not advisable.’
‘And what’s your opinion of my personality?’
‘In terms of what ladies you could share a happy union with?’
‘No. What do you think of me, from what you’ve found out?’
‘What I think hardly signifies.’
‘It signifies to me.’
‘Mr. Duke, I–’
‘I’m asking nothing of you. Not your time, or your preference. I will be honest about my sentiments, even if you wish to reveal nothing of your own.’ Henry stopped outside the cage of a frowning monkey, turning to her. ‘All I want from you is an honest assessment of my character.’
‘You… you are one of the most unusual men I’ve ever met.’
‘… Ah. I see.’
‘No. No, I don’t think you do.’ Margaret stepped forward. She had seen the flash of hurt in his eyes, her soul responding with a violent wave of guilt. ‘I didn’t explain myself correctly.’
‘You explained yourself well enough.’ Henry turned away, but stopped as Margaret laid her hand on his arm.
It was a brief, light touch, designed to be overlooked by everyone around them. Still, as her fingers brushed against his sleeve, Margaret felt a spark in every one of her extremities.
‘You’re a genius. Perhaps one of the defining geniuses of our age.’ She spoke quickly, all attempts at professionalism gone. ‘The patents you designed for your brother could easily revolutionise the way food is grown in this country, if enough time and trouble are taken to bring them to scale. Your papers for the Royal Society concerning the differing amounts of water needed for different crops should be much more widely known than they are.’
Henry frowned. ‘You read those papers?’
‘I conduct research very thoroughly indeed. I’ve read every paper you’ve written, and at least two that I believe you submitted under different names.’
‘Tom Falstaff.’ A slight smile hovered at the corner of Henry’s mouth. ‘The name I use for–’
‘For music. Yes. Your study of chamber music that you wrote three years ago is most complete.’
‘I thank you.’
‘And–and you’re mysterious.’
‘I’m not mysterious in the slightest.’
‘You are. You’ve been handsomely rewarded for your inventions, and yet you spend the money on nothing whatsoever. No balls, no box at the theatre, no carriages–you don’t even have your own house.’
‘I don’t want my own house. Not yet. Should I buy a house?’
‘No! No. It’s–it’s simply uncommon. Having no extravagances or vices is very uncommon.’ Margaret paused. Her fingers were still tingling from where she had touched him. ‘That’s the word I should have used before. Uncommon.’
‘Uncommon.’ Henry paused. ‘I prefer that to unusual.’
‘It’s more accurate.’
‘Truly?’
‘Yes. I wouldn’t lie to you.’
‘Good.’ Henry stepped closer. ‘I wouldn’t lie to you either.’
The silence between them felt deeper than usual. Margaret realised she was leaning forward, slightly but definitely, as Henry looked down at her.
‘I have vices.’ He spoke more quietly than before.
‘You—you do?’
‘Yes.’ Henry’s voice sank to a murmur. ‘In fact… I could show you one of my vices here and now.’
Had she misunderstood him completely? Was he secretly a gentleman who delighted in sin? Margaret paused, trying to decide if she felt frightened or excited. ‘Is it against the law?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh. Is… is it something that will put us in danger?’
‘I suppose. But in an abstract sense.’
What possible perversion could the man have cultivated? Her work at the pleasure house had always been at the lighter end of the market; darker desires were catered to by the discipline mistresses, who were as forbidding in private as they were in public. ‘I’m not entirely sure I can condone conduct relating to perversions, Mr. Duke. Especially in a public place.’
‘I’m almost sure that you’ll enjoy it. I know I will. Most completely.’
‘Well, I–’
‘It doesn’t involve removing one’s clothes, or having them removed.’ Henry paused. ‘Unless I’ve grossly miscalculated.’
Margaret restrained a bemused smile. His words in no way matched his manner; there was an entirely innocent mischief to him that made the conversation even more absurd. ‘Mr. Duke, you’re draining my supply of polite conversational rebuttals entirely dry.’
‘Good. You can’t talk and watch me at the same time.’ Henry reached into the pocket of his large, dashing coat, producing what looked like a small tinderbox. ‘I say–is that elephant looking at you?’
Margaret turned to find a bedraggled elephant looking at her with a mournful expression through the bars of its cage. ‘Yes, but I thought we were speaking about your–your perversion–’
The world went white. White, and very loud; the bang of multiple small explosions sending Margaret’s hands straight to her ears. Eyes wide, unable to believe what she was seeing or hearing, she reflexively drew close to Henry as thick smoke billowed through the menagerie.
Then, with a dozen clicks and cracks as the cages splintered to pieces, the beasts took charge of Menbrake. Monkeys, a great variety of exotic birds and at least one bear broke free of their prisons, announcing joy at their freedom with lusty whoops, growls and twitters as the crowd exploded into pandemonium.
‘Good Lord.’ She looked around at the mayhem, unable to restrain a delighted smile. ‘How on–how on earth did you–’
‘It was easy enough to find the weak points in each of the cages. They’re not made very well–nothing in this place is, apart from the animals themselves, and we can thank God for their original design. I’m developing a new form of gunpowder–a malleable kind. Judging the correct amount to open the cage without damaging the animal within was an interesting problem–it took me some minutes–but it was all to the good in the end.’ Henry looked proudly at the rising plumes of smoke. ‘Then a small trail of gunpowder leading from cage to cage, appropriately protected from the rain–I tried to choose the driest route.’ He held up his tinderbox, the flint missing. ‘And then, while you were looking at that very damp elephant, I lit the trail.’
‘It’s—it’s splendid. It’s utterly splendid.’
‘People look at those poor creatures and say how sad, someone should do something, but they don’t do anything. Sometimes they write a letter, but letters can be ignored.’ Henry’s face was so beautiful set against the smoke and chaos; Margaret watched him, breathless. ‘I don’t think the Menbrakes can ignore this.’
‘No.’ How could a man be so utterly singular, so untouched by time? ‘I don’t think they can.’
‘I set trays of meat and fruit outside the gates. If the rats haven’t got at them, the beasts will have food to eat once they get beyond the gates.’
‘And if the Runners are called to shoot them?’
‘They won’t shoot them. They’re too valuable. All of them will be rounded up and caged again, if they don�
�t get free.’ Henry looked at the marauding animals with a smile. ‘But I think most of them will get free.’
As perversions went, it was glorious. Glorious beyond measure. Margaret stared at Henry, briefly lost in the pleasure on his face, before attempting to collect herself. ‘I think we should remove ourselves from prying eyes.’
‘Hmm. I do see three rather large men approaching. No doubt they wish to find the culprits–and I was here yesterday, calculating the height and breadth of all the cages. I probably wasn’t very inconspicuous–I rarely am.’ Henry shrugged. ‘We should probably hide.’
‘You don’t seem all that scared.’
‘I’m not. I don’t care in the slightest. But I wouldn’t wish for you to be inconvenienced, and running from ruffians is always inconvenient.’ Henry moved closer. His damp curls, darkening in the rain, were far more fascinating to Margaret than they had any right to be. ‘We should avoid detection.’
‘You should probably drop your tinderbox.’
‘No. I like my tinderbox. But we should certainly move out of the rain, and into a place where no-one can see us.’
From anyone else, the phrase would have come across as the most pathetic attempt at seduction. From Henry, it sounded like good sense. Margaret nodded gratefully. ‘Do you have any ideas?’
‘Well.’ Henry pointed. ‘The reptile house is empty, and unlikely to house any guests. Shall we—’
‘Yes.’ Margaret nodded. Fighting the urge to grip his hand, she kept pace with him as they made their way into a tent-like structure draped in black oilcloth with ‘SNAKE HOUSE’ painted crudely across the entrance.
Margaret hadn’t known snakes needed such a warm, dark environment in which to flourish. If it hadn’t been for the artfully arranged leaves and large bowl of water, the reptile house could have easily functioned as one of Paris’s less salubrious pleasure-houses. The smell of smoke still heavily scenting the air, Margaret forced herself to take a slow, deep breath.
It wasn’t the fact that she was in a dark, enclosed space with Henry Duke that was making her breathless. It couldn’t be. It would be the panic of the moment, the shock of the animals’ freedom… something else. Something acceptable.
She ducked into the dark space, surprised at the greater warmth to be found there. She looked at Henry, smiling nervously, only to be distracted by a sinuous shape over his shoulder.
‘I… is that… was that a–’
‘Yes. A very large snake.’ Henry looked at her with a slight smile. ‘It seemed quite keen to escape.’
‘It’s rather a small cage for such a large creature.’
‘Now it has the whole world to enjoy.’
‘Yes… there’s no chance it could come back here, could it?’
‘No. There’s no food here.’
‘We’re here.’
‘We’re not food for him.’ Henry shook his head. ‘You really must read a little more about the feeding habits of snakes.’
The words were said with his usual seriousness, but his face was different. There was a light in his eyes, a mischief that was as attractive as it was confusing. ‘That was a joke. You made a joke!’
‘I did.’ Henry looked immensely proud. ‘I only practiced a little.’
‘It was a perfect joke. I would almost think you’d released the animals deliberately, just to make that joke.’
‘And–and that’s a joke from you! How funny we are.’
‘Yes.’ Margaret paused. ‘That—that wasn’t in my research. The idea that you don’t joke. It was a somewhat foolish assumption on my part. I apologise for being so surprised.’
‘Most people are surprised when I joke.’
‘I’m surprised by everything you do.’
‘Good.’ Henry paused, frowning. ‘I should probably have prepared some sort of magic trick to surprise you further at this precise moment. That would have been funnier still.’
Everything was simply too absurd. Too desperately funny to continue the pretence at being a respectable lady with a job to do, rather than a former courtesan with mud on her hem and a marauding crowd of escaped animals running about outside. Margaret, throwing all caution to the wind, threw her head back and laughed.
Lord, how good it felt to laugh. Hidden in a snake-cage, laughing uncontrollably with smoke in her nose and screams outside, she was having more fun than she’d had in years.
‘You’re very beautiful when you laugh.’
‘… Thank you.’ The compliment glowed in the air. When Henry told her that she was beautiful, it seemed to matter so much more than if any other gentleman said the same words. There was an honesty to him, an integrity that no-one could tarnish. ‘I don’t think I laugh enough.’
‘I don’t laugh enough either.’
‘At least we laugh together.’
‘Can I kiss you?’
‘I—I’m sorry?’
‘You heard me.’ Henry smiled. ‘Can I kiss you?’
This had never happened before. She’d kissed people before, of course–that was practically a requirement, given her line of work–but she had never been asked to be kissed with such directness before. Gentlemen had always taken, never requested.
‘It’s all right if you don’t want to.’
‘No, it’s—it’s not that. But—why do you want to kiss me?’
‘Because when I look at you laughing, I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you when you’re not laughing as well, of course. But in this precise moment, I want to kiss you very much indeed.’
‘As your hired matchmaker, I couldn’t possibly kiss you.’
‘But as my hired matchmaker, it’s your duty to teach me every quality that could help me succeed in attracting a suitable bride. Isn’t it?’ Henry paused. ‘Kissing seems like a very important quality.’
‘It… it is.’ His mouth was so close to hers. So full, so soft–how divine it would feel against her own. ‘It most definitely is.’
‘And now that I’ve thought about kissing you, I don’t think I’ll be able to consider anything else. I won’t be able to get any thinking done. Would you deny me hours of peaceful thought?’
‘Well I–I certainly wouldn’t want to do that.’
‘Only if you want to. I wouldn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do.’
He wouldn’t. He really wouldn’t. How many situations had she been in with men who didn’t care what she wanted one way or the other, both in bed and out of it? Henry stated his case, gave supporting evidence, and then… waited. Waited to see what she wanted.
‘I want to kiss you.’ She whispered the words in the dark, close quarters of the reptile house. ‘Very much.’
A moment in darkness, waiting. Then, in a slow, voluptuous meeting that made her gasp, Henry’s mouth was on hers.
This was no ordinary kiss. No kiss of a gentleman eager to take his pleasure and give nothing in return. It was light, sweet, vaguely clumsy… and oh, the fire it lit in her. A hot, blazing fire that nothing could dampen, not while his lips were on hers.
Before he could pull away, she moved closer. He could finish, yes, but not now–not at this precise, perfect moment of union. She reached around his neck, her gloved hands finding the patch of bare skin between his shirt and his coat, stroking him with such fierce attachment that he trembled against her mouth.
She didn’t know why she had been expecting force. Possibly because he had been so definite in every other way. Such a shy, gentle kiss spoke of a vulnerability that lay deep within him–a kind of purity. A purity he had offered up to her, asking her to turn it into passion.
She could do that. She wanted that more than anything else in the world. But she was—no, she was a matchmaker. She was nothing more than that.
‘I’m sorry.’ She pulled away, her voice husky; the kiss had tightened her throat. ‘This—this is not what you’ve commissioned me to do.’
‘But you’re wonderful at it.’
‘You—you’re certainly no dunce at it eith
er.’
‘I certainly had no illusions as to my prowess.’ Henry paused. ‘May I tell you something that I’ve never told anyone before?’
‘I–of course.’
‘I’m a virgin. I’ve never had carnal knowledge of anyone. It’s not that I lack the desire, but–but putting into practice requires a will and spontaneity that I either don’t possess, or simply haven’t cultivated.’ Henry spoke with such seriousness that it sounded as if he were discussing financial problems, or a death in the family. ‘Will that damage my marital prospects?’
‘… No. No, I don’t think so. It’s uncommon, but certainly not unheard of.’ He hadn’t specified the acts he wasn’t familiar with, but–but if she was the first woman he had ever kissed, it made the sentiment filling her chest even more special. ‘Gentlemen with no experience whatsoever go on to make lovely marriages.’
‘Are ladies ever experienced?’
‘… Sometimes.’
‘Perhaps I’d prefer a more experienced bride. I would hate to think of us disappointing one another for the entirety of our married life.’ Henry looked completely tranquil as he expressed the most shocking sentiment that the ton could ever imagine. ‘What do you think?’
‘I–I’m not qualified to have a thought.’
‘Well, what about you?’ The question was phrased with such sunny gentleness that any offensive connotation vanished. ‘Are you experienced?’
She had never imagined speaking of her past like this. But then, she had never imagined speaking about anything in a snake-house, surrounded by a menagerie in ruins.
Perhaps, with Henry Duke in front of her, it was the perfect place. Margaret took a deep, steadying breath, half-sure that she was making a terrible mistake.
‘Forgive my reticence concerning this matter. My–my former reticence. What I mean to say is–is that I probably should have told you this at our first meeting.’
‘I didn’t ask at our first meeting.’
‘You asked me to marry you at our first meeting.’
‘Yes. I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’
Ravished in Rose: The Brothers Duke: Book Four Page 3