The Courtesan's Secret (19 page)

She really ought to have gone to Sophia earlier in her life. She couldn't think what nonsense she'd been thinking not to have done so. Sophia truly was a most remarkable woman and she knew absolutely everyone, and that included, naturally, the most remarkable men of the Town.

"Did you?" Blakesley said wryly. "Spared me a thought, did you?"

"If you choose to spend the best part of the day lolling about in White's," she snapped back, "I don't see how I'm to be held responsible for that."

"I was in White's and I was not lolling, though why I should not loll as I see fit is no concern of yours."

Why was it that Blakesley's eyes, which she had always known somewhere in the back of her mind were blue, scalded her in their blueness now? Certainly Penrith's rather remarkable green gaze, which was certainly lovely, did not affect her in quite the same way. Nor did Mr. Grey's, no matter how he leered. No, it was Blakesley, who had always been quite impossible and reliably unpredictable, who made every nerve quiver in both anger and interest.

Blasted man. He was quite the most contrary of her acquaintances. She was not at all certain she would continue to tolerate him.

"Of course, you must spend your hours to please yourself," she said. "I certainly have no need of you."

"They've been friends long?" Mr. Grey asked Lord Penrith.

"From what I've heard," Penrith answered casually, both of them behaving as though they were not being overheard at all. It was extremely aggravating.

But what wasn't lately?

Certainly Blakesley couldn't possibly do more to annoy her than he had done in the last twenty minutes, never mind the fact that he had clearly avoided her for the best part of the day for the purpose of exposing her to public censure by placing her name at the heart of a squalid bet at White's. It was too awful of him. She couldn't imagine what he'd been thinking.

Obviously, he hadn't been thinking at all, which was completely unlike him. Blakesley was the most intelligent man she had yet to meet, though she supposed everyone could stumble into stupidity now and then.

Blakesley had stumbled.

She wasn't sure she would forgive him, at least not until next week.

"It's regular for an unmarried woman to befriend an unmarried man?" Mr. Grey asked Penrith.

"Not entirely regular, no," Penrith answered, his voice so pleasant and so calm that one might have thought he was giving a lecture on the habits of the native population of some backward province. "But, you see, Lady Louisa is not an entirely regular sort of girl."

"True," Mr. Grey responded, turning to look at her again. "She is not regular at all."

"I do not care to be discussed as if I were not present," she said more sharply than was usually considered proper. Certainly, in the present circumstances, she would be excused by even the most ardent follower of proper form. Not that anyone fitting that description was present at the moment. A rare bit of luck for her and entirely overdue. "In fact, I don't care to be discussed at all, and certainly not evaluated."

"Can't be helped," Mr. Grey said in that odd, clipped way he had of speaking. It was most jarring. "You're unforgettable. People are going to remember you and talk about you. Smart thing would be to learn to like it."

That rendered her speechless for a full five seconds.

Unfortunately, before she could gather her composure, Lord Penrith added, "It is true, Lady Louisa. Certainly you must know that about yourself? You are unique, and that is always worth comment."

There was simply no answer to that. Was she to admit that no one had ever complimented her before, on any small particular?

Obviously not.

"I wasn't aware that Lady Louisa was the object of speculation and she certainly is not a topic for gossip," Blakesley said.

She could have kissed him.

Odd, to think such a thing of Blakesley. She didn't quite know where the thought had come from. It was the company, certainly. She had never been in such strange company engaging in such peculiar conversation before this instant.

It was very difficult not to lay the blame at Sophia's feet and, in fact, she saw no reason not to do so.

"Of course not," Penrith said quickly. "I hardly meant that."

"Then you must have meant," Blakesley said in a low and quite serious tone, "that she is, as any beautiful lady would be, mentioned when beauty and wit are discussed, as they always are, because they are so rarely combined in one woman. Of course you meant that Louisa Kirkland is that rare woman."

The men stared at each other in that particular way that men had of threatening each other without words. She had no idea why they did so when words were such effective weapons, but that was neither here nor there at the moment. Louisa could not help herself. She truly wanted to throw her arms around Blakesley's neck and kiss his cynical cheek.

Apparently even cynical, sarcastic men could rise to the occasion with the proper motivation. Penrith and George Grey must have provided the proper motivation.

Was it possible that she should lay
that
at Sophia Dalby's feet?

It did not seem at all likely.

"Exactly," Mr. George Grey said, his expression as inscrutable as ever, if one discounted the glint of lust in his eyes, which she was hardly disposed to discount. Really, the man, even for a savage, had no manners whatsoever.

It was not at all to her credit, but certainly convenient, that she was becoming almost inured to his expression as it related to her. He liked to look at her. He clearly found her desirable. Was that so horrible?

Certainly there were worse things.

Louisa felt a small smile of purely feminine satisfaction turn up the corners of her mouth. She really ought not to have smiled, but she did. He might take it as encouragement, and she certainly did not want that.

"I've looked," Mr. Grey said, his dark eyes almost captivating, almost because she was still so very aware of Blakesley at her elbow, vibrating like a harp in simmering anger. "I like what I see. I want you, Louisa Kirkland, and I mean to have you."

Louisa stopped smiling.

"I beg your pardon?" Louisa said, her voice a mere whisper.

"No, Louisa, he must beg yours," Blakesley said, facing Mr. Grey fully, his body a shield from Mr. Grey's gaze.

It was an effective shield. Unfortunately, Mr. Grey was rather tall and rather dark in his black coat with his black hair and his single shining silver earring dangling from his left ear... well, let it be said that he was difficult to ignore, no matter who stood in front of him.

"I will not," Grey said, his expression calm, one might even have said he was amused.

Amused?

"I have seen what I want. What can I do but go after it? She is not spoken for. I have asked Sophia. This woman is free to choose the man she will mate with. I would be that man."

"That is not quite the way things are done here," Penrith said, also looking slightly amused.

She was getting more than a little tired of everyone finding this amusing. It might be many things, but not a one of them was amusing. However, even though she was as sure of this as that she was wearing white, she distinctly heard a snicker from somewhere behind her. As it was directly behind her she could not help but think that someone was amused at her expense.

She, however, had too much dignity to turn around and look to see who was laughing at her predicament.

"Maybe they should be," Grey answered, looking at both Penrith and Blakesley with equal parts amusement and challenge. "You have known this woman for how long? Yet you have not made her yours. You must not want her. I do."

She could feel Blakesley's body go rigid with anger and she could not have been more delighted. Here, at last, was someone who was not amused by Mr. George Grey's aberrant behavior. She wasn't at all familiar with the customs and habits of Americans, but she did not quite believe that George Grey was at all typical. Certainly, even Americans must have some rules of deportment and rites of courtship. Certainly this grab and run technique would find no supporters even in America.

Though he had not actually grabbed for her and run. Not yet. But to judge by the look in his dark eyes, she suspected he was capable of it.

She never should have smiled at him. This is what came of smiling at strange men. Certainly Blakesley had never acted even remotely like this with her and she had smiled at him for years. There was obviously no point in mentioning how often she'd smiled at Dutton and what that had wrought.

"You can't have her," Blakesley said.

She chanced a quick look at him and was surprised to see an expression on his face she had never seen before; Blakesley, charming, impenetrable Blakesley, looked positively lethal.

Well, good heavens.

It was enough to make a girl want to smile again.

"Why not?" Grey asked.

"She is not a woman free for the taking," Blakesley said, taking her elbow in his hand.

"Well said, Blakesley," Penrith said.

For all that Penrith was supposed to be so devastating to women, he certainly was shy off the mark when it came to defending a woman from a savage. It did not speak well of him, not at all. He was hardly much of a rake if he couldn't best a single Indian in verbal warfare.

Blakesley gripped her elbow so tightly that it hurt, but she did not think it was wise to say anything about that now. Another look at his face was enough to advise her of that.

"We'll see," Grey said with a suspicious twinkle in his eye.

"No, we shall not see," Blakesley said.

He looked as if he were about to say more, but they were called to dinner at that instant, the duchess casting a very disapproving eye upon her as she and the duke marched into the red reception room.

Well, really, what had
she
done?

Nothing but smile at an Indian, and that done in a crowded room in the Hydes' own house. Really, if the Hydes didn't have better control of their guest list, why should she be held responsible because a minor incident had occurred while waiting to go into dinner, a dinner which should have started a quarter of an hour ago?

Being a duchess gave one the right of being completely unreasonable. It was likely the main reason why Amelia was so determined to become one.

Louisa, on the other hand, all thoughts of Dutton scattered to the sky, was simply determined to make it through dinner without being carried off into Hyde Park.

She didn't think her chances looked that good, not with the way Grey was staring at her as they proceeded into dinner.

IT was as they were pairing up to enter the red reception room, a long table laid out and gleaming with porcelain, crystal, and silver down the exact center, that Sophia made her way to Louisa's side and whispered, "You do seem to draw them in, darling. Like flies to manure. I had no idea that you attracted men so easily, and each one of them so earnest. You are to be congratulated. At this rate, you shall have your pearls back in hours. Or someone's pearls. Really, as long as you can cajole a strand from one of your many admirers, does it matter if they are the Melverley pearls or not? One fine strand of pearls will do as well as any other, is that not so?"

Of course, there were many phrases in Sophia's whispered speech which stuck out to Louisa.
Flies to manure
, certainly.
Attracted men so easily
, definitely. Was it true? And if it was, when had it happened? Certainly she had no recollection of men being inordinately taken with her. But there was that last bit, that bit about any strand of pearls being adequate to the cause.

Was that true?

No, absolutely not, because if it were true then she would be no better than a common... well, she knew very well what and she was not that. Not at all. Nor had she a wish to be.

But, to have pearls strewn about her, as Caroline Trevelyan had had done just last week in this very house... that would have a certain satisfaction, wouldn't it? Especially if one of the strands were the Melverley pearls,
her
pearls. Wouldn't that be simple justice?

And retribution. So difficult to achieve true justice without retribution.

"I'm only interested in getting
my
pearls back," Louisa whispered to Sophia, because there was certainly no reason to tell Sophia every thought in her head. "And as to that," she said in a rush for they were entering rather more rapidly than she would have thought possible, though they were dining late and hunger could rush people so, "according to Lord Henry, the Marquis of Dutton is no longer in possession of the Melverley pearls. Henry himself has them."

Sophia eyed her like a rather plump lamb. It was not at all flattering.

"How very interesting. What does that mean, I wonder?"

"It means that some wager is afoot and—"

"And you mean to win it, obviously," Sophia interrupted. "How very clever of you, darling. Of course you must do all within your skill to win any wager even remotely connected to you."

It was the emphasis she put on the word
skill
which was so very insulting. Louisa felt herself bristling and was not at all concerned with hiding the fact.