Hidden Paradise

by Janet Mullany

  “It’s perfect,” she said to Peter. “The stuff of fantasy. All we need now is Darcy in a wet shirt.”

  After a brief walk-through led by Becky, the dance began, slow and stately, the couples weaving in and out of the set, turning, changing direction, changing places. As she and Peter progressed up the set, they met Viv and Mac, she splendid in her favorite peacock feathers and a matching bright emerald gown, tamed by candlelight to a subtle glow.

  “Very nice, Lou.”

  Naturally, Viv was looking right at Lou’s nipples. So was Mac. So, now that she thought about it, had almost every man she’d encountered in the dance. Except for Peter, who was far too gentlemanly and not particularly interested in female anatomy.

  “Strange how this light plays tricks on the eyes,” Mac said, smiling at her. “I hope you’re not making anyone forget the steps.”

  “With our level of competency, I can hardly be blamed for that,” Lou said.

  Mac took her hand. They circled, close together, gazing into each other’s eyes.

  “Well, Ratlady?”

  “That’s a truly hideous nickname.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I haven’t asked him. Yet.”

  They changed hands and changed directions.

  “If he isn’t man enough…” Mac said.

  “Oh, I think he is.”

  “Another poor bastard whose balls you keep in your reticule.”

  “The spoils of love.”

  “I’d say of war.” He swung away to rejoin Viv and turned a smoldering gaze on her that made first Lou and then Viv giggle.

  “Oh, dear, you girls,” Peter said. “What shall we do with you?”

  Mac took his hand, looked into his eyes and said, “I don’t think you need to concern yourself.”

  Lou and Viv, hand in hand, giggled again, lost direction, and were gently directed by other dancers back into position.

  “This is serious pleasure,” Peter said to Lou, “and you must concentrate. You’re amusing the footmen.”

  So she was. Rob stood at the side of the room, smiling at her with delight.

  She smiled back.

  “Really, dear, I hope you’re not distracting the staff.”

  “Heavens, no,” Lou said.

  The next dance, the one she had promised Mac, was in a much more uninhibited style with clapping and vigorous movements that several of the men, and some of the women, interpreted as jumps or steps with fancy, improvised footwork. Lou knew it was more historically correct than the previous dance, which dated from more than a century before their period, but she regretted the lack of excuses to gaze into Mac’s eyes.

  “Your fine eyes,” she whispered, as he picked her up by the waist and swung her around.

  “When will you ask him?”

  “Later.”

  He set her onto her feet again and they joined hands with the couple next to them.

  “So how soon can we get out of here, Lou?” he asked as they met again.

  “To hell with that. He’s working and I aim to dance until I drop.”

  “I’ll make you pay.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  * * *

  Rob

  THIS WAS BLOODY AMAZING. IT looked like one of those Austen movies his mum liked so much; everything looked…right. It wasn’t just a bunch of people dressed up pretending to be something else, it was like being there, as you might imagine it. He’d pretty much got used to the fact that the guests were all gorgeous, but tonight’s greatly expanded crowd represented all sorts of ages and body types, a few teenagers, but a lot of them quite old, about the age of his Gran. Like the old guy who’d sat next to Lou at dinner; apparently he was some sort of lord. But a couple of blokes he knew from the pub, an electrician and a school-bus driver were there, too, half throttled in their high collars. And somehow this mix of people lent the occasion veracity and truth. This was something you could believe in, not just a fantasy.

  Only the frequent flash of cameras and the occasional sighting of a cell phone broke the illusion. They were on to the fourth dance, and this time Lou was dancing with Lord Stoat (surely he didn’t spell it that way). Something was going on between her and Mac, he was pretty sure, but then she looked amazing. Who wouldn’t want to get off with her?

  But she was getting off with Rob tonight. Of all the guys here, she wanted him.

  He thought he’d feel different after last night, and for a time he did—I got laid, I made her come!—but then the day was pretty much normal, other than it being the day of the ball, which meant a lot of work, along with the surprise appearance of his dad. Maybe he was different, though, because instead of the usual insults he and his dad exchanged when forced together, they had something approaching a conversation. And while it was about doing work on the cottage, he felt that it represented a change toward each other. He hoped he could remember in future that his dad was damaged goods and not be so hard on him; and maybe his dad would stop messing him around about Cambridge.

  He took another look at Lou. He was pretty sure he could see nipples there, but it was maybe only the pattern of the fabric. He did the math again. At eleven, his second shift would come in, and he could leave someone—maybe Ivan, if he wasn’t too drunk—in charge and then he could go and receive his oral-sex lesson (fucking a teacher was bloody miraculous). He’d have to be back on duty at five, if not earlier, so the sooner they got out of there the better. She, however, seemed to be having a great time dancing, and she looked wonderful tonight. Beautiful. Sexy. Those gloves up over her elbows were hot, rather like stockings—real ones, not those stupid Regency ones. Maybe she’d keep them on.

  The dance ended, leaving the room smelling slightly less of flowers and more of overheated people, and he straightened up, hands clasped behind his back, striving for that balance of official dignity and friendliness. He nodded to Dejan to take the band’s drinks over now they were taking a break, and people surged toward the refreshments on the terrace.

  To stop it being too much of a mob scene, he had the lads waiting to intercept them with trays of drinks, lemonade, wine and cider. No one was really rowdily drunk yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Some people would drink, dance out the alcohol and keep a balance. Others, like the guys who’d parked themselves in one of the downstairs rooms, would just drink. He had several of the lads keeping an eye on them.

  Lou unfolded her fan and lifted it so only her eyes were visible. She nodded her head toward the front of the house; smart move, if everyone was heading for the back. He followed her, keeping an eye out for glasses that might need to be picked up on the way back.

  Outside, the air was cool and fresh, the night clear. One of the band members was outside, talking on his mobile, pacing up and down, his feet crunching on the gravel. Lou was there, the stone on her necklace dark against her pale skin, and he reached her in a few long strides, crushing her to him. She was warm and flushed and ripe.

  “I’ve wanted to touch you all day,” he said, kissing her randomly, face, lips, neck.

  She returned his kisses, the fan on her wrist bumping against his shoulder as she cupped the back of his head.

  “Wait. I want to get my wig off.” He took it off and shook his head. “God, that’s hot. Hot warm, I mean. Are you having fun? You look great.” He peered at her gown, perplexed. He could have sworn… “I can see your nipples. Bloody hell.”

  “Glad you like it.” She grinn
ed.

  He couldn’t resist ducking his head to kiss first one, then the other nipple. “Mmm, they’re hard, Lou. Want to get behind a bush?”

  “I’ve created a monster.” She laughed and pushed him away, but only a little. “I want to dance a bit more, then we can leave whenever you’re ready.”

  “Great.” He nuzzled her neck.

  “Just one thing.” She raised herself on her toes to whisper in his ear.

  “What! You’re joking.” He took a step back, astonished and a little apprehensive.

  “Look, if you don’t want to, it’s okay. I’ll tell him no.”

  He scratched his head, something that was particularly satisfying after taking off his wig. “I’m sort of surprised. It doesn’t seem like him.”

  “And does it seem like you?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “It’s pretty normal now, threesomes, isn’t it? I’m just starting out. I’ll take anything I can get. No, that sounds wrong. I’m cool with it, Lou.” He grinned, triumphant. “He must be really desperate to get your knickers off again.”

  “If I were wearing any,” she whispered in his ear, giving it a little bite.

  “Oh, shit, Lou, I have a massive erection now.”

  Her hand slid down, cupping him. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you’d get so turned on by the idea.”

  He couldn’t resist shoving against her hand although he knew that would make things worse. “I’m turned on by the idea of you, Mrs. Connolly, and if there’s someone else around I might learn something new. See how the experts do it. Just one question.” He cleared his throat. This was important. He was doing it for her (mostly; he found it pretty exciting himself) but he really needed to know in advance. He put his wig on again as though it gave him authority. “Is his dick bigger than mine?”

  She slapped his arse. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  * * *

  Mac

  GROUPS OF PEOPLE LINGERED ON the terrace; half a dozen young women and a couple of guys in military uniforms, the girls giggling and the guys not sure of what to do with their swords. In a corner a couple sat kissing passionately—Cathy and Alan, of course. Ben sat nearby, watching them with a hunger that made Mac uncomfortable. That was the trouble with three people; whatever you were doing, one tended to get left out. It was an odd sort of dynamic. On the other hand, he didn’t think Ben had been invited to Cathy and Alan’s party. Ben just showed up and watched or, Mac’s own theory, did whatever Sarah told him to.

  The terrace was transformed by lanterns strung overhead and tables decorated with centerpieces of flowers and sugar constructions, temples and depictions of gods and goddesses. Some guests had already nibbled at the edible works of art and a couple of them had collapsed into sugary ruin. Waiters came to and fro with trays of desserts, things dipped in chocolate, cupcakes with gilded or sugared flowers, coffee, tea, slices of orange, glasses of wine. A table of cheeses and bread stood at one end of the terrace for those who fancied something more substantial.

  Mac, nursing a cup of coffee—after his ridiculous suggestion earlier, he had decided he wanted to be awake and alert—waited for Lou.

  Finally, she emerged, smiling, and despite himself he smiled back and rose to his feet. “Well?” he said.

  “Oh, I’m hungry.” She sat at the table.

  “Again? Didn’t we only just have dinner?”

  “All that dancing. And I’m thirsty.” A couple of footmen rushed over—either Rob had arranged for VIP treatment or they just wanted to get an eyeful of her nipples—and she loaded a plate with dessert and chose a cup of coffee.

  Let her try to keep him in suspense; he’d show her. He faked a yawn.

  She removed gold flowers from the top of a tiny chocolate cupcake, cut it into four pieces with her fork and ate the first with excruciating slowness. Then the second.

  “Lou!” he leaned over the table. “For God’s sake, stop driving me crazy.”

  She made a questioning sound and fed a sliver of orange into her mouth. Slowly. She licked her lips and started on the next piece of cake.

  Mac leaned over the table, scooped up the remains of the cake with his finger and swallowed it.

  “I was looking forward to eating that,” she said.

  “Too bad. Have you asked him?”

  “Oh, yes.” She peered into the tiny silver pitcher that accompanied her coffee, looked around for a footman and beckoned. “Do you think I could have some milk for my coffee? I really prefer it over cream.”

  “The lady will have cream and like it,” Mac barked, and waited for the footman to leave. “Well?”

  She smiled. “He was quite intrigued that it was your idea.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “Yes, it was. I quote, ‘Have both of us, and to hell with it.’”

  He groaned. “You’re right. It was a moment of desperation and insanity. And what did he say?”

  Her smile broadened.

  He knew what that meant. “So we’re on. Okay, Lou. Now this is serious.” He looked around to make sure no one was within range. “Just out of curiosity.”

  She began dissecting another dessert. “Yes?”

  “This is awkward.”

  She patted his hand. “It’s okay. You can ask me anything you want.”

  “I have to know…” His mouth went dry.

  “Is his bigger than yours?” She popped a strawberry into her mouth and chewed for what seemed a long time. “As I told him—you’ll find out soon enough.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Lou

  When the next dance ended, Lou curtsied to Chris, her partner, who made an elaborate, flourishing bow in return. From farther down the set, Mac watched her.

  “Turning in already?” Chris asked as she retrieved her fan, reticule and gloves from a chair at the side of the room. The fan and reticule had become a nuisance, bouncing around on her wrist, and the gloves, although she liked the soft cream kidskin, made her too hot.

  “I think so. Thanks for the dance.” She was so tempted to tell him about the big discovery, but of course she couldn’t. Instead, she kissed his cheek.

  “It’s been an honor to see you get your groove back, Mrs. Connolly,” Chris said, “even though I expected you to dance until dawn. It’s only midnight. But I daresay you have other fish to fry.”

  “I wouldn’t put it quite that way.” She smiled and looked around for Peter, but he was deep in conversation with a group of people she didn’t know. “Say good-night to Peter for me and I’ll see you at a more civilized hour tomorrow. Tonight has been a triumph. You’re both brilliant.”

  She spent a little time chatting to people she knew and others she had met that night, declining offers of another dance. When the music started, she went in search of Rob and found him on the terrace, hand in hand with Di, executing a mock country dance.

  She stood and watched, remembering how only a few days ago she had seen Mac dance here alone. Rob and Di stepped in time to the music, then broke away into their own rhythm, he furling her into his side and then out again, turning her under his arm. They were well matched; both of them knew how to move. Di gyrated around him in a Bollywood-inspired, hip-swaying move, arms arched overhead. He copied the move back to her. They laughed, joined face-to-face, arms around each other’s waists, and then picked up the country dance steps again.

  Rob knew Lou was there; they exchanged a brief glance of understanding. She liked that he kept danc
ing and admired the deft, graceful way he partnered Di, deferring to her when she wanted to attempt a fancy dance move—a bit of hip-hop now, sexy, brash—and making a response that was all masculine, all his own.

  Their audience, some of the waiters and kitchen staff, clapped in time and called encouragement. The scent of marijuana was strong on the air.

  Lou smiled and left them to it. He’d arrive in her room when he was ready, and she felt for the first time that she was not altogether welcome there—Upstairs eavesdropping on Downstairs’ amusements.

  A footman stood guard at the bottom of the stairs to dissuade the curious from exploring upstairs where the guests stayed. He bowed and unhooked the silken rope at the bottom of the stairs to admit her.

  It was a matter of discomfort to her that she still had trouble distinguishing the footmen from each other, but that was the point, wasn’t it? The matched set of handsome young men, so enthusiastically selected by Peter, their wigs making them look even more alike to the modern eye.

  In her room, she took a shower and considered how to put her nervous gentlemen callers at ease. The Regency wardrobe did not extend to sexy negligees. It was an era when women looked sexier dressed than undressed, except for the floating draperies of classical figures. She had nothing that approximated floating draperies or the zephyrs necessary to keep them afloat.

  Clad in a towel, she debated putting on rosewater or lavender perfume, both of which she now associated with wholesome clean white linen.

  The tap at the servants’ door made her jump out of her skin. “Who’s there?” she asked. She had no doubt that later in the night as the company became drunker there would be some rowdy explorations of the house.

  “It’s me,” Mac replied.