The Scoundrel's Secret Siren

by Daphne du Bois

  “Oh, you simply must come and meet Winny. The Baron Winapple, I mean. He is the dearest creature,” Julia said with an affectionate smile. “We have been acquainted since we were children, you know. His mama is a very sociable lady and moves in the same circles as mine. Why, he bears almost as much fuss as I about attending all fashionable events, though I have always thought that he does not mind it. ”

  The Baron Winapple was easily the most noticeable guest in the room, due to his remarkable height. He was a blond man who towered over everybody.

  “He often gets asked his height,” Julia said quietly with a shake of her head. “I understand he’s taken to giving very cutting set-downs to those who do. Mr Brummel himself would have been impressed. And he never dances – he is even more cutting to matrons who try to foist their daughters on him or force him to dance. No master of ceremonies has ever intimidated him into accepting that unhappy duty. I expect he will not dance even with his own wife, when he marries.”

  It was difficult to imagine anyone forcing the baron to do something he did not want. He seemed entirely ensconced within his chair, as though he had every intention of remaining there all night. He did, however tap his feet and drum his fingers along with the music, which implied either a musical ear or a restless spirit. The somnolent look on his face implied the former – the baron did not look the least bit restless.

  Julia shepherded Lorelei over to the Baron.

  Before an introduction could be made, however, Mr Hunter came and requested Julia take a turn about the room with him, and Lorelei caught sight of the earl again. The earl of Winbourne ruled over the ton with a steely fist, though he barely seemed to do anything at all. A raised eyebrow from him could be the making or the undoing of anyone, from the freshest debutante to a staunch leader of ton.

  Lorelei had seen many wilt beneath that supercilious expression and she was determined that he realise that she herself did not give a fig for the man’s judgement. She did not like it when people presumed to think themselves able to sway her reputation. Perhaps that had been her first mistake – her easy carelessness amused him, and it had managed do the impossible and hold the attention it had captured.

  Winbourne lounged indolently on his unassailable seat of power, surrounded by a company of fawning toad-eaters. Lorelei watched, amused, as he made a cutting remark about a duchess’s choice of ostrich-feather hair ornament and a dandy’s alarmingly scarlet trousers and a starched collar which nearly extended above his head.

  The earl seemed expert in matters of dress and deportment: he spoke from a position of immutable taste. His worst offenders risked finding themselves in utter social exile. When he was alone at last, Lorelei moved to speak to him, perhaps to prove that, despite whatever had passed between them, she was capable of being civil - perhaps to prove as much to herself.

  “I do not think that was very kind of you,” she said, raising her own eyebrows at the earl. “It is hardly the lady’s fault if she likes ostrich feathers.”

  She motioned with her fan, in an accidentally elegant gesture, which showed off the slim delicacy of her wrist and the beautiful cream silk and gold filigree of the fan. It complimented her hair and gown wonderfully. Winbourne had to admit that he was impressed by the simple tastefulness of the ensemble.

  A lady’s choice of fan was an unmistakable marker of her breeding and temperament. Yet, though she was certainly no intriguante, Miss Lorelei Lindon was impossible for him to understand. Valerie, he remembered, had favoured bright, brash fans, which mirrored the openly passionate temperament she never reined in completely.

  Lorelei’s fan caught the candlelight and shimmered in muted beauty. Winbourne remembered a quote by Madame de Stael claiming that no ornament among women’s paraphernalia could match the versatility and produce so great an effect as the fan. He agreed wholeheartedly.

  He was almost caught unawares when another acquaintance approached him.

  “Well, my dear boy, and how are you?” asked the elderly Lady Dilcott, ”I see you have another young lady in your thrall.”

  She threw a scrutinising look Lorelei’s way.

  “I am surprised to see you out so late,” Winbourne replied in a matching teasing tone, evidently surprising Lorelei, who was curiously following the exchange. “And you should not presume, Lady Dilcott. This is Miss Lorelei Lindon, and she is certainly very far from being in my thrall.”

  The lady’s clever eyes settled on Lorelei a moment. “Hmph. A pleasure, I am sure, young lady.”

  Then she turned back to the earl. “Ah, I suppose you think I ought to be at home napping, or buried alive with my needles and thread. Well, perish the thought, my boy.” She gave a roguish smile and then proceeded to ignore him in favour of Lorelei. “Miss Lindon? Not the general’s daughter? Well, my dear, I knew your grandmother. You have her cheekbones…”

  They spoke for quite some time, while Winbourne looked on indulgently. At last, Julia interrupted the conversation by shooting Lorelei an unmistakably desperate look across the room, before fleeing to the library. Lorelei politely excused herself from Lady Dilcott and Winbourne, who wore a long-suffering expression, having also caught sight of his niece.

  “I am very sorry: I think Julia wants me. She seems quite out of sorts” she said, closing her fan.

  “Yes you had better go and see what absurd fancy is distressing the foolish creature now,” the earl said dismissively.

  Lorelei shot him a disapproving look but she did not feel like wasting more time in argument, though she would be sure to tell him off for his callousness later.

  “You need not concern yourself, Lord Winbourne,” she said a little coolly, before sweeping imperiously after her friend.

  *

  Julia sat forlornly in the library, breaking off pieces of finger sponge and dipping them in her wine. The melancholy of her face was only a slight suggestion of the turmoil with which she was faced. She was thinking of that elusive matrimonial prize upon which all her attention had lately been bent.

  Mr Hunter had made his intentions quite clear after they had danced their set, yet the longed-for prize and all the happiness in the world would remain eternally out of her reach if her papa and mama had anything to say on it, and she found herself full of despair. Lady Bassincourt was very particular about titles.

  She felt great relief when Lorelei joined her, hopeful that her friend might happen upon some solution to her dilemma.

  “Mother would never permit it,” said Julia, in a soft despairing voice, knowing that she did not need to specify what it was that Lady Bassincourt would find so objectionable.

  She was absently peeling petals off of one of Lady Gilmont’s roses, which stood, lovely and fragrant, in a cut crystal vase next to her. The petals fell to the floor like pale pink tears. “Mr Hunter may be wealthy and well-bred, but he is no duke whichever way you turn it.”

  Lorelei put a comforting hand on her friend’s arm, but was prevented from speaking by another voice.

  “Quite right, niece. You show an unexpectedly sound common sense.”

  Both women looked up. It was the earl, and his voice sounded nothing if not bored with the trivialities of young women.

  “Your servant, Miss Lindon.” He nodded at Lorelei, letting his gaze pass right over his niece. “I thought perhaps there may be some social disaster to avert, judging from your swift and mysterious departure into the library, but now I see that I had overestimated.”

  Julia started, and her cheeks reddened and then paled in alarm. She had not meant for her uncle to overhear a conversation on so delicate subject.

  Lorelei looked at the earl steadily. “Fiddle,” she said confidently. “I am certain there must be some simple way around the problem. There is always some way around a problem.”

  “You are full of youthful optimism this night, Miss Lindon. I assure you, there is not. Unless you have some way of assigning our friend a dukedom? But he will hardly prove to be worth the effort in the long run, I expect.
”

  Lorelei ignored this bait, much to his obvious annoyance.

  “You could speak to Lady Bassincourt. She would listen to you.” Lorelei knew she was being impertinent, but she felt the earl owed her that much, at least.

  “Me? My dear Miss Lindon, I fear you are exaggerating whatever influence you imagine I have over my sister. I assure you, she is quite set in her ways, and I find that I am disinclined to meddle in her matrimonial schemes. But I tire of this melodrama. Do excuse me.” There was inimitable disdain in his voice.

  He was already making his way from the room, and so that he completely failed to see the dangerous way Lorelei narrowed her eyes.

  Julia made a faint squeaking sound and buried her face in her hands, muttering something about mortification. Lorelei paid her friend’s dramatics no attention as she watched the retreating figure.

  “I shall never be able to look my uncle in the eye again.” Tears were beginning to appear in Julia’s eyes as she looked up.

  “Nonsense!” Lorelei dismissed with a wave of her hand. “I am very certain that he will help you. It is simply a matter of making him come up to scratch.”

  Julia looked astounded. “Simply! But he said that he would not!”

  “Very likely, if left to his own devices. But don’t fret! He only needs some persuasion.”

  Julia gave her a mystified look, her clear eyes wide in awe of Lorelei’s apparent lack of concern. “But how will you do that?”

  Lorelei laughed. “Why, by talking to him, of course. Now, you wait here, my dear Julia. Or perhaps you ought to go back to the party. Just as you please. I shall go and have some words with the earl. Papa always says that there are few things which cannot be solved with diplomacy and a little determination.”

  She thought a moment before shaking her head with fond amusement. “It is an odd thing for a military man to say, is it not?”

  Lorelei caught up with the earl a little way from the house. He had been on his way into the wood surrounding the manor. She had run some of the way, carefully holding the hem of her gown so that it did not tangle around her legs, though she was aware that she had crumpled it in the process and it must look a mess.

  She hesitated a moment. It would be most improper to follow the man into the wood, but then she reminded herself that the lines of propriety were always somewhat blurred where the earl was concerned and, furthermore, she had a serious matter to discuss with him. Mind made up, Lorelei flitted after him, calling his name.

  Winbourne stopped in surprise and turned to regard the vision following on his heels. He lifted an elegant eyebrow in a way that would have sent any member of the fashionable set trembling in fear of their social standing, but the girl appeared undaunted. She also appeared quite crumpled, he noticed.

  She must have run part of the way, because strands of her golden hair had come free of the charming style into which it had been pinned atop her head. Her breathing was a little heavier than usual. It was altogether a delicious sight and it was with a great act of will that he forced himself to ignore it.

  “Ah, Miss Lindon. I am surprised to find you here. Should you not be dancing? Or perhaps you do not know that there is a game of whist underway in the blue parlour. You might join the next round.”

  She waved a hand impatiently, wondering how best to broach the subject of Julia. “I find that I simply don’t care for cards.”

  “Do you not? I am surprised by that. You know, cards are war in disguise of a sport,” he murmured, eye glittering curiously when he looked at her. “Much like some other things.”

  Lorelei was uncertain what he meant so she chose to ignore it for the moment.

  “I want to speak with you about Julia.”

  “I suppose you do. A tiresome little drama, that.”

  “It was very shameful of you to eavesdrop on an intimate conversation! So I don’t much care what you think of the so-called dramatics. However, now you must pay the price of your want of delicacy, Lord Winbourne.”

  “Is that so? And what might this price be?”

  “You know very well what I wish to ask.”

  “Do you think so? Well. We shall see. My niece sets great store by your opinion, Miss Lindon.”

  “We are friends. But you are not as callous as you’d like us all to think, Lord Winbourne.” She knew she was being extremely daring.

  “Would you care to wager on that, Miss Lindon? I suppose next you’ll tell me that I should be glad my niece is not desirous of marrying a poet and a younger son, or some similar wastrel,” the earl drawled at her, flipping out his snuffbox. “And, of course, you’ll insist that at least he is not in dun territory – the duns have so many ways of making life unpleasant – I am certain my niece would be most uncomfortable as the wife of any such man. There is a tendency among silly young women to consider themselves in love with such fribbles. Only, I do not see how that is any of my concern. In point of fact, my dear, I do not in the least care. Why should I involve myself in untangling who is and who isn’t dangling after my silly niece? I believe that is my sister’s duty. And you may be fast friends, but I don’t see how it should matter to me that you and my niece have become cater cousins.”

  “I don’t either,” Lorelei agreed. “It is none of your concern whom I choose for my friends. But your response simply will not answer,” she declared, fetchingly folding her arms under her bosom.

  Even from the garden, Winbourne could hear the musicians begin to play Sir Roger de Coverley back in the ballroom. The last dance of the night.

  “I do not understand your obsession with this matter. My mother had what one may call a marriage de convenance,” Winbourne said simply. “I assure you, she was quite content. She and my father found that they had an understanding between them. I see no reason why my niece would be any different. It is the union of passion that brings pain, Miss Lindon, not the other. It is only then that disappointment can strike.”

  Lorelei looked appalled at his words.

  “Well, be that as it may concerning your own disappointment, that will not do here, Lord Winbourne! It simply will not do! You think that you are protecting Julia, perhaps – do not deny it! And perhaps you think you are protecting yourself in the same way. But you are merely a coward if you refuse to love again, and you have no right to deny Julia her happiness. Now, I find I am out of temper with you, and must leave you at once before I say things that are much worse. Do not think I have given up. Good night.”

  And she was gone, leaving her heavy words hanging in her wake, and a faint scent of jasmine in the air.

  Winbourne looked after her long after she was gone, anger, astonishment and something else warring in his heart. Then a realisation dawned upon him, and he felt somewhat nauseous. It was the plain and undeniable truth: Lorelei Lindon had taken what was left of his heart.

  It was a perilous situation at best – for he had not known that the last time had left him any heart at all.

  Try as he might, he could not shake the knowledge that Lorelei was nothing like Valerie de Beaumont. Her beauty was of a different sort, firstly, for Valerie had been dark and striking. The first time he had laid eyes on the woman, it was as if he had been suddenly frozen in place – the blue of her eyes and the ebony of her hair had ignited such ardent passion within him, that he could not but decide there and then that the lady would be his bride.

  What a fool he had been then! His undeniable fervent devotion now seemed nothing if not ridiculous.

  Mlle de Beaumont had been witty too, and fashionable: the toast of London Society – a young widow of fortune, breeding and name, who had every advantage of being French, which had only added to her charm. She had bewitched everyone around her, revelling in the many admirers who had lain their names and fortunes at her feet.

  Contrarily, Lorelei did not seem to care much for ardent flirtation with profligate members of the ton. Her wit tended to be a lot more acerbic, at least wherever he happened to be her target. She had none of Valerie’
s worldliness and poise, and he could not picture Valerie looking for ghosts on night-time country roads, nor speaking to him with such earnest directness.

  There was nothing of the coquette about the blonde girl. Instead of the disdain which such frankness ought to have inspired in him, he felt completely the opposite. To snub the indomitable Miss Lindon was unthinkable, and yet he knew he ought to do just that, if he had any hope of retaining his sanity or keeping his heart!

  He ought perhaps to encourage her in an attachment to another gentleman. Not Taylor, he thought – for the man had little interest for anything except hazard, horses and hounds. But someone like the dull Mr Hunter, perhaps.

  He knew just what he ought to do, but the thought of Miss Lindon in the arms or, worse, bed, of any other man was intolerable! She would marry eventually, of course, as she must. He knew that. She was beautiful and charming. Perhaps not this Season, if he was fortunate, but certainly she would not remain on the shelf.

  That was intolerable too – though he knew he had no right to think such thoughts.

  He had nothing to offer her. He could not offer her his name. If he were ever to marry, he would not do so for affection. Not after the lesson Valerie had been kind enough to teach him. But in the company of Miss Lindon, he had completely forgotten all about the possible necessity of securing himself a biddable, unremarkable wife.

  Suddenly, he felt sure the Winbourne name would die with him.

  Chapter 11

  It was with great relief that Lorelei returned to Russell Square. The constant presence of Lord Winbourne had put her utterly on edge and she doubted if her nerves could stand another day sharing a roof with the infuriating man. She wanted nothing more than to regain some distance and clear her head: there was much for her to think on.

  Winbourne had departed Gilmont House early that morning, leaving a letter for his sister. He had not explained what was so very urgent. A vindictive part of Lorelei thought that it was likely because he was engaged to meet a lady - a mistress, no doubt. A beauty of great wit and character.