“Ah?” Orlanda said mildly. “And—if you’ll forgive the directness you begged for—did you always, on such occasions, wish that you were the woman being made love to?” Ignoring the flush that came up in Alexa’s face and her startled expression, Orlanda went on pitilessly: “What I know I sensed, my dear, was that you longed to be Maddalena tonight. You wanted the man with her to do the same things with you that he did with her—touch you in the same way and in the same places and give you the same kind of pleasure that she enjoyed.”
Alexa’s face went from red to white, and her fingers tightened on the back of the chair as if it had been a life raft that could save her from drowning. She felt totally incapable of speech as a shiver that was half-despair and half-apprehension darted through her body. How was it possible that her darkest, most carefully hidden thoughts could have been so easily read? And, oh God, now that they had been plucked out into the light, she could not deny that everything Orlanda had said was the truth.
Orlanda’s manner seemed to change in some subtle way as she studied Alexa’s white face and dilating eyes. She said in an almost speculative tone, “You saw his face. Do you know who he is and what his connections are? Ah, now you do have me curious!”
As if she had suddenly been released from some spell, Alexa stammered, “Con.. .connections? I don’t...”
“Perhaps you do not know after all.” Orlanda suddenly gave a strangely mirthless laugh before adding: “Ah well, my dear, since you are Solange’s niece perhaps this once I will break one of my strictest rules for you. When I spoke of ‘connections’ I was speaking of family connections. On your paternal side, that is. Why, Maddalena’s guest tonight happens to be none other than your father’s heir, the future Marquess of Newbury. Although, of course, he is presently Viscount Embry. Lord Nicholas Dameron, Viscount Embry, to give him his full name. And he’s quite the stud too, in addition to being a well-built figure of a man, wouldn’t you agree, cara? I cannot help but think of how amusing as well as ironical it might have been if you had taken him from Maddalena. But I daresay that your mind is not as devious as mine is...and in a way that’s a pity, I suppose. For if I were in your shoes I would have made the most of the situation and all its deliciously intriguing possibilities—in more ways than one!”
As the meaning and significance of those casually uttered words penetrated the numbness she had felt at first, Alexa heard the blood start pounding in her temples, so loudly, it seemed, that she was almost deafened. From the very beginning, then, he had lied and pretended and deliberately deceived her, even going so far as to call himself by a false name! And for what reason? Could he have known even before she did whose child she was and the kind of embarrassment her very existence might pose to certain people, especially if she learned of her antecedents and might turn up in England some day to claim her rights? Ah, how clearly she saw now why he had prevented her from meeting Lord Charles, and perhaps eloping with him.
The very thought of the extent of the monstrous deceit he had practiced made Alexa begin to grit her teeth and actually shake with such uncontrollable fury that for some moments even Orlanda became alarmed that she was suffering from some kind of seizure. Quickly putting an arm about the girl’s waist, she exclaimed with genuine concern, “My poor child! If I’d had any idea of what a shock...perhaps you had better sit down again for a while, yes? A glass of brandy...”
“No!” The sharp, almost harsh voice that Alexa heard from somewhere outside herself did not sound in the very least like hers. “No, brandy is not what I need at all! A devious mind—isn’t that what you said? A mind devious enough and clever enough to conceive of ways whereby deceivers might be duped themselves!” She gave a laugh filled with such bitter rage that even Orlanda stepped back to stare at her strangely while Alexa, not quite aware of it herself, suddenly began almost to prowl back and forth with her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Oh, how I hate and despise them all! And thank God I don’t bear that cursed name any longer! Damerons—with their arrogance that sets them up above everyone else, and their false pride and their damned hypocrisy! But before I have finished with them they will have neither pride nor position nor arrogance left—I swear it!”
Alexa gave that short, almost ugly laugh again as she suddenly stopped her frenzied walking back and forth and stood still, staring narrow-eyed at Orlanda, who had found herself almost frozen into silence. “Do you think that I could learn to be very devious indeed? And a good actress? I know now that I could learn anything and do anything that would help me to accomplish the revenge that I plan. And you hate them too, don’t you? But if you won’t help me then perhaps my aunt Solange will, once I have met her and explained everything to her. And if not, then I have been made wealthy enough to hire lawyers and anyone else I might need to help me. But I will do it, you know!” Her voice suddenly quietened, but there was a note of hardness underlying it that had never been there before. “They will not be able to get Lady Travers out of the way as easily as they did my poor mother and aunt and God knows how many others who were thought to interfere with the old witch’s plan. Didn’t you tell me that was what you used to call her? Ah, perhaps I am enough like my grandmother to be the one to defeat her by using her weapons! What do you think, my wise new friend? And will you help me with your advice and your guidance?”
During all of this impassioned speech Orlanda had been regarding Alexa with enigmatic eyes that gave nothing away, and now she merely gave a shrug and a resigned somewhat impatient sigh before saying with a wave of her hand: “Well then, I suppose we might as well sit down again while we talk, for I must tell you that your prowling back and forth like a caged leopard was beginning to make me quite nervous, and I do not think very well when I am set on edge. Please...!” Another impatient wave of her hand made Alexa sink back into a chair rather reluctantly while Orlanda walked over to a glass-fronted cabinet containing glasses and several crystal decanters. She said over her shoulder: “ I for one am going to indulge in a glass of brandy. Shall I bring you one as well?” Without waiting for Alexa’s reply she had already poured it out; and now she carried both glasses back, handing one to Alexa before she sat down herself and leaned back comfortably. She looked across at the young woman’s rather flushed but determined face with a slight smile. “So you want my advice and my guidance, you say. Hmm...” Holding her glass up, Orlanda pretended to study the sparkling amber liquid with concentration before she looked at Alexa again and said: “In that case, cara, I do think that the first thing I will have to learn from you—before you make certain explanations that I’m sure you’ll agree you owe to me— is—” and now her eyes met Alexa’s measuringly “—if you’ll forgive the blunt question...exactly how far are you prepared to go in order to attain your ends?”
Chapter 27
If they were not finishing each other’s sentences, the twin Viscounts, as they were popularly known in their circles, were usually engaged in an argument, as they were now.
“Tell you, it was her! Wasn’t foxed enough at the time to mistake it!”
“All covered up, Myles old fellow. No way you could possibly tell, you know. Wasn’t before, was she?”
“Makes no difference! Hair—not a common color, you’ll admit. Hands too. Always notice hands. Fingers. Wore the same ring, too! Ruby, I think. Remember the setting, though. Unusual.”
“Well, I’m not convinced yet! Think about it. Hardly the kind of place a lady would visit, what? And this is Rome, that was Naples. Unlikely, you’ll have to admit! Both agreed at the time, didn’t we, that she had to be a lady? Spoke like one. Sounded too much like Mama when she decides to put us in our places. And you know as well as I do Damiano wouldn’t rent the family home to just anybody! No, no, old boy. Not possible! Imagining things.”
“Know when I am and sure when I’m not, Roger! Was her all right, likely or not. Anyway, remember what Grange told us after he’d been here last year? Ladies, he said. Why else would they wear masks when the others don
’t?”
“Still don’t convince me, Myles. Not the type, in spite of...”
“In spite of what?”
The twins, comfortably seated on lawn chairs that had been placed in the shadiest part of the flag stoned terrace overlooking an ornamental garden complete with statues and fountains scattered among carefully trimmed grass and shrubs, now started almost guiltily as they looked up, their mouths falling open with dismay.
“I suppose I should apologize for interrupting such an interesting conversation?” Viscount Embry drawled as he walked up the steps that led up to the terrace from the lawn below. Two pairs of slightly protuberant blue eyes topped by straw-colored hair seemed to become even more protuberant when they noticed that he was not only bareheaded under the hot sun but shirtless and shoeless as well, his closely fitting fawn trousers carelessly rolled up to just below knee level. As usual, that darkly saturnine face of his remained completely unreadable as he surveyed the twins through narrowed, lazy-lidded eyes that went from one red face to the other before he added pleasantly: “I had been trying to get some sleep in the sun, you know; but once the sound of your voices had waked me up, I must admit that I could not help becoming quite intrigued. Unusually colored hair, didn’t you say, Myles? Hands— or no, it was a finger, wasn’t it? With an unusually set ruby ring. And you did mention your friend the Conte di Menotto, didn’t you? The same one whose villa in Naples we committed a faux pas by visiting, even if it was only the lady’s maid you encountered—or could it have been the lady herself? I am afraid that my memory sometimes plays tricks on me, so you will correct me if I’m wrong, won’t you?”
“Ah—uh—sorry if we woke you up, Embry! Didn’t know you were trying to catch a nap. Would not have argued so loudly if we had.” The Viscount Selby spoke rapidly, casting his brother a significant look as he did.
“That’s right. Couldn’t know you were taking a nap, could we? No one told us. In any case—not safe to take naps in the sun, I’ve been told. Sunstroke, you know!”
“How careless of me.” Embry’s voice remained bland, but his eyes were as hard as stones, making the younger men squirm uncomfortably before, with a dangerously swift change of mood, he shrugged and said lightly: “I suppose my fortunate escape from the dire consequences of being unwise enough to fall asleep in the hot sun calls for an offering to the Roman gods! Or better yet, a goddess. Venus, perhaps? I believe I’ve read that it was customary to visit her temple at least once every week, to give thanks, or to settle arguments.”
After he had sauntered back to the house, the twins exchanged uneasy glances. “I say, do you think he knows? Didn’t think we said anything significant, did you?”
“Of course we didn’t!” Myles said stoutly. “Said nothing at all, really! But perhaps we should go along too, when he does. Just in case, you know. Can’t have anyone we might know thinking we didn’t keep our word.”
Once the two young men had decided that a second visit to that exclusive establishment known as the Temple of Venus was necessary in order to protect their honor as gentlemen, they could see no reason why duty could not be synonymous with pleasure on this occasion, and especially since they were supposed to return to London again within the next two days. In fact, they had no sooner dispatched the customary note to Madame Orlanda that formally requested permission to call upon her that evening than they were already in the hands of their valets, and even had their carriage ordered for eight o’clock sharp, for there was no question in their minds that they would receive anything but a polite note of acceptance in reply.
By the time they had arrived at their destination and had been greeted by their hostess, the twin Viscounts were in fine fettle and had almost forgotten their reason for being here in the first place. They engaged in a lighthearted discussion as to the merits of redheaded women as opposed to blondes or brunettes, and whether they would reengage the twin redheads they had enjoyed before or seek variety this time, not making their choice so quickly. After all, their friend Giles had told them with a significant wink, that part of the fame of the Temple of Venus lay in the fact that they had only to state what they wished and it would be provided for their pleasure and enjoyment, even if it was “a make-believe kind of thing”—something like a charade but much more fun, as Giles had described it.
Told that they might feel free to roam about until they found whatever or whoever caught their fancy, both Roger and Myles decided to begin their exploration with the velvet-hung chamber that was whimsically known as the Theatre, and where, from their comfortable chairs visiting gentlemen could observe some of the priestesses of Venus as they bathed or played in pretended unawareness of their “audience” who watched from the darkness on the other side of the multicolored layers of gauze curtains.
Escorted to their seats by attentive “footmen” who were actually young women dressed in livery, their crystal glasses brimming with vintage champagne, both gentlemen had barely settled back with anticipation beginning to rise in their twin breasts when a drawling, rather sarcastic voice from the seat to the left of Roger gave them both an unpleasant start.
“Selby and Rowell. What a coincidence! You might have mentioned that you two intended to come here tonight, and we might have shared one carriage. But tell me, are you still trying to settle that argument of yours?”
“Forgotten which argument you mean,” Roger countered cleverly. “Myles and I argue all the time, you know.”
“Hmm, yes, I suppose I do know,” Viscount Embry said noncommittally, and left the subject alone as some of the scantily clad “priestesses” who had been disporting themselves in their sunken bath now decided to emerge in order to stretch their limbs gracefully before some of them reclined on marble slabs to be massaged and oiled by “slaves” and others wrapped themselves in thin silk robes after they had allowed themselves to be dried by their attendants.
The gauze curtains gave the whole enticing scene an effect of pastel unreality, as if they had been viewing it though a veil of mist; and most of those who watched seemed to be quite entranced as different young women arrived on the “stage”—or left it, once they had been on view long enough to be chosen or not. Viscount Selby, his gaze still fixed, had held his glass up for a third time without realizing when it was filled by one of the attendants or how he had managed to drain it so fast until he felt himself nudged in the ribs by his twin.
“I say, Roger! Isn’t that... Mean to say... Well, I told you, didn’t I? Can’t deny it now, can you?” Although Myles had meant to speak in a whisper, his excitement at being able to prove his earlier assertion made his voice carry before his brother had a chance to nudge him back fiercely and cough. He had noticed how Embry, who had been lounging in the chair on his other side and had actually yawned a few times, had suddenly seemed to tense like a coiled spring, even though he had not changed his position at all. In any case, Roger thought after he’d blinked his eyes a few times, it had to be an illusion! No matter what Myles had thought or Embry might have imagined, it just wasn’t possible to be sure—just because a shapely female who happened to have hair of an unusual shade of bronze shot through with gold, and skin that was only slightly lighter in color had climbed out of the sunken bath on the far side with her back to them and had almost immediately run off the stage all muffled up in the silk robe that had been handed to her. He held his glass up again to be filled, only to drain its contents immediately when he noticed that Viscount Embry had decided to leave. Quite at a loss, Selby was rescued by his brother, who pointed out reasonably that first of all Embry couldn’t possibly know anything, and in any case what was the point of following him?
“Besides,” Myles added with a sudden note of alertness in his voice, “I’ve just seen a real beauty! The small brunette with a birthmark on her hip. Want to watch her a while. And you know very well what Embry’s like—always going off somewhere on his own. Sure we’ll run into him later. Find out what he’s been up to.”
As a matter of fact, Nicholas
Dameron, Viscount Embry, had left the voyeuristic pleasures of the theater with every intention of leaving the Temple of Venus itself. He was in a singularly unpleasant mood and angry with himself as well for having come here in the first place—only because of a few disjointed phrases overheard on a sleepy afternoon. For Christ’s sake! Just because of that time in Naples and the sheer coincidence of learning that Sir John Travers, lately of the city of Colombo in the British Crown Colony of Ceylon, had rented the villa his drunken young companions had insisted upon visiting... What difference could it make to him anyway? None at all—not even if by an even stranger and completely unlikely coincidence that same Sir John Travers had happened to marry the young virago who had referred to him as her uncle. He had, with commendable self-control, put that incident quite out of his mind until this afternoon, when he had foolishly allowed himself to become slightly intrigued at the thought that the evil-tempered mermaid he’d been considerate enough to leave a virgin might have progressed within the space of a few months to wife, and then to whore. He was aware, of course, that the Temple of Venus was famous for being frequented by ladies who were either bored or restless or married to old men and who played at being harlots for the sheer enjoyment of it. What man granted entree here was not? But even if the bronze-maned priestess of Venus he had only caught a glimpse of had been the same sea witch he’d captured briefly one moonlit night, it still made no difference to him. In fact, it was surprising that he could remember her at all, much less the colors captured in her hair.
The hell with her, no matter where she was or what she had become! Nicholas’s hard mouth twisted in the travesty of a smile that mocked at his own idiocy before an equally wry thought stopped him as he approached the front door. Suppose that she was here after all, one of the bored women looking for excitement? This time he would have no reason to stop himself from taking her as he should have before, without scruples. And the best way to erase her annoying memory would be to take her and use her exactly as he had always wanted to from the first moment he had seen her swimming naked in the Governor’s pool with the silver light reflecting off the wet silk of her skin and her hair floating about her like writhing tendrils of sea weed.
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