Duke of Scandal (Moonlight Square, Book 1) (10 page)

“
What?”

“As children. Ah, it doesn’t signify,” he said with an elegant wave of his hand. “The thing’s long since been nullified. It was arranged by our parents, and as you’ve probably heard, the lot of them were quite mad.”

A trill on the high notes of the pianoforte summoned the guests back to their seats for the second half of the night’s entertainment.

“Your fiancée?” Jason remarked as they sat down again.

“Ah, not since I came of age—she was just a child then, herself. I have a feeling she only stares at me out of morbid fascination, to ponder the fate she barely escaped.” Rivenwood shrugged in amusement. “Beyond that, I cannot fathom why she’s started stalking me of late. She’s got another beau by now, in any case.”

“I’m not surprised to hear it,” Jason said, intrigued.

Then Lady Pelletier bustled back to her spot before her guests and cheerfully hushed them for the next portion of the musicale. As they settled in, people were murmuring curiously to one another about the surprise performer, soon to be revealed.

But first, up to the pianoforte went their daughter, the decidedly mousy Lady Simone, who had made her debut the year before but still looked terrified of everyone. She curtsied to the audience, wide-eyed, then sat down at the bench and played a couple of short, charming sonatinas by Muzio Clementi to demonstrate her accomplishments to any and all possible future husbands present.

It was over quickly, and the girl seemed relieved. She shot to her feet, sketched another pink-cheeked curtsy to the applauding guests, then fled, leaving the rest to the professionals.

This was followed by the obligatory Haydn for the night, one of the impeccable
Erdody
Quartets, a masterwork with forty years of experience behind it. In fact, Lady Pelletier had selected Jason’s favorite of the lot, no. 3, known as “Emperor” in a tribute to the Habsburg crown.

The crowd sat quietly, basking in the rich elegance of that worthiest of masters, known as “the composer’s composer,” for Haydn had taught both Mozart and Beethoven their art, among others.

In the tender serenity of the second movement, Felicity sent Jason another kind of smile, subdued and gentle, sharing in the beauty of the piece with him. His very heart stirred as he gazed into her blue-green eyes from across the candlelit distance between them and found himself thinking,
If I could ever be truly capable of love, my darling girl…

But by the time the agitated cadenzas of the fourth movement unfurled, its high-strung tension reminded him of what touching her could cost him. The friendship of a man who was like a brother to him, not to mention his own self-respect.

And then, at last, it was time for their surprise guest. He shoved his grim fears aside and focused on the moment at hand.

They heard the diva before they saw her, for the lady sent out a melodious trill from behind the curtains that framed the front of the music room.

“Can you guess who it is?” Lady Pelletier playfully asked her guests, standing to the side.

But unwilling to let anyone ruin the surprise for the others, the mystery guest did not wait. Jason’s eyes widened as the famous soprano Bianca Burns wafted out to the front of the ensemble to stand, preening, beside the pianoforte, as she was wont to do.

Oh no.
He folded his arms across his chest and began sinking down guiltily into his chair, hoping somehow to go unnoticed.

Was it too late to hide?

CHAPTER 5

Serenade for a Scoundrel

A
s she swanned out into view, the voluptuous Bianca Burns moved her hands in a graceful arc, presenting herself. She smiled grandly, accepting the enthusiastic burst of applause from the many who had recognized her even before she showed her beautiful face.

With only a few brief bars of introduction from the chosen flautist who had stepped forward, she launched into a medley of well-loved songs by the English favorite Thomas Arne.

Her rapturous voice enchanted the whole room as she opened her performance with a Shakespeare song from
The Tempest
, “Where the Bee Sucks, There Suck I.”

Aye, and very well, at that,
Jason thought wickedly, then he shoved the lecherous memory away with another stab of guilt.

The music carried Bianca on nimbly into the second tune in her Arne medley, the infamous cuckoo song from
Love’s Labour’s Lost
, “When Daisies Pied,” a warning to all husbands about springtime adultery from their amorous wives.

Jason had heard her sing both before, for God knew this was one art he had explored thoroughly. Indeed, it was the diva’s many pointed repetitions of “Come hither, come hither!” in the lyrics of the next song, “Under the Greenwood Tree,” that he had once heeded all too well.

When the striking blonde finally noticed him there, sitting off to the side and slumping down in his seat to try to make himself smaller, a gleam came into her playful, sparkly eyes.

Uh-oh.
Heart pounding, he prayed Felicity didn’t notice that they were acquainted, but when, next, she performed “O Ravishing Delight,” he couldn’t help thinking it sounded remarkably like some of the noises she had made in his bed.

Unfortunately, considering the unceremonious manner in which he had ended their brief but torrid affair, Bianca must have been inspired to dedicate her next song to him. She turned around and murmured something to the orchestra, and they all flipped a few pages in their Arne songbook.

She spun about to face the audience again with a wicked smile stretching from ear to ear.

Oh, please, don’t.

Inwardly cringing, Jason refused to betray any outward sign of chagrin, but he held her frank stare as the soprano drifted toward him, took a deep breath, and then had at him, bursting into lively song: “Monster, away!”

Knowing male laughter rumbled through the rooms.

Jason didn’t flinch, merely arched a brow and looked askance at the other men, his lips pursed as he ruefully took his comeuppance. Still, he sincerely doubted he was the only chap in the room who had enjoyed her favors.

At one point, she leaned down and sang the words blithely in his face, just to make sure everybody got the point.

Every creature,

Fierce by nature,

Harmless is

Compared to thee!

Even Rivenwood chuckled beside him. “What did you do to her, man?”

“What didn’t I do to her,” Jason muttered, folding his arms across his chest, though he kept his chin high.

She sang on, having her fun with him with an air from the Arne opera
Artaxerxes
.

Paths explore

Where lions roar,

And devouring tigers lie!

Monster, away!

“You enjoyed it,” he chided politely for his pride’s sake over her singing, which only made people laugh more.

Mrs. Brown wasn’t laughing, however. And though Felicity would hardly be surprised to learn of this dalliance, he still couldn’t bring himself to look over at her while his ex-lover publicly serenaded him on what a beast he was.

Literally.

But having given him his deserved punishment, Bianca came back over, laughing, bent down, and kissed him on the cheek, letting bygones be bygones.

“Miss me?” she whispered.

He narrowed his eyes at her. She smiled, straightened up, and, while turning away, winked at Rivenwood—rich as he was. Always on the lookout for a new keeper, her sort.

Then she flounced away to resume the program as planned. As she returned to her spot, the sustained cheering and applause from the female segment of the audience, rewarding her for taunting him, was quite loud.

Jason finally scraped up his courage to glance over at Felicity. She shook her head at him with a chuckle, looking at once amused and rather irked, but far from shocked.

He sent her a shrug.

To conclude Bianca’s performance at the Pelletiers’ famous annual musicale, she quieted things down with one of Arne’s most charming, melodic confections on the subject of love, “O Come, O Come, My Dearest.”

O come, o come, my dearest,

And hither bring

Thy lips adorn’d

With all the blooming spring…

Sitting very still, Jason pondered the lyrics just enough to wonder what an innocent love of the sort the song described would be like. Something sweet and clean rather than something deliberately dirty.

…Heal me with kisses,

Or else I die…

The Pelletiers’ house fairly shook with applause when she finished. Then came the true test of his nerves…

It was not going to be an easy thing to face Felicity after that, but he was determined to brazen it out.

He rose from his chair, still feeling like a fool, and went over to Felicity before she was swarmed by all her new admirers.

“Well, that was lovely,” she declared as he approached, still dreading her disapproval. He could barely hear her over the din of the crowd. “They are all so talented! Thank you for securing me an invitation.”

“Absolutely,” he blurted out, startled by her lack of reproach. “Er, where’s Mrs. Brown?” he asked, feeling slightly disoriented.

“She went to say goodbye to a couple of her friends.”

He tried to hide his disappointment at the news that they were leaving. “You’re not staying for the supper?”

“Alas, Mrs. Brown has had enough. And I think it’s probably best that I withdraw now, since I’m still in mourning.”

“Maybe I shall go home, too,” he said with a sigh.

“Early night for you, I’d imagine.”

“I’ve had enough humiliation for one night, thanks,” he said dryly.

“Humiliation? On the contrary, Your Grace. I think every man here is jealous of your conquest.” She paused a beat. “I could do with some air. Will you walk me out to wait for our carriage?”

“Gladly. Ladies first.” He gestured to her to walk ahead of him, and they both ignored the curious glances as they left together, going down the grand staircase to the ground floor.

He glanced uncertainly at her as they stepped out in front of the house, where some other guests had taken refuge in the damp night, having a stretch, or getting some air. A few men were lighting up cheroots, while several women tugged their paisley shawls around their shoulders.

The wind had died down but the streets were wet, reflecting the gleam of the lanterns and streetlamps lining Moonlight Square. Across the street, raindrops dripped from the leaves of the trees in the garden square.

Felicity sent a servant running to tell her driver to bring her carriage round, then she turned to him. They exchanged a smile and waited.

Jason tried not to stare at her overmuch. “You caused quite a sensation here tonight, you know,” he told her in a low tone.

She smiled idly. “It doesn’t signify. It’s not me they want; it’s Lady Kirby’s fortune.”

“It’s both,” he warned, though in her brother’s absence, he had already made up his mind to monitor possible suitors for whatever designs they might have on her.

She shook her head. “I doubt it. I’ve been here all the time and they never even noticed me.” She paused, clutching the handle of her reticule with both hands. “Do you know any of those gentlemen?”

“Some.”

“Hmm.” She nodded and gazed off down the street, then eyed him shrewdly. “You’ll have to warn me which ones to avoid.”

“You’d trust my judgment?”

“Of course. Why?”

He floundered, the polite smile fading from his lips. “What must you think of me,” he ventured.

“Ah, you mean the little serenade?”

He sent her a penitent nod and dropped his gaze.

She smiled almost tenderly and shrugged the matter off, much to his amazement. “
She
may think you a beast, Jason. No doubt you gave her cause. But you’ve never been that way with me, have you?”

He nodded his thanks at that much-needed acknowledgment, but being Felicity, put on this earth to torture him, of course, she couldn’t leave it at that.

A mischievous glint danced in her eyes as she flicked a speculative glance over him and added, “Would it were not so.”

He nearly fell over, then averted his eyes, his heart pounding. He risked another wary look her way once his sardonic mask was firmly in place again, arching a brow as he tried to read her, but damned if he knew how else to respond.

Felicity laughed, blushed, and quickly changed the subject, as though remembering belatedly how things had gone the last time she had tried to flirt with him.

That was eight years ago, however, when she had been a budding little nymph instead of the ripened beauty now standing before him.

His lust rose fiercely in him again without warning, but Felicity had dropped her gaze, fleeing back to being demure after that quick flash of letting her desire show.

“Speaking as a friend, merely out of concern for you, of course, I don’t approve of your womanizing ways,” she admitted hesitantly. “But you are a grown man. It’s your life, and the lady is old enough to know what she’s doing.”

He was silent, his head rather spinning with the intensity of whatever this was between them. Something far more delicate—and complicated—than what he was used to with women.

Felicity lifted her head and passed a glance of cautious study over his face, and then a half-smile curved her lips. “You look shocked, Jason,” she murmured. “Did you expect me to have a fit of the vapors and faint over that little musical reminder of how many paramours you’ve had? Even after I caught you with those two unspeakable females the other morning?”