They traveled more slowly than he would have preferred, but at least his chances of reaching General Romana were good. And during the journey, he had ample time to think about who among the handful of people aware of his mission might have betrayed him.
* * *
Each week passed more slowly than the one before. The earliest time Gervase might have returned passed, and anxiety was a tight, constant knot inside Diana. She spent more time than usual at knife throwing, not because she needed the practice but because the concentration required kept fear at bay. There was satisfaction in the familiar weight of the weapon in her hand, the narrow focus on the target, then the solid thunk! as the blade buried itself.
On this dull July morning, she had been throwing for half an hour or so with only Tiger for an audience when Madeline entered and sat down to watch. After observing for a while, the older woman asked, "Does this make you feel better?"
Diana smiled wryly. "Knife throwing does relieve tension." She walked down the narrow room to collect her weapons.
Madeline asked hesitantly, "It isn't just that St. Aubyn is away, is it? You have been... edgy, uncertain ever since we stayed at Aubynwood. Is something wrong between you, or shouldn't I ask?"
Diana tugged at an embedded knife. She had great difficulty discussing her deepest emotions even with her closest friend, but she owed Maddy an explanation. In a brittle voice she said, "Everything was fine at Aubynwood until the end. Then he wanted me to forsake all others, and I refused, and talked about love, and he went off in a huff."
Freeing the blade, she returned to the upper end of the range. "As you know, he came back, but ever since February, he has been watching me like Tiger watches birds in the back garden. For months I have felt as if something is waiting to happen. And then he went away."
A fan of knives in her right hand, she shook her head. "I don't know what to think, Maddy. I know that he wants me, and I'm sure it is more than just lust, but I don't understand him, or what is going on between us."
With a trace of humor, Madeline said, "Sometimes I think men and women are two entirely different species that just happen to be able to mate."
Diana gave a twisted smile. "Perhaps you are right." She hefted a knife, then flipped it underhand and missed the bull's-eye by a hand span, a poor throw for her.
Madeline sighed. Diana was suffering and even her best friend could offer little in the way of comfort. Except, perhaps, by distracting her a bit. "Have you ever heard of the Cyprians' Ball?"
"The what?" Diana asked with astonishment.
"Obviously I never mentioned it. It's just what the name implies—a ball given by courtesans for their favored clients. Parliament will be ending soon and society will be heading to Brighton or the country, so this is a way of reminding the gentlemen of what they will be missing."
Intrigued, Diana said, "A gathering of famous men and infamous women?"
"An apt description," Madeline agreed with a smile. "It's usually held in the Argyle Rooms. This year's ball is tomorrow night and I'd really like to attend. It's been so long since I've been out. Will you go with me?"
Diana hesitated. "What will the men present expect?"
"You won't have to do anything you don't want to," Madeline assured her, "though it might be better to leave before it gets too late, since there are always those who drink too much. Will you come? I do want to go, but not alone, and I doubt Edith could be persuaded."
"If you want to, of course I'll go with you," Diana said Absorbed in her thoughts of Gervase, she hadn't considered how dull Maddy's life was. Getting out would be better than staying home and brooding for still another evening.
* * *
The Argyle Rooms were very splendid and, most of the time, very respectable. Tonight, however, decent women kept their distance to avoid contamination; also, perhaps, to avoid the horrid possibility of seeing their own fathers, husbands, or sons join the Fashionable Impures, "a company more fair than honest."
Madeline was lovely in a bronze-colored dress cut modestly in deference to her years. In a mood to be admired, Diana wore a blue silk gown which she thought rather dashing, but which was positively prudish in this company, where the most daring exposed their breasts completely.
There were many young bachelors since they were the Cyprians' best customers; men were not expected to live without sex until they wed. The women were uniformly attractive, and far more flamboyant than respectable ladies. The dancing was also far more intimate, and some of the activities in corners caused Diana to turn her eyes quickly away.
But Maddy was right: it was good to be among people. Concern for Gervase was a weight on her heart, but the music was gay, the dancing lively, and high spirits abounded. She and Madeline quickly attracted a group of admirers, several of whom she had met on her previous excursions into the world of the demireps. Naturally Harriette Wilson herself was present, and gales of appreciative laughter came from the circle around her.
Diana relaxed, chatting and listening and even dancing with some of the shyer young men, who seemed unlikely to be too demanding. Seeing that her protégée was doing well, Madeline wandered off in mid-evening to talk with old friends.
The night was well advanced when Diana found a quiet corner by the musicians' platform to catch her breath and watch the dancing. After a few minutes, a group of young men stopped nearby. From their rowdiness it was obvious that they had been drinking heavily, and Diana edged away, not wanting to catch the young bucks' attention.
As she did, she noticed an elegant young man with light brown hair several feet in front of her. He seemed familiar, and after a moment she recognized him as Francis Brandelin, Gervase's cousin, whom she had met briefly the same evening she had met the viscount. Like her, he was watching the dancers and minding his own business.
One of the group of drunken revelers said in a voice pitched to carry over the music, "Look! Who would believe that Brandelin would be here? From what I remember of Eton, I wouldn't have thought women were his preference."
A coarse burst of laughter greeted the remark, and Diana saw Francis Brandelin's lips tighten to a thin line as his face paled. Another drunken voice said, "But he's such a pretty fellow, maybe he wants to rival our Harriette."
Diana caught her breath at the cruelty of it. What they implied was the most vicious of slanders, an allegation of a crime punishable by death. Their target looked stricken and unsure, as if torn between confronting his accusers, ignoring them, or walking away.
Moved by pure impulse, Diana came forward from her corner to stand in front of Gervase's cousin. Laying a hand on his arm, she said in a throaty, seductive voice, "Francis, darling, I'm so glad you came. I've been looking everywhere for you."
He stared at her, his expression strained and confused. As the jeers from the neighboring group died away, she linked her hands around his neck and said reproachfully, "You've been neglecting me, darling. It's been three days." She sighed, then added huskily, "That last time was such a night."
Standing on tiptoe, she pressed a light kiss on his lips, saying softly as she drew back, "Don't look so surprised. Smile at me as if you mean it, then we can walk away from them."
Understanding flickered in his eyes and he smiled down at her and offered his arm. "It has been much too long," he said clearly, "I trust you saved tonight for me?"
She cuddled close, looking as provocative as she knew how. "Of course, darling. Tonight and any other night you wish."
Leaving dead silence behind, they walked away. When they had circled halfway around the room and were out of sight of the group that had been baiting him, Francis drew her into a vacant alcove and examined her carefully, his expression puzzled. "You're Diana Lindsay, aren't you? The Fair Luna who appeared once, and has hidden her face since."
"Yes." Diana released his arm. "I'm sorry, I hope I didn't embarrass you."
"On the contrary, you helped me out of an unpleasant situation. Why?"
Diana glanced at him; then her
eyes slid away as she sat on the small sofa. It was easier to act than to explain. "I guess I didn't like the odds. Six of them and only one of you."
His voice edged with bitterness, he said, "Would you aid me if what they said was true, if I was guilty of abominations'?"
Startled, she raised her eyes to his. Madeline had once explained in a matter-of-fact way how some men preferred their own kind, and were greatly reviled for it. It seemed bizarre to Diana, something entirely outside her experience, and she had no idea how to respond. But as she studied Francis Brandelin, she could feel the anguish in him. "A woman in my trade is hardly qualified to speak of abominations. I prefer to live and let live."
His face eased and he sat down next to her. "Then you are very unusual." Francis' gaze was appraising. "That time you appeared at Harriette's, my cousin St. Aubyn reacted to you like..." He paused, searching for a suitable simile, "...like Galahad seeing the Holy Grail. I asked once if he was... seeing you, and he just looked at me, then changed the subject."
His voice held a questioning note and Diana almost laughed aloud. She knew all about how Gervase could look, and it was comforting to know that he was the same with his nearest relative as he was with her. Shaking her head, she said, "Would you expect me to be less discreet than he?"
"I suppose not," he said with regret. "I hoped that he had made some arrangement with you. He works too hard. I'd like to think he found time for some enjoyment."
"You and your cousin are close?"
He shrugged expressively. "I suppose I'm as close as anyone. He was the nearest thing I had to a brother. When I started at Eton, he kept the other boys from bullying me too much. After my father died, he was one of my guardians until I came of age, though he was in India much of the time."
"You sound fond of him." Diana knew she should end this conversation, but she couldn't resist talking about Gervase.
"Oh, yes, he's the best of good fellows." Francis' tone was briefly enthusiastic. Then the expression of strain returned and he looked down at his hands, which were twisting restlessly. "If you do see him, you won't tell him what happened tonight—what they were saying about me?"
Diana felt a surge of compassion. If this young man indeed had unorthodox preferences, he must be terrified at the thought that those he loved most would hear, and condemn him. Resting her hand on his, she said gently, "Of course not. Who could possibly be interested in the ramblings of drunken louts?"
His face eased at her words. There was little physical resemblance to Gervase, but he was pleasant and attractive, with a vulnerability that reminded her of Geoffrey. Though Francis must be near her own age, she felt much older. He looked up and said with a faint smile, "You are a very restful woman. Would you... may I call on you sometimes? Just to talk?"
She suspected that he needed to talk rather badly. "Of course. I live at 17 Charles Street. Late morning and early afternoon are the best times." She smiled and stood. "I suppose that we should leave together if we wish to maintain the charade, but I must find my friend Madeline first."
He stood also and said with his first real amusement, "Leaving with not one, but two, beautiful women would do my reputation no end of good."
Madeline was located, and was quite ready to leave and to accept Francis Brandelin's escort. After introducing them, Diana excused herself to go to the ladies' retiring room upstairs. Three Cyprians who had been very active about their trade earlier in the evening were resting, and their bawdy forthrightness made her blush to her ears. Even after her months as a mistress, she clearly had much to learn about what might occur between men and women, so she took care of her business and left hastily.
The hallway and stairs to the lower floor were empty and dark, and many of the candles in the wall brackets were burned out or guttering. At the bottom of the grand staircase she turned to go back to the main ballroom, not even seeing the man who waited under the stairs.
The first she knew of his presence was when a pair of strong arms seized her from behind and dragged her under the staircase. Before she could cry out, her arms were pinioned and a hard hand was clamped over her mouth as her captor pulled her back against his body. The man was tall and broad, and she guessed who he was even before the menacing French-accented voice whispered, "What a pleasant surprise, cherie. I did not expect you to appear in public with your own kind."
Diana could smell spirits on Veseul's breath, and there was an uncontrolled note in his voice more frightening than the cool ruthlessness she had seen in him before. He nipped her ear, his teeth sharp and painful. She struggled, trying to free her arms, but was helpless against his size and strength.
"Ah, you're a lively wench." Then, his breath quickening, he said hoarsely, "My God, but you can stir a man's blood. Come home with me now and I'll show you how a Frenchman makes love." She felt his hard arousal against her buttocks, and he began rubbing against her, thrusting his hips rhythmically as one hand slid across her body. He fumbled at the bodice of her low-necked gown, sliding his hand inside to grasp her breast.
Revolted by his violation, she bit furiously at the hand across her mouth, managing to sink her teeth into one of his fingers. She tasted the metallic sweetness of his blood as he swore and tightened his grip on her face, at the same time squeezing her breast painfully, his fingers digging deep into the soft flesh. His voice harsh and angry, he snarled, "Your lover won't be back, you know. St. Aubyn will never escape the Continent alive. He is almost certainly dead already."
He pinched her nipple viciously, but that pain was nothing compared to the agony his words caused. For a moment she froze, numb with shock. Above their heads she heard footsteps, and she took advantage of Veseul's momentary distraction to twist free of his grip.
He could have recaptured her easily but he hesitated when the Cyprians from upstairs came down the steps and passed within three feet. Diana darted over, putting the bypassers between her and the count, gasping, "Please, help me."
One of the women gave a scornful, half-drunk snort. "What's the matter, muffy, is 'e too much man for you?"
Diana shook her head, unable to speak, then made her escape, not looking back at the shadowy figure beneath the stairs. When she reached the ballroom, she paused for a moment, automatically straightening her gown and running a hand over her hair while she tried to compose herself.
Could Veseul know if something had happened to Gervase? Diana would not, could not, believe it. If disaster had befallen her lover, surely she would know it, would feel his absence from the emotional bond that linked them. Veseul merely knew that the viscount was away and used that knowledge to throw her off balance, perhaps hoping confusion would make her more easily swayed. But she was not quite the innocent she had been the first time she had encountered the Frenchman and his dark demands, and she would not allow herself to break down.
Maddy and Francis Brandelin looked at her oddly but made no comment on her flushed face or breathlessness. Instead, Francis offered both women an arm and led them outside to the carriage, covering Diana's silence with witty gallantries.
None of the three noticed an older man coming late to the ball. The gentleman stopped and stared as the group passed him on the stairs, so close he knew he could not be mistaken in his identification. He didn't stay long at the ball, and on his return home he wrote a note before retiring. It was very short, and began with the words: The Black Velvet Rose has returned.
* * *
Raging, the Count de Veseul left the Argyle Rooms and went to an expensive brothel he sometimes frequented. Even though he'd desired Diana Lindsay from the moment he saw her, he had not expected to feel such virulent, ungovernable passion when he actually held her in his arms. She had caused him to make a fool of himself, and he was grimly determined that someday she would pay for that humiliation.
At the brothel he demanded that the madam parade all of her available girls, as attractive a group of whores as could be found in London. None had Diana Lindsay's refinement or stunning beauty, but one
called Meggie was the right height, with chestnut hair and blue eyes, and in dim light she would do well enough.
He chose her with a curt gesture. Upstairs in the sumptuous candlelit bedroom, he ordered the girl to strip her clothes off and lie on the bed. After locking the door, he removed his cravat and used it to tie her wrists to the bedposts. Unsurprised, Meggie said, "This'll cost you extra, my lord," in a harsh cockney accent quite different from the musical, educated tones of the woman who was becoming his obsession.
His eyes rested on Meggie without expression as he lifted his cane and stroked her with the gold serpent head, drawing it across the curves and valleys of her body, teasing and jabbing with increasing intimacy. Experienced in the ways of men, she gave practiced little moans of pleasure, as if all her life she had been waiting for a man to make love to her with a cane.
But it wasn't cooperation that he wanted, it was fear.
Swearing with vexation, he withdrew the cane and twisted the gold head off to reveal the thin, glittering blade of a swordstick. As candlelight reflected along the bright edge, he said with silky threat, "Will you enjoy this as much, little putain?"
Meggie's eyes were blue-gray, not the deep lapis lazuli of Diana Lindsay's. They opened now and the bored compliance of a prostitute was replaced by horror as he laid the blade on her breast. The tip was so sharp that only the lightest of pressure was required to break the skin and draw a shallow slash from nipple to navel. She screamed, a high-pitched shriek of pure terror as he raised the sword over her, paused to let her fully understand her danger, then lunged forward to stab the blade into a mattress a bare inch from her throat.
Her fear was everything he could wish for. With leisurely unconcern, the Frenchman unbuttoned his breeches and covered her, thrusting into her body as she continued to scream and fists began pounding on the door. He allowed himself the luxury of imagining that the writhing body and panic-stricken face beneath him belonged to Diana Lindsay, and his violent assault relieved some of his angry frustration.
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