Dinner tonight would be followed by more music and cards. Tomorrow she had a number of outdoor activities arranged. Angling on the river, boating on the lake, and a trip to the local falls for those interested. The day after, they—he—would leave.
Given that he would leave, could she not allow herself to indulge in this fascinating study? Could she not flirt, and perhaps even steal a kiss? What a waste to wave Lord Rothgar off the day after tomorrow without even experiencing a kiss.
Feeling hot and dusty, Diana let her maid take off everything and washed from head to toe before slipping into a loose silk gown for an hour or two’s relaxation.
Just a kiss…
She pushed the idea away. Every grain of sense and intelligence told her she would be playing with wildfire.
On the other hand, he’d soon be leaving. It was an unrepeatable opportunity—
Oh, enough of this! She needed rational occupation, and marched into her boudoir where a pile of papers awaited her attention. She sat at her desk and made herself concentrate on them, and only them.
She went through them, scribbling her required action on most, but putting a few aside to be dealt with when she had more time. The work soothed her until she came to a personal letter from a second cousin informing her, as head of the family, of engagement to marry. Lud, was the whole world hell bent on matrimony, while she languished hardly kissed?
She let the letter drop.
Just a kiss… ?
When younger she’d permitted the bolder local lads a kiss now and then. Sometimes at a masquerade she allowed some gallant carefully controlled liberties. It had been safe enough.
The Marquess of Rothgar would not be safe, of that she was sure, and that in truth was part of his appeal. Wiser to avoid, of course, and yet… from her chilly eminence, he was a most tempting blaze. And, remarkably, a safe one.
Chin on hand, she allowed herself to consider it.
Despite heat and flame he was safe because he, even more than she, did not intend to wed. A safe blaze, like one confined in a solid hearth.
Could she?
She tidied the piles of papers, then strolled, twirling the wilting poppy, back to her bedroom to relax on her chaise longue by an open window. Amid birdsong and summer breeze, she let her mind return to that minuet a year ago.
“What would have happened, my lord, if I had not objected to…”
“To my kissing your palm? Why, we would have indulged in dalliance, my lady.”
“Dalliance?”
“One step beyond flirtation, but one step below seduction. ”
“I know nothing of dalliance then.”
“Would you care to learn?”
Heart beating just a little faster at the memory, she brushed the soft petals of the poppy across her lips.
“If you ever change your mind, my lady…”
If you ever change your mind.
“Clara,” she said to the maid, who was busily laying out her clothes for the evening.
“Yes, milady?”
“Tell Ecclesby that we will offer dancing tonight after dinner.”
Rothgar, down to breeches and open-necked shirt, was in the frilly boudoir that was part of his suite, attending to correspondence sent on by Carruthers. Disguised among routine business lay a coded report on affairs in Paris, and the actions of the acting French ambassador in London. He frowned over the fact that D’Eon was insinuating himself into the queen’s good graces all too well. He needed to get back and deal with that.
He next opened a well-sealed letter and found it was a handwritten one from the king. He quickly assessed that it contained nothing urgent—then he came to a passage about Lady Arradale. After a while, he leaned back, looking out of the window over the lady’s beautifully landscaped grounds.
King George should be paying more attention to his queen and less to the countess, but for some reason he was obsessed with her. This development was going to be somewhat difficult—
Someone tapped on the door.
He folded the letter. “Come.”
He half expected the impetuous countess, but his sister Elf slipped in with a smile that didn’t quite hide uneasiness.
“A lovely wedding, wasn’t it?” she chattered, but then paused to look around the pink and white room. “Oh my.”
“The Countess’s Chambers,” he said blandly. “Pink lightens and brightens my thoughts. If you have come to tell me you’ve plunged us all into poverty with an excess purchase of serge, I will merely smile.”
That made her laugh. “I suppose there was a shortage of grand chambers, but…” She looked around again. “Bey, please may I peep into the bedroom?”
He rose and opened the door for her. She stood in rapt study of the swathed bed, the pink and cream silk hangings held up by plaster cherubs, the pristine white posts carved with flowers, the coverlet of heavy white lace.
“Could we swap?” she said at last. “I’m overcome by a need to be taken with violent passion upon that virginal bed.”
He laughed. “Perhaps that is the purpose. I have to say, however, that it hasn’t had the same effect on me.” All the same, a sudden erotic vision to do with the countess assailed him.
“It would be very strange if it had,” Elf said, sitting in a spindle-legged white chair.
“Or perhaps I am kept sane by cool liquids,” he replied, pouring himself some from a silver pitcher set in a ceramic bowl of ice. “Lemon barley water?” he asked her.
“Oh, lovely!” She sipped the delicious cold drink. “How did you obtain this?”
“I ordered it. After all, I did bring a gross of lemons north with me.”
“Not expecting the countess to be well supplied?”
“Imagining hot days and my fondness for lemons. So, Elf, what brings you to my feminine bower?”
Elf took time to sip, feeling strangely nervous. Her brother didn’t intimidate her, but then, she’d never tried to meddle in his intimate affairs before. “I have become quite fond of Lady Arradale,” she said at last. “I saw you tuck that flower down her bodice, Bey. You’re not flirting with her, are you?”
His eyes were steady on hers. “And if I were?”
“I’d object.”
“Your objections must always carry weight, of course, but why? You can hardly think I’ll ruin her, and I doubt she would permit herself to be ruined.”
“There are many sorts of ruin.”
“And which do you fear?”
She was feeling more foolish by the moment, and yet more concerned as well. “You could break her heart.”
“I have no doubt she recognizes flirtation, Elf.”
“But why are you flirting with her? I heard about events last summer. She bested you at least once…”
His brows rose. “You think me intent on dark revenge?”
She considered him. “Not dark. And perhaps not revenge. But… retribution, perhaps.”
“By making the poor lady fall in love with me and then leaving with a cruel laugh. Elf, really!”
She smiled, feeling her cheeks heat. “Then why? We leave the day after tomorrow.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps because we leave the day after tomorrow. A wedding creates a spirit of flirtation, and Lady Arradale and I are the only two unattached people here apart from the dowager.”
“Then spend more time with the dowager.”
“But she, alas, wishes me to marry her daughter.”
Elf slumped slightly. “Nothing could be more ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?”
She frowned at him. “Never tell me you are finally looking for a bride, and in that direction.”
“No, I never will. I was merely curious as to why you think it ridiculous.”
She made a dismissive gesture. “If Diana marries, and she swears she will not, she will need a man who can devote himself to her properties and responsibilities up here. You will need a woman who will be a hostess for you in the south.”
“So, you need not fear a match
between us. I have nothing but benign intentions toward the lady.”
It should have reassured, but Elf couldn’t banish a gnawing unease. “Then don’t pay her particular attentions, Bey. She’s chosen a hard path, and might be vulnerable to temptation. From the comments of nearly every lady I know, you are temptation incarnate.”
He laughed, shaking his head.
She rose. “Sometimes I wonder if you know your own powers.”
He rose courteously to open the door for her. “I thought I had made them my lifetime’s study.”
“Not all of them if you don’t know how devastating you can be to a woman’s good sense.”
“I will bear that most carefully in mind,” he said, and closed the door between them.
Elf paused in the corridor contemplating a large Grecian urn without really seeing it. Everything Bey had said was reassuring, but still her instincts warned. She walked on to knock on a door a little farther down.
A square-faced plump maid opened it. “Yes, milady?”
“I would like to speak to the countess if she is available.”
“Elf?” Diana’s voice. “Come in, do.”
The maid opened the door wide, and Elf saw Diana rise from a chaise dressed in a loose robe of clear light green.
“I’m sorry, you were resting.”
“The sort of rest that goes best with conversation,” Diana assured her, indicating the cushioned window seat. “Would you like some lemonade?”
Elf looked at an identical silver jug set in an identical ceramic iceholder. “How delightful.”
The maid poured the drink and then Diana said, “You may go, Clara, until it is time for me to dress.”
Elf sipped. “Lemon is so refreshing on a hot summer day, is it not?”
“Wonderfully so. Your brother was kind enough to bring extra supplies north or we would doubtless have run out by now.”
“Bey has a certain ability for planning.”
Diana chuckled. “An understatement. He’s a remarkable man.” It was said casually, but Elf was not fooled.
Diana was her own age—twenty-six—but if anything, she seemed somewhat more mature because of her training and responsibilities. She had avoided suitable and unsuitable suitors for years, and should be in no danger, even from Bey. And yet, though the square chin and steady eyes spoke of strength, the soft lips and the occasional sadness in those eyes told Elf otherwise.
She understood, indeed she did. She knew only too well how frustration, impatience, and wild desire could sweep even a sensible woman out of her wits entirely.
Diana cocked her head. “Penny for your thoughts.”
“Last year,” Elf said, abandoning a search for subtlety and throwing out a blunt warning, “I set out to lose my virginity.”
Diana gasped.
“I was so very tired of guarding it! And so tired of being good. It was surprisingly difficult. With Fort, I mean.”
“He wanted to wait until marriage?”
Elf snorted with laughter. “Fort? No. He… Oh, it’s complicated. He hated all things Malloren. I was mad to choose him of all men.”
Diana’s look suggested that she saw where this was heading. “And yet you ended up married. A happy outcome, surely?”
“We married four months later after many trials and tribulations,” Elf said bluntly. “It could well have worked another way, and I was very lucky not to end up inconveniently with child.”
Diana’s cheeks had turned a little pink at this. “Then your brother would have made him marry you, and you would be in the same happy state.”
“I wouldn’t have married him for that, and Bey—all my brothers, even Cyn—were lined up to prevent me forcing Fort to the altar.”
Diana stared. “Lord Rothgar knew what you had done? What did he do?”
“Gave me a short, sharp lecture on using people.” Elf pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. “The point is, I feared what he’d do to Fort, but I never feared for myself. I always knew he wouldn’t reject me or punish me.” “Struth, this wasn’t the right message, either!
Diana looked down, running a beringed hand over the green silk. “Have I just received a warning against maidenly restlessness?” She looked up. “Your wickedness led to a happy outcome.”
“But could well not have.” Elf leaned forward to take her new friend’s restless hand. “I worry, Diana. I’m sorry if that seems intrusive on such short acquaintance, but I truly understand how you feel, and I know the dangers. I recommend the conventional route. I can vouch for the delights of the wedded state.”
Diana slid her hand free. “I’m sure it can be delightful,” she said coolly. “The price, however, will always be too high for me.”
Lud! Elf thought. Diana could warn a person off as icily as Bey. Despite that, she persisted. “You would still be the countess if married.”
“But not the lord. Believe me, Elf, as soon as any man became my husband he would be earl in the eyes of the world. Apart from that, he would have all the legal rights of a husband. Most women have no power to lose, but I do, and I will not toss it away. I will not marry, no matter what the delights.”
Elf stared. She’d seen the social face of the Countess of Arradale, but now she saw a steely will and determination worthy of an earl. She shouldn’t be surprised, but she was.
And worried. If marriage was impossible, then illicit love would beckon. She knew that. It wasn’t long since she had felt the same hungry yearning—for knowledge and excitement, but also for someone to replace the void left when her twin married.
Diana had just lost Rosa.
It was as if she stood on a hill watching a horse and rider head toward a hidden ditch. Nothing she could say seemed likely to prevent the fall, yet she must shout a warning.
Rising, she said, “If that is the case, you must be careful. I have one thing that might help. I will send a maid with it.”
She paused, knowing it would be wiser to leave the subject, yet impelled. “The trouble is,” she said, “that we women find it hard to be intimate without caring for the men involved, particularly when it is our first time. And that, my dear, is a slippery slope.”
Diana rose, too. “Rosa said the same. She thought she could do it with Brand and be emotionally untouched…”
“Brand would touch the emotions of a stone statue. My brothers are all rather dangerous in that respect.” Since there was only one brother left unwed, Elf didn’t belabor the point, but took her leave.
Back in her bedroom, she found a copy of the leaflet she and Sappho published anonymously and distributed as widely as they could. It was a short treatise on things a woman could do to reduce the chances of getting with child. She wrapped it in plain paper and sent it to Diana.
Of course Bey knew all these things. He’d been intent on not getting a woman with child since the beginning. But, even if Diana wished it, Bey would not be the man to introduce her to womanly pleasures. That could not come about in a day and a half.
Elf couldn’t help thinking it a shame. She had no doubt he was a skillful and generous lover, and from nature and intent, he was the last man to try to seduce Diana to the altar.
But in Diana’s mind it wouldn’t stop at curious exploration.
In the mind, it never did.
Diana retired to her bedroom that night in a state of considerable annoyance and frustration. She hadn’t exactly expected the marquess to repeat his seductive invitation of last year, or to continue the flirtation after the wedding, but she had expected something. Something she could tentatively build on to reach, at least, an interesting kiss.
Instead, she could have been one of his sisters. In fact, though he’d been scrupulously polite, he’d been somewhat warmer with his sisters!
The dancing party had consisted of four ladies and four gentlemen—a comfortable number, allowing for lines and circles. The ladies had changed partners with every dance, but in such a small group, she and the marquess had met, turned, and passed
again and again.
The result?
Not even a look to match the moment when he’d slid that poppy stem down her bodice.
She’d managed to once sit by him between dances—and they’d talked about the weather! She’d learned more than she cared to know about the causes of climatic variations around England, and its influence on national prosperity. She had the lowering thought that the marquess had been deliberately trying to bore her.
As Clara stripped her out of her most becoming gown— deep blue satin trimmed with blonde, and very low in the bodice—Diana accepted that he’d flirted with her earlier in the playful spirit of a country wedding. That was all. She’d read too much into it. The Marquess of Rothgar thought nothing of her. Why should he? They were mere acquaintances.
She slipped into her silk nightgown and sat to let Clara brush her hair. As always, it soothed her and restored her sense of balance and humor.
It couldn’t wipe away embarrassment, however. Elf had guessed some of her feelings. Pray heaven no one else had, especially the marquess. She pushed aside the knowledge that the man had a reputation of being devilishly perceptive. Thank heavens he’d be gone soon.
She couldn’t entirely crush disappointment, however.
When she dismissed Clara, she drank a glass of water while looking out over her dark domain by the light of a swelling three-quarter moon. Mistress of all she surveyed, yet mistress of no man. She laid the cool glass against her cheek, trying to chill the gnawing dissatisfaction stirred by the wedding, and by a year that had brought great changes. The day after tomorrow the Mallorens would be on their way and she would be left to peace and routine.
It seemed as bleak a future as life on the chilly moon. Didn’t they say that all treasures lost or neglected on earth were stored there? Abandoned dreams, lost hopes, wasted opportunities, and tragic loves. And the full moon was her symbol, symbol of the goddess Diana. Perhaps she had been destined for this from birth.
Oh, nonsense. The world doubtless contained a great many happily married Dianas.
She turned toward the bed, but saw the paper that Elf had sent earlier. She’d put it aside when called upon to deal with a question about wine. She broke the seal and unfolded the thin leaflet within. A tract? A sermon on self-control and chastity?
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