Mischief

by Laura Parker

  The Mirza gave her a sharp glance. “What a delight you are!” Then to the general company he asked, “Who will be the first to recite, that the lady may choose her partner?”

  Several gentlemen were game, reciting pieces from their public school days of manly deeds or odes to warfare and English pride of place, even a poem or two of sacred prose. When the others were finished, the Mirza clapped then turned to her with an intimate smile. “Now it is my turn.”

  The Mirza recited a poem in Persian which most of the party did not understand. Unfortunately, Devlyn was not one of them. She heard him mutter something too low to be understood and her discomfort increased. The chosen poem was from Ghazal—a romantic ode, the kind a suitor spoke to his ladylove. She was quite pink by the time the Mirza was done.

  Pleased with himself, the Mirza rose from his cushions and helped her to her feet. “So then, memsahib, who gives the better recitation and is therefore worthy of your dance?”

  Japonica recognized that there was only one answer to give and, in truth, the Mirza was the better orator. But to choose a piece from a romantic poet put her in an awkward position.

  “Shall I not have a chance?” she asked. Seeing the Persian ambassador’s brows rise in surprise she hurried on into a recitation of Hafez, the most famous of all Persian poets. “ ‘I remember the days when I lived at the end of your lane, Every time that I looked at your door my eyes shone once again, And I said to myself, ‘Now I never will lack for a friend’—And we tried—how my heart and I tried!—But our efforts were in vain.’ ”

  To her surprise the Mirza’s eyes suddenly shone with tears. He bit his lip and then lifted a hand to his heart “Marhaba! This lady is most attractive, eloquent and sweet spoken. I am deeply touched by the homesickness she feels in her exile. I will make the judgment that she is the winner and for her prize she shall be relieved of the burden of the dance.”

  Shortly thereafter, at precisely two of the clock, the evening was at an end.

  To Japonica’s surprise, the Mirza followed her to the door and saw to it that his personal servant placed her cape about her shoulders. “Did you enjoy yourself, Lady Abbott?” he inquired in English.

  “Oh yes, your Excellency.”

  “Then you must come again to see me.” He sighed. “I am most regretful that it cannot be that I may visit you for some little while. Until I have seen the English King I have sworn not to set foot out of doors for any social purpose.”

  “Then, if it please your Excellency, I should be glad to come and visit you again, though I doubt it shall long be that you remain housebound.”

  He smiled at her. “When will you come to see me? Tomorrow afternoon? I often go riding for exercise in the park nearby. Lord Sinclair will bring you,” the Mirza said in full confidence.

  Japonica glanced at Devlyn for direction and though his expression was bland she knew he disapproved. She turned back to her host with a regretful expression. “Forgive me, your Excellency, but I have been hasty in over-presenting my freedom. I am spoken for tomorrow afternoon. I must beg your indulgence and cry off.”

  A man not often denied his whims, the Mirza gave her a petulant look.

  “Perhaps something can be arranged.” Devlyn’s voice was a dry as dust.

  Japonica dared not look at him twice but her brain moved swiftly to back up his cue. “If it pleases your Excellency, I should be happy to join you for a ride the day after tomorrow. However, I must confess that I do not ride well. Perhaps Lord Sinclair would be good enough to play gallant and drive me about in his new curricle.”

  “It is in the shop,” he said shortly. “I may however offer a barouche.”

  The Mirza smiled again. “Marhaba, Lady Abbott! Until then.”

  They left quickly, Devlyn clasping her elbow in his hand as if she were a felon who might flee at the first opportunity.

  He was angry, she realized. When was he not, she thought with a smile. So then, she did not care. Nothing would spoil her delight in the evening, not even the bitter man at her side.

  The carriages were drawn up to the door in order to save them a drenching, for a chill rain had begun to fall. Devlyn helped her in with great care and ceremony. But once inside, he lost all civility. He flung himself onto the opposite seat and crossed his arms.

  “Well, madam, I hope you are thoroughly pleased with yourself!”

  Japonica noted the edge in his tone but decided not to indulge it. “Yes, it was a delightful evening. I can’t think when I’ve had better.”

  “Yes, it was quite like watching a play.” The scorn in his tone could have removed paint. “You have unsuspected talents. Who knew you could be Cleopatra to the Mirza’s Caesar? We should have rolled you up in a carpet that you might have been unveiled at his feet.”

  Japonica glared him. His spiteful words were beginning to spoil her lovely mood. “You are dissatisfied with my efforts on your behalf?”

  “My behalf? I asked nothing of you.”

  “Did you not bring me to the Mirza’s home?” She leaned forward, her chin angled to provoke. “Was I not meant to entertain and make him smile and forget, for an evening, the dreary task that has brought him as far from his homeland as I am from mine?”

  “I did not ask you to flirt with him until he is half in love with you.”

  “Oh, do you think so?” She leaned back against the carriage squabs. “How amazing that you should think it possible for any man to desire me. It was clear from our first meeting that you thought me a dowd unworthy of a glance.”

  “I never said …” Devlyn stopped and swallowed the lie. “Very well, but you must admit you were dressed like a governess, which was none of my doing. But tonight you dress like …”

  “A houri?” she suggested sweetly. “Which is your doing.” She smoothed a wrinkle from her emerald silk skirts. “Was that not your plan, that the Mirza’s gaze should not long leave me? Was I not but one of the many dishes set before him tonight to tempt his appetite away from the affairs of state?”

  Devlyn simply stared at her, amazed that she had read so completely his duty when he had confided none of it to her. “You certainly took great delight in the task.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? I have never been in a house so splendid, in company so splendid, with a man so splendid.” She added the last as a challenge of her own, and greatly enjoyed doing it. For the first time she felt flush with victory and conquest, as a woman truly esteemed in a man’s eyes.

  “So then you are not averse to continuing in this ‘duty’ to entertain the Mirza?”

  “Not at all,” she answered, though she had no intentions of remaining in London to do so.

  “You will not then be offended if the Mirza should seek from you more than smiles and poems? With royalty there is no such thing as an innocent flirtation. He is aware that you are a widow and therefore accustomed to a man’s attentions.”

  “I am aware. He made his interest quite charmingly apparent.” She pulled her fur-lined cape more closely about her shoulders while Devlyn stared at her as though he would like to box her ears. “Alas, he admits to a vow of chastity made to his sovereign that eclipses even his own inclination.”

  “He said that to you? Bismallah! And you said?”

  Japonica hid her smile. “That I am just at the end of a year’s mourning. While Persian women are chaste because they are forced to be, Englishwomen are chaste by choice. We are then free to go about in the world and treat all men as friends. The Mirza replied that he had never met an Englishwoman of such character and good humor. He would do nothing to set me to flight.”

  “You astonish me.”

  “That is because you expect so little,” Japonica replied. “Were I a beauty that drew all men’s eyes you would not be in the least amazed that I was clever and well-mannered. Or that other men thought me worthy of an evening’s company.”

  “You think so little of me?”

  “I think of you little, �
��tis true,” she replied, and then smiled for he looked so cross. “You do not see me as a woman unless ambushed by the realization, as when you saw me in this dress tonight. If a few yards of silk can so easily turn your head, then I am sure to lose you to the next shop of frocks.”

  Devlyn scowled. “This is a new aspect of your character. I am not certain I like it.”

  “Ah then, not to worry. You shan’t long be forced to endure it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Japonica looked away from him. “Nothing, certainly. It must be the wine speaking. You must forgive me if I do not meet your every expectation, you have so many.”

  “You make me sound like a spoiled brat.”

  “And here I thought to make plain that you are a most difficult man to please.”

  This time he actually smiled. “Half the time I don’t know whether to kiss or throttle you.”

  He said it lightly, so lightly than anyone who overheard it could not mistake it for anything but a tease. But Japonica found she could not smile back. The tease went too deeply into a matter she could not bare to contemplate.

  Devlyn saw the cloud enter her eyes when he thought to make her smile and rail at him once more. What was this, the sudden pale look followed by a blush? Did she doubt he meant his words, or did she hope?

  “I want to go riding tomorrow,” she said suddenly. “Will you accompany me?”

  “You know I don’t ride.”

  She was silent a moment and then said, “Have you not noticed how the Persian Army’s legions of archers hardly ever touch their reins? They ride full gallop into battle with both hands free that they might loose their arrows at the enemy. They control their steeds with their knees. A clever trick, would you not say?”

  Devlyn did not answer. She was “managing” him again and that annoyed him. Yet, why had he not thought of that before? As a lad, he had often pretended to be a knight in armor with a shield in one hand and a lance in the other. A knight’s horse had to feel his rider, and the rider urged his mount with his feet and knees. Yes, he could do that But it did not please him to think she had thought first of what he had been too—well, too stubborn to consider.

  Japonica watched him brood, wondering why she must always feel in the wrong with him. Walking about on cat’s paws was not her metier. How like him to shout and then ignore her. But she did not want to be ignored just now, with wine and success humming in her veins. She wanted what she had had all evening, to be admired by a man, by this man who never seemed to look at her the same way twice.

  She fluffed the curls at her brow with an impatient hand, using it as an excuse to glance at him. His expression in the shadows was not encouraging. She resisted the urge to kick him, but only just. “Will you sulk because you have succeeded? Or is it that I succeeded too well and you cannot admit that I am a thoroughly delightful and desirable woman?”

  “Confound it!” He sprang forward, pinning her between the seat and his body by bracing himself with arms on either side of her head. “Will you prattle on in this manner until I am forced to walk home!”

  Japonica shrank back against the squabs but the feelings awakening inside her were far from fear. “If you continue to assault me in this manner, I will gladly do the walking.”

  Her words seemed to surprise him. “I would never ….” Looking into her skeptical expression he thought better of finishing that sentence, and reared back and flung himself into the far corner of the opposite seat.

  Heart jumping like an acrobat at practice, Japonica once more turned her face to the window, hoping the deep shadows protected her expression from his perusal.

  “If you think—that by buying this gown—” She kept biting her lips, the words hard to speak “—That you have bought me—my—you are very much mistaken!”

  “I apologize. Deeply regret ….” He could not think of anything that would mollify the resentful accusation in her expression.

  “You are no gentleman!” she said through stiff lips.

  She was looking at him with all his imperfections. “No.”

  For the remainder of the ride Devlyn alternated between chastising himself for an idiot and her for a flirt. How could she ever look upon him as a man, one worthy of her regard, when she was perpetually at the ready to “improve” him like some schoolboy in need of polish? No, she would never regard him as he wanted to be thought of by her: as much the man as he had once been.

  So far, he had avoided her pity. He did not believe she could hide that from him, not when her direct gaze offered up her every other thought. Only when they touched, even innocently, did the guard go up in her raisin-brown gaze. She did not want to be touched by him. Damnation! He could not blame her. He had never given her reason to believe that the feelings churning inside him at this very moment were real, and all for her.

  “Fool, you!” he muttered.

  When at last they came to her residence she barely touched the hand he offered to help her step down. “Good night, Lord Sinclair,” she said in a rush of breath, and headed for the front door without bothering to look back.

  She did not realize he was beside her until she reached the top step. One of the new footmen, on the lookout for his mistress, was there to open the door but Devlyn put out a hand to stop her from entering. “I should be grateful for a moment more of your time, Lady Abbott.”

  Japonica cocked her head toward him and saw that while anger still girded his expression there was a genuine request in his eyes. “Very well.” She turned to the footman when she had entered the house. “Is the fire still burning in the library?”

  “No, my lady, but it could be stirred up in a trice.”

  “Never mind. We shall contrive. Good night.”

  She waited until the footman left the hall and then turned to her unwelcome guest. “Yes? What do you wish to discuss?”

  “Only this.”

  There was something like admiration in his expression as he reached out to curve his fingers under her chin. “I have misjudged you, once again.”

  His expression altered, became almost tender. “You possess a magnificence that you are most often at pains to disguise from me. You would have it that the world sees you as plain and uninteresting. It is you who are afraid to be what you know you are. That is what confounds and confuses and beguiles me.” He smiled. “Why do you give more generously of yourself to strangers than you do to one who would be your friend?”

  “You are impetuous to offer your friendship to me,” Japonica said carefully, for his fingers were playing softly along the line of her jaw in such a manner that it made it difficult to think. “You may regret it.”

  He moved a little closer. “If I do, what matter except between the two of us?” His gaze fell from her eyes to her lips. “What if I were to kiss you now? What would you do?”

  “Nothing, my lord, because you will not risk it. You need me to be companion to the Mirza. I doubt a momentary passion of the kind I’m told men are prone to will be allowed to get in the way of your good judgment.”

  “You almost persuade me that you are right. Almost.”

  She had not meant to issue a challenge but she saw at once that she had. He was already bending toward her. The only way to resist his kiss was to anticipate it.

  She lifted a hand to touch his cheek a scarce moment before their mouths touched. This time there was no urgency or agitation in his actions, as if he was going against his own judgment in kissing her. She was conscious of him from head to toe, waited for him to draw her fiercely closer, to fit their bodies together as closely as their lips. But he did not. After several heartbeats he lifted his head. When he looked at her this time it was with wonder and a question.

  She did not think about what she was doing, did not allow herself any thought, only feelings. It felt right. She turned slowly from him and began to mount the stairs. She did not look back, did not invite him by gesture or word, yet she sighed in thanksgiving when she hea
rd his footsteps behind her. She moved quickly but quietly down the corridor to her room and then through her bedroom door. Finally, as she heard him close the door and set the latch, she dropped her cape on the floor and waited.

  Chapter Eighteen

  He moved in behind her slowly until the heat of his body reached out to her against the chill of the dark room. She did not speak. Could not think of a single thing she might say to him that would make sense of what they were doing. There were no excuses she could make to herself. Feelings guided her, a deep inarticulate need to alter the history between them. If she were being brave or utterly foolish, it did not matter. She would know in the next few breaths if something had changed between them, a balance had shifted, making possible a counterpoint to a night that he could not remember but one that she could not forget.

  Aware of what she offered but doubtful of the reasons behind it, Devlyn hesitated to touch her. It made no sense after the evening in which she had been the center of attention of a dozen men more highly placed and better mannered, men far more charming than he. Whole men. And at this moment he hated them because of it.

  She did not know that for the last few hours he had sat next her, mute as a eunuch in his admiration of her skill in entertaining a man of the Mirza’s refinement. She could not guess that he had more than once briefly closed his eyes to better enjoy the fragrance of her perfume. It evoked in him a chimera of exotic places that remained shadowed, thrilling moments and desperate hours that had no real shape of memory but were all the more powerful for being insubstantial. He had allowed himself to think of all the things they might never be in reality. In his thoughts he had longed for this moment, and been just as certain that after this evening it would never be his.