Taking a knife from Diana, she hefted it, then hurled it at the largest target, where it struck quivering three inches from the center. Not pinpoint accuracy, but still a good throw.
Smiling mischievously, Diana took another knife and hit the same target dead center. Madeline chuckled. "I've created a monster. You have the best eye I've ever seen." Taking another knife, she placed it less than a half-inch from Diana's.
Diana laughed. The tension that had existed between them earlier had vanished. "You've never told me how you got started with this. I can understand having a weapon around for self-defense, but why knife throwing? It's such a strange, barbaric skill."
Madeline smiled wickedly and threw at the moving target, which was swinging back and forth. Her weapon hit off-center and the target spun wildly on its rope, but the knife held. "I thought the story too warm for your innocent ears. Now that you've entered the trade, I suppose I should enlighten you."
"How can the story be warmer than some of your other lessons?" Diana asked in amusement as she sat down in one of the worn chairs at the end of the room opposite the targets. "I still can't look at a parsnip with a straight face."
Both women laughed. Madeline had used a parsnip as a teaching aid when describing what a courtesan would be expected to know, reducing first Diana, then herself, to helpless giggles. The lessons had been most enlightening, though Diana sometimes had trouble believing all that Madeline had told her.
"In the past, I talked mainly of what is considered normal." Thunk! Another of Maddy's knives hit a stationary target. Though she'd complimented Diana's remarkable skill, she was very nearly as good. "However, some men have tastes that are extremely... unusual." Thunk!
As Madeline went to the end of the range to retrieve the knives, she continued, "I once knew a gentleman who was incapable of sexual congress in the usual way. However, knives excited him enormously. The first time he visited me, he pulled out two Indian kukris and started waving them around. They're wicked, great curving knives, and I thought I was going to be murdered."
Diana inhaled sharply. Though Maddy was telling the tale with humor, it must have been terrifying. No wonder her friend was so adamant that her protégée learn to protect herself.
Returning to Diana's end of the room, Madeline laid the knives on the side table and sat down. "After the gentleman threw both of the kukris into my washstand, which did it no good, he could perform in quite the normal way.
"The first time that happened, I was alarmed, but he was a pleasant man apart from this oddity." She brushed a tendril of dark hair back from her face. "He suggested that watching me throw the knives would be even more exciting for him. Being an obliging sort, I learned how. It was an interesting and useful pursuit, so I continued even after we parted company."
Diana was round-eyed with wonder. "I hadn't realized quite how far one had to go to please a customer."
Madeline grimaced. "Believe me, this particular idiosyncrasy was harmless compared to some. There are things even the most hardened streetwalker will refuse to do. I'll tell you more about that sometime, so you will be better prepared for what might be asked. Don't ever let a man talk you into something you find distasteful. It isn't worth it."
She chuckled suddenly. "The only real danger in throwing knives for my friend's pleasure was the risk of getting lung fever in midwinter. He liked me to do it naked, you see—I always had the fire built up when he was coming."
"It all sounds very... interesting," Diana said faintly. At times like this, she wondered if she was capable of performing as a courtesan. At heart, she was really a conventional creature.
Sobering, Madeline said, "There aren't many men like that, and soon enough you will know how to deal with them. The most difficult part will be your first time. No amount of my teaching will compensate for lack of experience."
"I've been thinking, and I have an idea about how to obscure my lack of skill," Diana said tentatively. In a few sentences she described what she had in mind.
Madeline nodded, impressed. "An excellent idea. You may have a natural talent for this trade after all." She stood and stretched her arms wide over her head. "I'm walking to Oxford Street to look for some plumes. Care to come with me?"
"That sounds delightful," Diana said. "I'll fetch my shawl."
The rest of the day was equally uneventful, with time spent sewing, discussing the week's menus with Edith, and listening to what Geoffrey had learned that day. But that night, after putting her son to bed, Diana once more entered the world of the demirep. Several of Madeline's old friends shared a subscription to an opera box, paying two hundred pounds a year for the privilege of having a shop window for their charms, and Maddy had secured an invitation to join them.
As they entered the first-tier box, Diana saw heads swiveling toward them. She wore shimmering gold silk tonight, a luxurious color that made her hair darkly bright and her skin glow like a peach. The outfit was designed to be noticed, a task it accomplished very effectively. Society ladies ostentatiously turned their heads away, though some took furtive glances, studying the kind of women who lured men away from their homes.
The men were much bolder, staring or squinting through their quizzing glasses in open appraisal. As she slipped into a velvet padded chair, Diana's attention was caught by a man seated directly across the pit in a box on the same tier. He stared with a dark intensity that reminded her of St. Aubyn, but closer study showed that he was a stranger. The man caught her looking at him and gave a slow, knowing smile. She flushed and turned away before remembering that a Cyprian should encourage such interest.
The people in her own box were a merry crew. A regular subscriber, Juliette, was there with her protector, an aging dandy who kept one hand possessively on his mistress's bare shoulder. Juliette had a circle of regular admirers, a fact that afforded her protector great satisfaction.
Some of the men Diana had met at Harriette Wilson's came to pay their respects, and each of them brought friends who begged an introduction and hovered until Diana could scarcely breathe. It was both flattering and alarming. She was learning how to smile and chat with several men at a time, but it was an effort, and she worried about appearing rude by accidentally ignoring someone. Young Mr. Clinton, for example, was so shy that she made a point of drawing him into the conversation.
Diana was beginning to feel faint from the heat and the crowding when a sibilant French-accented voice cut through the babble. "A flower of such perfection will wilt if not allowed air. Would you care to take a turn in the corridor, ma belle?"
Glancing up, Diana saw the man who had caught her eye across the opera house. He was darkly handsome, with hooded black eyes, and an exotic, un-English air. Except for his immaculate white shirt and gold-headed cane, his broad, powerful frame was clothed entirely in black, with an elegance just short of foppishness. Inclining her head, Diana said, "Sir, I do not know you."
Without taking his gaze from her face, the newcomer commanded, "Ridgley, introduce us."
Lord Ridgley, Diana's middle-aged admirer of the night before, performed the introduction unenthusiastically. "Mrs. Diana Lindsay, the Count de Veseul."
"Now will you walk with me, little flower?" the count asked lazily, extending his arm.
Eager to escape the crush for a few minutes, Diana rose and placed her hand on his black-clad arm. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I will be back shortly," she said with a warm smile that included her entire court. Ridgley and the others drooped a bit at her defection, then began discussing horses, that never-failing topic of masculine interest.
Since it was between intervals, the corridors were almost empty. Diana inhaled deeply. "I am grateful for your suggestion, my lord. It is much cooler out here."
"Do you enjoy your first visit to the opera, ma fleur?" His voice was sibilant, and for a large man, he was very light on his feet. Though wide and solid, the count gave the impression that his exquisite tailoring concealed muscle, not fat.
Diana glanced up
, catching the black gaze intent on her face. "How did you know this was my first visit, my lord?"
"I attend often," he said, directing his attention to the corridor ahead. After another dozen paces he mused, without looking at her, "You are quite the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I would surely have remembered you."
"You do me too much honor, Monsieur le Comte."
They reached the end of the corridor, where it curved around the outer edge of the building. No one else was in sight. Remembering Madeline's warning about being alone with a man, Diana felt a touch of uneasiness. Though the Frenchman was attractive, something about him disturbed her. She turned, anxious to go back to other people, but Veseul blocked her retreat, effectively trapping her in a corner.
"Stay a moment, ma fleur," he said softly, his dark eyes examining her in intimate detail. "I have a small matter of business to discuss with you."
His broad, black-clad bulk seemed enormous as he loomed over her, and Diana suppressed a faint tremor, telling herself not to be childish. Veseul was being perfectly polite. Besides, he was hardly likely to attack her in such a public place. Though if he did, the music and conversation were so loud in the opera house that a scream might go unheard...
Concealing her unease, she smiled coolly. "I am listening, my lord. Do you have a proposition for me?" After a mere twenty-four hours as a courtesan, she had already received several such offers and could feign nonchalance.
Sliding his hand to the middle of his ebony cane, he raised the stick and, with the delicate grace of a cat playing with a mouse, caressed her face with the gold knob. The warmth of his hand was still in the metal, and the intrusive intimacy of it revolted her. She tried to withdraw from the cane, but her back was already against the wall. As she stood rigid with distaste, Veseul drew the gold knob across her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw, then ran it across her throat with just enough pressure to suggest what it would be like to have her breathing stopped.
"If you wish to win my approval, stop doing that," she snapped. Ignoring her words, he stroked the cane across the creamy skin exposed by her low-cut gown before pressing it hard into her breast. The knob was skillfully wrought into the head of a serpent, its polished shine almost matching the golden silk of her dress. Diana gasped and shrank back, feeling more assaulted and soiled than if Veseul were mauling her with his hands. Grabbing the cane with both hands, she pushed at it with all her strength, but his wrist was as unyielding as iron.
The count's eyes followed the path of the gold serpent as it traced a circle around her left nipple, but at her angry gesture they flickered up to meet hers. Without withdrawing the cane, he murmured, "I really must have you. What is your price?"
Revolted and furious, Diana snapped, "Accustom yourself to disappointment—it is too late for any business between us. I do not give myself to mannerless men." She stepped sideways and tried to walk around him, but the cane shot out, hitting the wall with a sharp crack and blocking her with a breast-high barrier.
His sibilant voice heavy with menace, he said, "I have not given you leave to depart."
Diana lifted her chin and glared at him. "I am not subject to your wishes or desires, nor ever will be. Let me pass."
He smiled then, a lazy smile all the more chilling for its genuine amusement. "If you dislike me so much, you would be wiser to yield to me immediately. When I was introduced to you, an hour of your company would have sufficed. After just this little interchange, I will want a full night to have enough of you."
Lifting the cane away from the wall, Veseul pressed it above her heart. Diana sucked in her breath, trying to pull as far away from him as possible as he drew the golden serpent down across her belly, then pushed it into the juncture of her thighs in a quick, obscene gesture. The wall was cold against her bare shoulders and she clenched her hands against their trembling.
His musical French accent was quite lovely as he continued, "The longer you withstand me, the more I will want of you. It is quite simple. Come with me now. In the morning you will be the richer, and I will have satisfied my desires."
Diana's breath came in shallow gasps. She was insane to put herself in a position where she must endure this, and a fool for not having one of the knives she had learned to use so well. Madeline's warnings had not seemed quite real to her, but now, for the first time, Diana could imagine doing violence to another human being. The thought of slashing Veseul's complacent, evil face was less unbearable than the idea of submitting to him.
She struggled to sound calm and unafraid, but there was a tremor in her voice as she whispered, "No! Not tonight, not ever. I will never give myself to a man I despise."
He laughed lightly, the cane holding her to the wall like a pinned butterfly, his black eyes mesmerizing. "Your wishes have nothing to do with the matter. I promise that I will have you. And the more you despise me, the sweeter it will be."
Diana drew her breath in for a scream, but before she could make a sound, he dropped the cane and stepped back. Calmly he executed a graceful bow. "Many thanks for your company, ma fleur. I look forward to our next meeting."
As Diana darted away and fled down the corridor, the Frenchman watched her with a faint smile of satisfaction. He was glad she'd resisted him; the more she prolonged the waiting, the more exquisite his ultimate satisfaction.
She really was extraordinarily beautiful, with her Madonna face and perfect, sensual body. He looked forward to savoring every silken, resisting inch of her.
Chapter 6
Strolling couples were emerging from the boxes for the interval. Diana slowed her flight, struggling to regain her composure as she mingled with the laughing, flirting crowd. Was her fear a wild overreaction to what had happened? After all, Count de Veseul had merely propositioned a courtesan and touched her with his cane. Was that so very dreadful?
She rejected her doubts. A sense of horror lingered from the encounter, and she had learned more about perverse desires in the last ten minutes than in all Madeline's lessons.
She stopped outside the box for a moment, her hand pressed against her solar plexus as she tried to master her nausea. Even now, knowing that she was placing herself in a position where her worst nightmares might become reality, she could not turn back from what she had begun. The intuition that ruled her life insisted that her only hope for a complete, happy life lay in London, pursuing the life of a fallen woman.
Diana's admirers greeted her enthusiastically when she entered the box. With an effort she smiled, trying to appear as if nothing had happened. These men appeared so simple and wholesome compared to the dark depravity of the French count. Clinton gazed at her with his sweet, puppyish adoration and Ridgley shyly asked if he could get her anything to drink.
Before Diana could answer, Madeline's clear voice said, "Diana, my dear, would you mind terribly if we left now? I have a bit of the headache."
Madeline looked perfectly healthy, but her shrewd eye must have seen Diana's distress. Diana willingly seized the excuse to leave. Their admirers escorted the women downstairs and kept them company while the carriage was called.
On the ride home, Diana haltingly described what Veseul had done, her voice breaking entirely when she described the horrible violation of his cane. Madeline held her until the trembling ended and Diana could finish, sketching out the rest of the incident in sparse, painful words.
Craving reassurance, Diana ended by saying, "I'm being childish, aren't I, to be so frightened?"
But Madeline's response was grave. "I'm sorry this happened to you so soon, my dear. Six months from now, you would have been better prepared for such outrageous behavior." She tightened her arm around Diana protectively. "As I've said, sex can arouse dark and dangerous emotions. Veseul sounds like the kind of evil man who is every courtesan's nightmare."
"Despite his threatening words, Veseul may forget your existence quickly. It will help if you avoid public places where he can see you and be tantalized." With a touch of acid, she added, "Demireps
go to the opera for admiration and new customers, so there's no need to advertise yourself further if you've set your heart on St. Aubyn."
"I'm not sure yet if I will accept St. Aubyn," Diana said wearily. "At the moment, retiring to a convent looks appealing."
Shrugging with a rustle of fine cashmere, Madeline replied, "While I wouldn't advocate a convent, it's not too late to change your mind about becoming a Cyprian."
Taking Diana's silence as encouragement, Madeline continued with growing enthusiasm, "Returning to the moors is not the only choice, you know. We can take a house in a provincial city where no one will ever know of your flirtation with infamy. We can find Geoffrey another school as good as Mr. Hardy's. You can make friends, become part of a society that is less grand, but perhaps more honest. Even I might pass as respectable."
"No, Maddy," Diana said, gently breaking into her friend's planning. "I will continue what I am doing, at least for a while. Veseul is despicable, but he is only one man and I should be able to avoid him easily enough. All the other men I've met have been most kind, not frightening like him." She stopped a moment, then added with a note of surprise, "Do you know, I rather enjoy being admired."
Madeline laughed. "It is pleasant, so long as one doesn't take it too seriously."
"Never fear," Diana said dryly. "I've heard too many sermons on vanity and how physical beauty is inevitably doomed by the passage of time to let my head be turned."
Madeline smiled in the dark of the carriage. Perhaps that comment explained Diana's remarkable lack of conceit. If the girl had always been admired and made much of, she might not have become such an unassuming and generous person.
Madeline had had her share of both admiration and vanity, and knew very well that she lacked Diana's essential sweetness. But while she would never be mistaken for a saint, she could protect her protégée from the wickedness of men like Veseul.
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