When Caine made no reply, she prodded, “Perhaps I’ll invite St. Giles into our bedroom. I will confess to a certain eagerness to see if his endowments measure up to yours, though I suspect they’ll fall short.” She snickered, her pun amusing her. “It could be quite an enjoyable evening, don’t you think?”
Slowly Caine turned to face her, his gut tightening. He couldn’t allow any of those mongrels to have Bliss.
He intended that pleasure for himself.
“I see I finally have your attention,” she murmured, spiteful satisfaction glittering in her eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t want to ruin your chances with the lady, whom I saw hastening toward the house this afternoon. And less than a minute later, there you were, coming from the same direction, your expression not at all happy.
“So what happened, darling? Did you find the lady was immune to your exalted charm? I rather suspected she wouldn’t be an easy conquest. You do have your work cut out for you, don’t you?”
“Don’t worry about my part of this bargain. I can handle her.”
“Oh, I have no doubt. Who can resist you, after all?” Her gaze lingered below his waist before returning to his face. “Well, then, I’ll expect to see you inside in five minutes.” She turned to go, then paused to look over her shoulder. “I imagine you’ll have something wicked in mind for me later, considering the lovely gift I just gave you?” She didn’t wait for a reply.
All afternoon Bliss had contemplated the merits of sending a note to her hostess, telling her that she was unwell and unable to attend the supper party that evening.
But ultimately her stubborn streak, which was both a blessing and a curse, asserted itself. To not appear would have a certain overbearing earl thinking he had affected her, and he would gloat. That image goaded her into dressing.
She picked her attire with care, donning a gown made of delicate Chantilly lace and butter-soft Indian cashmere, which flattered her curves, giving her a soft, feminine appearance. Elegant decadence rather than overt.
Now, with Court’s compliment on her appearance still warming her, Bliss strolled along on her cousin’s arm, listening to glowing tales about Lady Rebecca. Bliss smiled and nodded, though her mind was focused on the grand dining salon and who would be within.
“I hope you aren’t put out with me for abandoning you today?”
It took Bliss a moment to realize Court had addressed a question to her. “Don’t be silly. You know I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself.”
He gave her an endearing grin. “I am properly chastened, my lady. So tell me, what did you do today?”
Images of Caine’s lips fused to hers, and that glorious mouth trailing hot kisses down her throat before suckling her breasts made her breath catch.
“I did a bit of sketching down by the cliffs.”
“They truly are remarkable, aren’t they?”
“Yes.” Bliss thought of Caine. “Very remarkable.”
He was arrogant, infuriating, and vicious when thwarted, and yet he fascinated her. She told herself that his appeal was solely physical, a baser instinct, as he had referred to it. Reprobate or not, he was the most undeniably virile male she had ever encountered, and he wore his masculinity like a badge of honor.
She refused to be like every other woman he knew, wanting a piece of him to appease her curiosity. Yet when he set his sights on seduction, it was rather hard to concentrate on his innumerable faults and sins.
Bliss caught sight of the marchioness exiting the library and hastening toward the dining salon at the end of the hall, where her guests were gathering. As she and Court passed the library, Bliss glanced in. The room was dark and she wondered what the woman had been doing. Reading seemed an unlikely possibility.
Bliss’s steps faltered as she caught sight of a dark figure lounging on the threshold of the open French doors, only the tip of his cheroot illuminating his face. Her eyes locked with Caine’s as he watched her walk by. He had been with Olivia, alone in the dark. A woman and her lover.
Did they not get enough of each other at night, that they had to steal these moments together? Did Caine remain with Olivia not out of obligation, but because he had feelings for her? Had he bedded the woman only minutes after Bliss had denied him?
The unsettling thoughts stayed with her as she entered the dining salon, the room awash in a subtle hue of light. Instead of using the chandelier above, all the sconces were lit and every crevice held a candle, giving the room a fairy-tale quality.
The long mahogany table gleamed with wax and the crystal glasses glittered with gold, matching the silverware and the rim on the fine bone china. An eye-catching centerpiece, adorned with flowers cut fresh from the garden, graced the middle of the table.
“You’ve outdone yourself, Lady Buxton,” one of the gentlemen remarked, lifting Olivia’s hand in his and pressing a kiss to the back.
His thick hair gleamed molten gold in the light, his skin was tan and his teeth as white as the tablecloth. All in all, very handsome. Yet when his gaze settled on Bliss, his assessing look put her in mind of a hawk who had targeted his prey.
“And who is this enchanting creature?” he said, his bold gaze appraising her. “I don’t believe we have been formally introduced.”
Olivia stepped forward and put a hand on his forearm, guiding him toward Bliss. “Jeremy Lockhart, Earl of St. Giles, may I present Lady Bliss Ashton and her cousin, Court Wyndham, Marquis of Seaton.”
“Seaton,” the earl intoned with a brief incline of his head before turning those dove-gray eyes on Bliss. “Charmed, my lady.” He lifted her hand and kissed the back, lingering a moment too long. Court stiffened beside her, ready to take exception, but then the man straightened, a hint of a roguish smile on his lips. “Ashton. Now, where have I heard that name before?”
“Exmoor, don’t you know,” muttered one of the other gentlemen, a pudgy fellow with wire-rimmed spectacles and a face of owlish proportions and sour expression. The marchioness introduced him as Lord Lynford.
“Are you related to the Duke of Exmoor?” a third gentleman, Lord Clarendon, queried. He was a bit taller than the other two men, his black hair lightly salted with gray at the temples.
“Yes,” Bliss replied. “He’s my father.”
Lord Lynford harumphed. Loudly.
“Is something the matter, my lord?”
Clearly bursting at the seams to make his opinion known, he hesitated but a moment. “Your papa’s always got the House of Lords in a stir. Just last week, he proposed a new version of Gresham’s Law. Wasting time on nonsense, I daresay.”
Bliss knew the law he spoke of, having had an animated discussion with her father about it at dinner her first night home. “By nonsense, do you mean the education of the lower classes?”
“I do,” he responded with a disdainful sniff. “The Lords have more important issues to discuss.”
“I believe we, as a society, have a responsibility to assist those who are not as fortunate as ourselves.”
He frowned at her. “What we need is to keep them where they belong. What good is teaching them anything? It’s not going to change their lot in life.”
“So your opposition is based on the belief that any rudimentary education might cause them to be dissatisfied with what they have? And that literacy could make them susceptible to the inflammations of radical and atheistic propaganda?”
He raised a quizzing glass to his eye, one beady orb narrowing disagreeably on her. “We don’t need any revolts on our hands. The more they know, the more they expect.”
Bliss’s ire rose at this all-too-common train of thought, owned almost exclusively by the upper class. “I find that a very small-minded view, my lord.”
The quizzing glass popped from his eye and his jaw dropped like a drawbridge. “Small-minded?”
“Yes. You cannot imagine a world beyond the one in which you exist. The enfranchisement of the common mind will enrich ordinary men’s tastes and perhaps enhance our own, thr
ough the perceptions they derive from experiences we don’t have. Society could benefit from an infusion of new intellectual blood. Sheer humanitarianism demands that something be done to help those who cannot help themselves.”
“Here is the very reason I am thankful that women have no say in the affairs and politics of men,” he intoned self-righteously. “It would be the ruination of a fair country. You’d be wise, young lady, to concern yourself with matters more suitable to your gender.”
Before Bliss could tell him what she thought of his pompous opinion, the marchioness interjected, “Let us all sit, shall we?” then guided him away.
A warm hand gently cupped Bliss’s elbow. Startled, she looked up to find Lord St. Giles smiling down at her. He led her to her seat and took the chair beside her. Thinking it was a mistake, for certainly she should sit next to Court, Bliss darted a glance at the place cards in front of the plates. The earl’s card was indeed there, her cousin relegated to sit two seats down, beside Lady Drayton, who immediately engaged him in a conversation.
Bliss’s gaze was drawn to the vacant chair directly across from her. Caine’s seat, she suspected, at the left hand of his lover, deposed from the head of the table, where he would have sat if fate hadn’t intervened.
Bliss couldn’t blame him for not appearing; it had to pain him to be a guest in his own home. Why did he stay? And where was he now? Still in the library, mocking them all?
The thought had no more than crossed her mind when she sensed a change in the air, the voices around her growing hushed, the skin on her arms prickling.
She lifted her head and looked toward the doorway. And there, leaning indolently against a marble pillar, resplendent in black evening attire that fit his muscular frame perfectly, his jaw freshly shaven and his hair tamed, was Caine, his gaze focused on her.
“Darling!” Olivia chirped. “Do come in and sit down. I was just about to tell Lady Bliss that I had the chef prepare several French dishes just for her.”
“Ah, Hartland!” St. Giles intoned. “At last we’ve been honored by the phantom of the hall. How’ve you been, old boy?”
Caine didn’t respond. Instead his gaze ran over each person in attendance, making a few of them squirm in their seats. Then he stalked to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. When he turned around, he held two glasses in his hand.
He started toward the head of the table. Bliss studied her wineglass, her body tensing with each step he took until he was standing directly behind her chair.
She didn’t want to look, but as the moments ticked by and he didn’t move on, she felt compelled. Glancing over her shoulder, she found him staring down at her, his gaze hooded.
Then he held out the glass that Bliss had thought he’d poured for Olivia. “Drink up. You’ll need it.”
She took the glass without thought and watched him as he moved around the table and took his seat, slouching negligently and quaffing a hearty swig of liquor, defiance radiating in every line of his body.
He was completely oblivious to the woman beside him, who openly ogled him. According to Court, the generously endowed Lady Fairfax was barely twenty-six but already twice widowed.
The lady’s carnal appetites were apparently well known, and her gaze traveled leisurely from the crown of Caine’s head, down his body to linger pointedly in his lap. Bliss was surprised the woman didn’t lick her lips.
But Caine was staring intently at Bliss, as though he were angry with her. He had not been granted free liberty with her body and he was vexed. But she was not one of his conquests. When she gave herself to a man, it would be on her terms. Not his.
The tension in the room mounted until Lord Clarendon broke the silence. Turning to Bliss, he asked, “You’re French, my lady?”
“I’m part French, my lord,” she replied, taking a sip of her drink, seeking its fortifying properties. “On my mother’s side.”
“And she’s an artist,” Olivia added, her voice holding that sweetly condescending tone.
“An artist?” Lord St. Giles said, giving her another appraising glance. “What do you paint, my lady?”
Bliss absently fingered the rim of her glass. “People conducting their daily lives, mostly. The flower girl, the fish hawker, the prostitutes.”
“Prostitutes!” Lady Fairfax exclaimed. “Why, that’s scandalous!”
That comment coming from such a woman was laughable. “And why is it scandalous?”
“Because no respectable lady should look at them, let alone paint them.”
Bliss gave a mental sigh. Most days she could deal with such sanctimonious views, but tonight her patience was rapidly ebbing. “And this makes them any less important than you or I?” she asked calmly. “Perhaps if we took a harder look at the conditions that might cause a woman to sell her body, we would learn something.”
“Well, I would never do it,” Lady Drayton said in a haughty tone, the rich adornments gracing her wrists, neck, and earlobes conveying she had known no other life besides that of being pampered and cosseted. “I don’t care what the reasons.”
“Even if you were starving and had three hungry children to feed?” Bliss had met such a woman—many, in fact. Lisette was not much older than Bliss had been at the time, and yet her eyes were aged, worn down.
She had been huddled with her children on the steps of the Mont de Piété, where people went to pawn items in the hopes of surviving another day.
The girl had tried to get a job in one of the factories, she had confessed to Bliss, but none were hiring. Then a fancy-looking gentleman had offered her two francs to service him in the alleyway. That was as much as she could make at the factory, working a sixteen-hour day. She had wanted his money badly, but had refused.
Bliss had not been able to bear the thought of another woman being used for a man’s sexual gratification, and she had vowed to find Lisette a job. The next day, a friend hired Lisette as a maid. But Bliss knew she could not save everyone. Each week, new faces dotted the boulevard between the Gymnase and the Madeleine.
Lord St. Giles scoffed, “No person of any self-worth would considering bartering their body for payment.” His gaze focused on Caine, his words clearly meant as an insult.
Caine remained impassive, steadily draining his glass. Only the glint in his eyes gave away the murderous feelings going on inside him.
“What do you think, Hartland?” the earl prodded. “I’m sure you have an opinion on this particular subject.”
The room grew hushed, and Bliss realized her mistake in introducing the topic. As much as Caine angered her, she did not want to see him ridiculed.
His gaze elevated only minimally over the rim of his glass as he eyed the earl. “I would think you’d know better than I, St. Giles. Isn’t the Comte du Lac still looking to garrote you because of your indiscretion with his comtesse?”
“That’s right,” Lord Lynford remarked, peering at the earl. “You cannot return to Paris because of that little incident, can you, St. Giles?”
“Shut up, imbecile,” the earl hissed, his gaze never wavering from Caine, bad blood clearly simmering between the two men.
A handful of servants entered then, silencing everyone while the dishes were being served.
As soon as the servants departed, the earl said, “I seem to recall you lost quite a hefty sum to me in a game of hazard about the same time, Hartland. You always were the unluckiest bastard at cards. Pissed away every shilling your father sent you. What a shame.”
Only Caine’s hand tightening around his glass gave away his mounting fury.
Seeking to deflect the conversation, Bliss remarked, “The food looks delicious.”
Her hostess beamed as though she had prepared the meal herself. “I hope the French delicacies make you feel at home.”
“How kind of you.”
“What do you call this?” Lady Buxton asked, scooping up a bit of the food she referred to.
“Laitance de Carpe au Xérès.”
“My, ho
w exotic that sounds. What is it?”
“Fish sperm,” Bliss replied, smiling around her spoon as Olivia gagged, her fork clattering to her plate as she reached for her wineglass. Bliss thought she saw a faint smile curling Caine’s lips before disappearing behind his drink.
“I find it quite tasty,” Lady Fairfax remarked in a husky contralto, her gaze sliding to Caine as she eased the spoon into her mouth and sucked in the delicacy.
Male jaws plummeted around the table.
At the far end, Lord Kingsley, who had been quiet until that point, asked Bliss, “Do you live in France, my lady? Or do you make your home here?”
“I share an apartment with my mother in Montmartre, but I visit my father as often as possible.”
“Which is where I found her,” Court said, giving her a warm smile, “hoping she would grace me with her delightful company.”
“Someone must keep you in line,” she replied, returning his smile and earning a few chuckles from the group.
“Montmartre.” Lord Clarendon looked to her questioningly. “Mount of Martyrs, I believe is the translation.”
“Yes. Some people believe the town was named after Saint Denis, the first bishop of Paris, and his deacons, Saints Rusticus and Eleutherius, in the third century. Others believe it has to do with the unknown martyrs buried at the summit of the hill.”
“I thought only peasants and harlots lived in Montmartre,” Lord Lynford said, his tone conversational, but the gleam in his eyes showing spite.
Bliss glimpsed the fury that stole over Court, but an unexpected champion spoke up before he could.
“Cork your mouth, Lynford,” Caine warned, flicking a razor-edge glance at the man. “Or I’ll shut it permanently.”
Lynford sputtered, “Now listen here, Hartland—”
“Hush, fool,” Clarendon ordered in an undertone. “He means it.”
While Lynford muttered beneath his breath, Bliss stared at Caine, shocked not only that he had finally spoken, but that he had actually defended her.
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