Mary Jo Putney (37 page)

She saw that he was about to ask for clarification, which she would just as soon avoid. Rising, she brushed at her sprigged-muslin dress, decided that it would survive its harsh treatment, then said cheerfully, "Shall we see what the confectioner has this morning? I think we both deserve a treat."

Geoffrey's face became that of a small boy again, and he gave a whoop before dashing into the confectionery. Diana followed with more restraint. She had always known that someday her son would realize what happened during those moments when his body went out of control and he lost consciousness, and she was grateful he had accepted it so well. On the whole, he was dealing with life's injustices better than she ever had.

* * *

When he ran into French troops so soon after landing in the Netherlands, Gervase had thought it was bad luck. He had talked his way out of the first encounter with false papers, officiousness, and an aristocratic French accent, but the next time he had been less fortunate. The guards checked his description against a broadside, agreed that he was surely the Viscount St. Aubyn, notorious British spy, and had arrested him. He managed to escape from the flimsy local jail, acquiring a shallow wound from a bullet along his upper arm in the process.

After that the hunt was on. He would never have gotten clear if he hadn't found a small band of Gypsies. Gervase had worked with Gypsies before and spoke some of their language. The nomads hated Napoleon because of the barriers he put on their free way of life, and for an only mildly extortionate amount of gold they were happy to take in the Englishman and wend their way north toward Denmark.

They traveled more slowly than he would have preferred, but at least his chances of reaching General Romana were good. And during the journey, he had ample time to think about who among the handful of people aware of his mission might have betrayed him.

* * *

Each week passed more slowly than the one before. The earliest time Gervase might have returned passed, and anxiety was a tight, constant knot inside Diana. She spent more time than usual at knife throwing, not because she needed the practice but because the concentration required kept fear at bay. There was satisfaction in the familiar weight of the weapon in her hand, the narrow focus on the target, then the solid
thunk!
as the blade buried itself.

On this dull July morning, she had been throwing for half an hour or so with only Tiger for an audience when Madeline entered and sat down to watch. After observing for a while, the older woman asked, "Does this make you feel better?"

Diana smiled wryly. "Knife throwing does relieve tension." She walked down the narrow room to collect her weapons.

Madeline asked hesitantly, "It isn't just that St. Aubyn is away, is it? You have been... edgy, uncertain ever since we stayed at Aubynwood. Is something wrong between you, or shouldn't I ask?"

Diana tugged at an embedded knife. She had great difficulty discussing her deepest emotions even with her closest friend, but she owed Maddy an explanation. In a brittle voice she said, "Everything was fine at Aubynwood until the end. Then he wanted me to forsake all others, and I refused, and talked about love, and he went off in a huff."

Freeing the blade, she returned to the upper end of the range. "As you know, he came back, but ever since February, he has been watching me like Tiger watches birds in the back garden. For months I have felt as if something is waiting to happen. And then he went away."

A fan of knives in her right hand, she shook her head. "I don't know what to think, Maddy. I know that he wants me, and I'm sure it is more than just lust, but I don't understand him, or what is going on between us."

With a trace of humor, Madeline said, "Sometimes I think men and women are two entirely different species that just happen to be able to mate."

Diana gave a twisted smile. "Perhaps you are right." She hefted a knife, then flipped it underhand and missed the bull's-eye by a hand span, a poor throw for her.

Madeline sighed. Diana was suffering and even her best friend could offer little in the way of comfort. Except, perhaps, by distracting her a bit. "Have you ever heard of the Cyprians' Ball?"

"The
what?"
Diana asked with astonishment.

"Obviously I never mentioned it. It's just what the name implies—a ball given by courtesans for their favored clients. Parliament will be ending soon and society will be heading to Brighton or the country, so this is a way of reminding the gentlemen of what they will be missing."

Intrigued, Diana said, "A gathering of famous men and infamous women?"

"An apt description," Madeline agreed with a smile. "It's usually held in the Argyle Rooms. This year's ball is tomorrow night and I'd really like to attend. It's been so long since I've been out. Will you go with me?"

Diana hesitated. "What will the men present expect?"

"You won't have to do anything you don't want to," Madeline assured her, "though it might be better to leave before it gets too late, since there are always those who drink too much. Will you come? I do want to go, but not alone, and I doubt Edith could be persuaded."

"If you want to, of course I'll go with you," Diana said Absorbed in her thoughts of Gervase, she hadn't considered how dull Maddy's life was. Getting out would be better than staying home and brooding for still another evening.

* * *

The Argyle Rooms were very splendid and, most of the time, very respectable. Tonight, however, decent women kept their distance to avoid contamination; also, perhaps, to avoid the horrid possibility of seeing their own fathers, husbands, or sons join the Fashionable Impures, "a company more fair than honest."

Madeline was lovely in a bronze-colored dress cut modestly in deference to her years. In a mood to be admired, Diana wore a blue silk gown which she thought rather dashing, but which was positively prudish in this company, where the most daring exposed their breasts completely.

There were many young bachelors since they were the Cyprians' best customers; men were not expected to live without sex until they wed. The women were uniformly attractive, and far more flamboyant than respectable ladies. The dancing was also far more intimate, and some of the activities in corners caused Diana to turn her eyes quickly away.

But Maddy was right: it was good to be among people. Concern for Gervase was a weight on her heart, but the music was gay, the dancing lively, and high spirits abounded. She and Madeline quickly attracted a group of admirers, several of whom she had met on her previous excursions into the world of the demireps. Naturally Harriette Wilson herself was present, and gales of appreciative laughter came from the circle around her.

Diana relaxed, chatting and listening and even dancing with some of the shyer young men, who seemed unlikely to be too demanding. Seeing that her protégée was doing well, Madeline wandered off in mid-evening to talk with old friends.

The night was well advanced when Diana found a quiet corner by the musicians' platform to catch her breath and watch the dancing. After a few minutes, a group of young men stopped nearby. From their rowdiness it was obvious that they had been drinking heavily, and Diana edged away, not wanting to catch the young bucks' attention.

As she did, she noticed an elegant young man with light brown hair several feet in front of her. He seemed familiar, and after a moment she recognized him as Francis Brandelin, Gervase's cousin, whom she had met briefly the same evening she had met the viscount. Like her, he was watching the dancers and minding his own business.

One of the group of drunken revelers said in a voice pitched to carry over the music, "Look! Who would believe that Brandelin would be here? From what I remember of Eton, I wouldn't have thought women were his preference."

A coarse burst of laughter greeted the remark, and Diana saw Francis Brandelin's lips tighten to a thin line as his face paled. Another drunken voice said, "But he's such a pretty fellow, maybe he wants to rival our Harriette."

Diana caught her breath at the cruelty of it. What they implied was the most vicious of slanders, an allegation of a crime punishable by death. Their target looked stricken and unsure, as if torn between confronting his accusers, ignoring them, or walking away.

Moved by pure impulse, Diana came forward from her corner to stand in front of Gervase's cousin. Laying a hand on his arm, she said in a throaty, seductive voice, "Francis, darling, I'm so glad you came. I've been looking everywhere for you."

He stared at her, his expression strained and confused. As the jeers from the neighboring group died away, she linked her hands around his neck and said reproachfully, "You've been neglecting me, darling. It's been three days." She sighed, then added huskily, "That last time was
such
a night."

Standing on tiptoe, she pressed a light kiss on his lips, saying softly as she drew back, "Don't look so surprised. Smile at me as if you mean it, then we can walk away from them."

Understanding flickered in his eyes and he smiled down at her and offered his arm. "It has been much too long," he said clearly, "I trust you saved tonight for me?"

She cuddled close, looking as provocative as she knew how. "Of course, darling. Tonight and any other night you wish."

Leaving dead silence behind, they walked away. When they had circled halfway around the room and were out of sight of the group that had been baiting him, Francis drew her into a vacant alcove and examined her carefully, his expression puzzled. "You're Diana Lindsay, aren't you? The Fair Luna who appeared once, and has hidden her face since."

"Yes." Diana released his arm. "I'm sorry, I hope I didn't embarrass you."

"On the contrary, you helped me out of an unpleasant situation. Why?"

Diana glanced at him; then her eyes slid away as she sat on the small sofa. It was easier to act than to explain. "I guess I didn't like the odds. Six of them and only one of you."

His voice edged with bitterness, he said, "Would you aid me if what they said was true, if I was guilty of abominations'?"

Startled, she raised her eyes to his. Madeline had once explained in a matter-of-fact way how some men preferred their own kind, and were greatly reviled for it. It seemed bizarre to Diana, something entirely outside her experience, and she had no idea how to respond. But as she studied Francis Brandelin, she could feel the anguish in him. "A woman in my trade is hardly qualified to speak of abominations. I prefer to live and let live."

His face eased and he sat down next to her. "Then you are very unusual." Francis' gaze was appraising. "That time you appeared at Harriette's, my cousin St. Aubyn reacted to you like..." He paused, searching for a suitable simile, "...like Galahad seeing the Holy Grail. I asked once if he was... seeing you, and he just
looked
at me, then changed the subject."

His voice held a questioning note and Diana almost laughed aloud. She knew all about how Gervase could
look,
and it was comforting to know that he was the same with his nearest relative as he was with her. Shaking her head, she said, "Would you expect me to be less discreet than he?"

"I suppose not," he said with regret. "I hoped that he had made some arrangement with you. He works too hard. I'd like to think he found time for some enjoyment."

"You and your cousin are close?"

He shrugged expressively. "I suppose I'm as close as anyone. He was the nearest thing I had to a brother. When I started at Eton, he kept the other boys from bullying me too much. After my father died, he was one of my guardians until I came of age, though he was in India much of the time."

"You sound fond of him." Diana knew she should end this conversation, but she couldn't resist talking about Gervase.

"Oh, yes, he's the best of good fellows." Francis' tone was briefly enthusiastic. Then the expression of strain returned and he looked down at his hands, which were twisting restlessly. "If you do see him, you won't tell him what happened tonight—what they were saying about me?"

Diana felt a surge of compassion. If this young man indeed had unorthodox preferences, he must be terrified at the thought that those he loved most would hear, and condemn him. Resting her hand on his, she said gently, "Of course not. Who could possibly be interested in the ramblings of drunken louts?"

His face eased at her words. There was little physical resemblance to Gervase, but he was pleasant and attractive, with a vulnerability that reminded her of Geoffrey. Though Francis must be near her own age, she felt much older. He looked up and said with a faint smile, "You are a very restful woman. Would you... may I call on you sometimes? Just to talk?"

She suspected that he needed to talk rather badly. "Of course. I live at 17 Charles Street. Late morning and early afternoon are the best times." She smiled and stood. "I suppose that we should leave together if we wish to maintain the charade, but I must find my friend Madeline first."

He stood also and said with his first real amusement, "Leaving with not one, but two, beautiful women would do my reputation no end of good."

Madeline was located, and was quite ready to leave and to accept Francis Brandelin's escort. After introducing them, Diana excused herself to go to the ladies' retiring room upstairs. Three Cyprians who had been very active about their trade earlier in the evening were resting, and their bawdy forthrightness made her blush to her ears. Even after her months as a mistress, she clearly had much to learn about what might occur between men and women, so she took care of her business and left hastily.