The clapping grew louder. So did the cheers and whistles and foot stomping in the audience.
Lord Gorham cheered and clapped and ogled along with the rest, which was not what Claire had in mind for the decorous evening of culture, or for her lover. She stuck her elbow in his ribs.
The marquis stood and announced the billiards tourney, with cards, chess, and charades for those waiting their turns at the billiards table. Supper was at twelve.
Claire won the billiards match as expected, handily defeating every single one of the other women. Alice came in second and Ruby third. Simone lost to all of them and refused to try against anyone else, including Sandaree. She blamed Harry for not teaching her, which drew ribald comments about balls and shafts from some of the men who were making up for their missed port with Gorham’s cognac. Lord Bowman offered to instruct her, on the spare billiards table in the greenhouse.
Harry pulled her out of the room, but not before sending a sour look in Bowman’s direction. There was no spare table, of course.
Simone defeated Gorham, Captain Entwhistle, and Mr. Anthony at chess. Too bad they were not playing for money or points in the contest. Sandaree watched, trying to learn the game, until Mr. Anthony set out another board to let her practice. The captain went to join Daisy at charades, and Gorham went to cheer on Claire, not that she needed it.
Simone lost to Harry. Too bad she could not concentrate with him so close. “We must talk,” she tried to tell him when their next match ended in a draw.
“Not here, not now,” was all he said.
They played chess until the midnight supper, neither wishing to take part in the risqué games that had supplanted charades in the parlor. The talk around the Egyptian Room, where the cold collation was set out, centered on the talent contest at first. Much of the debate was which had been better, the ballet or the pianoforte tonight. Maura’s jig was an audience pleaser, but no one thought it measured up. Besides, Maura’s ankles were a bit thick.
No one dared suggest either of the others was better than Claire’s performance. Of the earlier entertainments, the harp, violin, poetry, whistling or trick horseback riding, none were in contention. Not one of those women was even part of the house party any longer.
Claire took the opportunity of having everyone’s attention to once more ask Simone about her performance. This time she did not ask what Simone intended, only if she had any talent at all, other than displaying her legs atop an unmannered horse.
Simone was relieved she could say, “Yes, I think I do have a talent my friends might find entertaining. I prefer it to stay a surprise for now.”
Harry looked surprised, too, as if he could not imagine what new skill Simone had discovered overnight. “Can you win?”
“I can try,” Simone told him, making him smile. Which made her stomach flutter.
Claire consulted the notes she constantly carried. “Well, tomorrow Miss Mary Connors is going to enact Shakespeare for us, and Miss Sandaree is going to perform a dance from her native country. Both very edifying, I am certain, suitable for a Sunday. I believe Miss Alice Morrow is also planning a surprise. I pray it is not delivering her by-blow in my parlor.”
Gorham cleared his throat.
“Why are you looking at me so disapprovingly? In polite society, a lady would not show her face in public with her condition so evident.” Claire quickly looked over to where Harry was shaking his head, reminding her that not every pregnant female could afford to go on tour. “Yes, well, I am sure we all wish her and the infant well.” She went back to her lists. “The following day, Monday, is the night of our grand ball, of course. Also the judging for best dressed and best dancer. Which leaves Tuesday, the last night of the house party, for Ruby to cut her silhouettes, Daisy to find some talent other than milking cows and sewing hems, and you.” Claire’s scathing tone of voice said she had no fears that any of them could surpass her own artistry. “I thought I might sing a bit afterward if there is time, in case anyone forgot my earlier presentation.”
As if anyone could forget hearing what was once the finest voice in England, Simone thought, or as if Claire would let them. “I’m sure we will all be delighted to hear you sing again before we leave.”
“And I do need to keep my voice exercised.” She slapped a lobster patty onto Gorham’s plate. “In case I have to resume my career.”
“Your fans will be pleased.”
Claire would not be. She slammed another lobster cake on her lover’s dish. Gorham hated lobster. It made his eyes swell shut.
“Wednesday the final category will be judged,” she continued. “What Gorham and I have decided to call Quality. That includes appearance, demeanor, everything a woman should have to bear the title of Queen of the Courtesans. After that, the points will be counted and tallied, to be followed by an early dinner and celebration. Then everyone can set out for London before dark.” And Claire could start her packing. She popped a forkful of lobster in Gorham’s mouth.
Simone finally went up to her bedchamber. Harry said he would follow soon, so she quickly washed and changed into yet another new, nearly nude nightgown. Then she dismissed Sarah, who’d been sewing on what Simone bought that afternoon.
Once her maid was gone, Simone gathered blankets again for another bed on the floor. She did not get into her own, not yet.
When Harry entered through the dressing room door, he stayed rooted in one spot, staring at her in the firelight. Simone knew her every curve showed through the thin fabric, her darker nipples, her red lower curls. For once she was glad to own such immodest apparel, seeing him speechless, knowing she’d addled his wits, the same as he did to her.
“My god, you are beautiful,” he finally managed to say.
He was, too, with his untied neckcloth draped around his neck, his black hair curling over his forehead, looking as if a woman had already run her hands through it. A woman soon would, Simone vowed.
She handed him a large paper sack from the shopping excursion. Inside were paper twists filled with the peppermint drops he wanted, but also rum balls, taffy, marchpane, boiled honey, licorice, and tiny sugar mice.
“What, did you empty the apothecary shop?”
“I didn’t know your favorites, so I bought some of everything.”
“Trying to turn me up sweet, are you?” He put the sack on the mantel, out of the dog’s reach.
“I wanted to apologize to you for lying to Jem and Daniel. And for taking your horse without permission. But I really had to win that race. Can you forgive me?”
While she was standing in front of the hearth wearing what amounted to a shadow and a smile, Harry knew he’d forgive her anything. Damn, his mouth was watering, and not for a peppermint drop or a rum ball. He wanted to take her in his arms— Hell, he wanted to take her to that bed behind them—but knew they had to talk. Which meant he had to keep his distance. “I’ll forgive you because you did not break your neck, or Fidus’s. Now that I know you can manage him, I can forget my horror at seeing you on the brute.”
“You do not have to worry that I’ll try again. Fidus is as willful as a demon, and twice as strong. But tell me, are you angry at Jem? None of it was his fault, you know, and I cannot let him take the blame for my actions.”
“I doubt any man could stand up to you, and Jem is just a boy, really. It’s Daniel who should have stopped you. He knew I did not give permission.”
“How could he know, when he had not spoken to you?”
“Because I never would give you leave to ride Fidus, that’s how. And because Daniel is big enough to carry you away if you did not listen to his reasonable arguments. He could have stopped you from killing yourself. He should have.”
“But I did not injure myself or the horse. And I won.”
“That doesn’t make it right. Promise me you won’t take chances like that again.”
“But, Harry, what if you were in danger, or my brother was? I’d have to chance my own safety. What if someone’s life depen
ded on me?”
What could he say? “My life depends on you.”
She sat on the bed, as if waiting for him to join her. He did not. He bent to pet the dog instead.
Simone drew her feet up. “Now, tell me about Madame Lecroix. Was she truly the spy you were looking for?”
“I am waiting to hear.”
“But, Harry, if you did not know who was involved, how did you know to look here, at Lord Gorham’s party, for a plot against the country?”
“I heard rumors that tasted true.”
She smiled. “Tasted? Don’t you mean sounded?”
“That also.” He rubbed behind Blacky’s ears without looking at her. “What if I said I could taste the difference between the truth or a lie?”
Simone stared at him and the dog, trying to gauge whether he was teasing her or testing her somehow. “I’d say you were speaking nonsense, of course. What you described is impossible.”
“Of course it is.” He reached for the sack of sweets.
She wanted to shake him for spinning tales when she wanted answers. “Are you really involved in espionage?”
“Did you doubt my word?”
“I didn’t know what to think, your explanations were so fantastical, when you gave any at all. So are you a spy?”
“No, I never do the actual gathering of information. I mostly organize it, decide if rumors are worth pursuing, then send someone else to act on the ones that are. I am, I was, that is, a glorified clerk, that’s all.”
Simone knew he had to be more than that, or why would he need so many disguises, why would he think people were trying to kill him? The more she mulled over what she knew, the more questions she had. “Harry, how is it that you trust me with your secrets, if they are so important to the country’s welfare?”
“Because soon it won’t matter. I did try to tell you my involvement with the intelligence department will be over after this week. I cannot explain more yet, not with so much at stake. As for the other, my appearing as the major, that was unfortunate and I instantly regretted putting you in jeopardy. But I was short on time and had to know if you could be trusted. If I decided you could not, then you would have been placed in a governess position in the country where you could not interfere with our plans.”
“You could simply conjure up a governess job when I’d been looking for months? No, do not answer that. I don’t want to know. But what about now? Do you have no fear that I will betray you?”
He came closer and sat on the bed. “You said you would not.”
“You believed me? Just like that?”
“Just like nectar.”
“Drat, Harry, you are back to making no sense. Sometimes I think you are uncommonly clever, but then you speak of nectar, and I worry that your brain is stuffed with cotton wool.”
“Sometimes I am not sure myself.” He smoothed the covers on the bed. “If I tried to explain, you’d be convinced my attics were to let. More importantly, yes, I believed you. Shouldn’t I?”
“Of course you should. I would never tell anyone about Mr. Harris or Harold the driver. But what if we argue and I change my mind? What if you turn brutish like Danforth or flirt with one of the real Cyprians? I might seek revenge like Lady Gorham.”
“That will not happen.”
Which, his cruelty or his disloyalty? She knew her heart would break if he cast her off, and everyone knew about a woman spurned. “Who can say what a woman feels, what she will do?”
“No man, for certain. But if my plan succeeds, then no one will believe you. Enough of that. Tell me about this secret performance of yours.”
Simone pulled the covers up over herself because the silly nightgown offered no warmth; Harry’s words and quick change of topic were chilling.
He took her hand in his, seeming to understand. “Tell me.”
So she did, and asked for his help because she had no other choice. She did not want him to compromise his honor or betray friendships, just share a little of the information she knew he had.
Harry thought about it for less than a minute while he rubbed his thumb over the sensitive palm of her hand. “You are brilliant, my dear! That is just what I need to trap our blackmailer. I’ll do it. I’ll even wear a gold hoop in my ear.”
“I thought you should sport a fake moustache.”
“Hell, no. That is, I hate the things. So do you. And a moustache might remind people of Mr. Harris or the major. I don’t intend to put one on again, not ever. Or spectacles. I’ll wear them when I am seventy, not before.”
“What about a sash around your waist?”
“Am I supposed to look like a pirate or a Gypsy?”
“You are supposed to look like Harry, my lover.”
Now every inch of his body became sensitive, straining toward hers, half naked on the white sheets, her red hair in a night braid already coming loose. Oh, lord, he wanted her more than he wanted to see the end of Major Harrison. He didn’t need any strange powers or complicated plotting or a wealth of information, only Simone. She pulled the sheets down and patted the space beside her. She wanted him.
He was ready to rip his clothes off and join her under the covers. Hell, he was ready to burst. That was the problem. He knew she’d never leave that bed a virgin if they shared it. No one could ask him to spend another night lying beside her, giving her pleasure and taking none, not even himself. He wasn’t that much of a saint. No red-blooded male was. He stood up. “I cannot do it.”
“You can’t? Lydia and her girls said—”
“I won’t,” he amended. “I gave you my word.”
“I am giving it back.”
“No, I cannot be so unfair to you. You want a better life than you had. This is not it. You’ve seen what happens: the men go back to their wives or they find a respectable debutante to wed, if she is rich enough. Or else they simply move on to another woman like bees flitting from flower to flower. You do not want to travel that road, you’ve always said so, and I cannot let myself walk down that path with you.”
“I have reconsidered. Yes, I have seen what happens to affairs between a man and his mistress. I’ve also seen how some couples find unending love.”
He was a man. How could he speak of love? How could he promise forever, when next week was so uncertain? “You could change your mind tomorrow, too late. No, my dear, we shall keep to our original terms.”
“You do not want me?”
“Now who is attics to let, sweetheart?” He shifted uncomfortably. “A blind man could see how much I want you. I dare not pass any of the servants in this state. I almost regret Gorham’s hot water plumbing is so efficient, or I’d take a cold bath. Maybe I’ll jump in Gorham’s ornamental fish pond, or a horse trough. No, I’d still want you. And that is why I have to leave. Besides, I need to go see if Daniel is back. And I, ah, need to walk the dog. Don’t wait up.”
Simone found herself alone. Tonight should have been an evening to celebrate her race win, to count her points and her coins, to rehearse her coming performance. Instead she realized that more money was unnecessary, that the success meant little and the competition meant less.
All she really wanted was Harry.
Chapter Twenty-Four
In the morning, Simone was in Harry’s arms, and Harry was in rut. Again. Still. He jumped out of bed and grabbed for his robe to hide the evidence. When he’d returned last night, early this morning, she woke up and held her arms out. How could a gentleman refuse? Besides, he was exhausted enough to fall asleep despite the scent of her beside him, her murmurs of content as she snuggled closer, the silk of her skin, the warmth of her body, hell, he hardly slept at all. A few more days, he told himself, and they could be done playacting. He’d pay her the fee, send her wherever she wished, and finally get some rest. A few more days and he’d be insane.
And Gorham was right: he’d be more insane to let her go.
Simone yawned, rubbed her eyes, and asked, “Why are you always running away from me?”
>
“I’m not—” His mouth puckered up before he could finish the sentence. Lud, was he going to need another sack of sweets before breakfast?
“The dog has to go out again.”
Simone looked at the dog, who was snoring at the foot of the bed. Now her mouth puckered.
“Well, he ought to be exercised and the day is going to be too busy for much of that later.”
“Nonsense. Today is Sunday, and I doubt anyone in this group will be rushing into the village church.” Simone intended to. She needed to ask forgiveness for the sins she had committed, and more for the sins she hadn’t committed but wanted to. She would keep sinning, too, if she could get Harry to cooperate.
She did not need to go into the village, Harry told her. Claire and Gorham had a cleric coming to their private chapel at Griffin Woods. They usually attended services at the local church, where Gorham donated enough blunt to make them welcome in the front pew. The villagers were used to seeing Claire and Gorham together, and needed the trade with the manor besides, so no one threw stones or sermons at them. They were not invited to the mayor’s house for Sunday dinner, or to the squire’s for tea, but otherwise they were fairly well accepted in the neighborhood. “Gorham did not think the village could deal with nine more fast women and fornicators, though, so the vicar is sending his curate here.”
“Do you think anyone will attend?”
“If they hope to gain points for Quality, they will. Claire seems to think godliness is worth a guinea or two. I suppose most of the others will go out of duty or habit.”
“What of you?” Simone realized she knew little of his thoughts and beliefs. “Do you attend church regularly?”
“The good lord and I have an understanding. He worries about the hereafter, I do my best here and now. Shall you go?”
“I’d intended to, unless you have other plans for this morning.” She stretched, showing her bosom in the sheer nightgown, on purpose. Whatever plans he had could be changed, couldn’t they?
He turned away. “I will escort you to the chapel, then, when you are ready.”
The Scandalous Life of a True Lady Page 23