Ravenna wanted more than anything not to discuss what Iona clearly wished to discuss. Instead she wanted to beg Iona to take her to a dressing table and teach her how to make herself into a lady too. She could never actually look like a duchess’s daughter; her skin was far too dark and her hair was far too wild and she started throwing out hives after she spent too many minutes in ballrooms or drawing rooms or really indoors at all. But for a moment she wondered if she had looked like Iona—like a lady—behind that armor, would he have done more than hold her hand? Would he have kissed her?
“I must speak wi’ ye, lass.” Iona’s brilliant blue eyes entreated. “Will ye? Oh, do say ye will, or I’ll go mad wi’ it.”
The others now combed through boxes of cloth and garments, assisted by Monsieur Brazil and Iona’s maid. A few of the gentlemen had disappeared, presumably unenthralled with the prospect of rehearsing the play. Lady Margaret’s laughter rose above the conversation as she affixed an enormous wig decorated with a full-sized peacock upon her head.
Lord Vitor had not yet appeared.
Ravenna nodded. Iona grasped her elbow and drew her to a sofa away from the others.
“Dear Ravenna, I dinna ken whit to say to ye nou, in truth. Whit ye must think o’ me.” Even in agitation she sat erect and graceful. Ravenna tucked in her belly and lowered her shoulders a bit.
“I don’t quite know what to say to you either,” she said thinly. With her spine so straight, breathing proved difficult. Perhaps if she tied her stays differently it might not pinch so awfully. “I apologize for walking in like that.”
“No! ’Tis I that should be apologizin’, lass. Ye niver shoulda seen that. In truth, I niver shoulda done it.” Her chestnut brows bent. Ravenna marveled at their elegant arch and tried to picture her own eyebrows. She couldn’t. It was entirely possible she had never looked at them.
“Why did you do it?”
A light glittered in Iona’s eyes. One tapered shoulder lifted in a lovely shrug. “He asked.”
“He . . . asked?”
“I flirted wi’ him, an’ he flirted wi’ me. But, Ravenna, I niver thought he’d ask. But then he did, an’ he’s so wonderfully braw, I couldna say no.” Iona’s hands grasped hers. “Oh, lass, dinna look at me like that, I pray ye.”
“I don’t know how I am looking at you. I don’t really know what to think about it.” She lowered her voice. “He is married.”
Iona’s teeth clenched again. “She’s a witch. Ye ken it as well as I, lass.”
“Iona . . .” How did one say this, even to a girl like Iona McCall? “Do you think he might have done it to ruin your chances with the prince? That is to say, he is here to marry one of his daughters to Prince Sebastiao. You are not only far more beautiful than both Penelope and Grace, but also infinitely more pleasing.”
Iona seemed thoughtful a moment. “ ’Tis possible that was why he did it.”
“But you?”
Rosebud lips lifted at one side. “I’ve done it afore.”
Ravenna simply stared.
“Wi’ any number o’ men.”
“Any number—that is . . .”
Iona nodded.
“You don’t know how many men?”
Another lovely shrug. “ ’Tis nothin’ else to do at home but go to assemblies an’ drink whiskey. Wi’ the two comes the third, ye see.” She leaned forward again. “I canna get enough o’ it, Ravenna. I’ve got the soul o’ a penny jo. Why do ye think my mither’s brought me all the way here to find a husband? No laird in Scotland’ll have me—at least no’ for more than a dalliance.” She smiled radiantly.
“Have you done—” Ravenna swallowed thickly. Her gaze darted to Sir Henry and Martin Anders sorting costumes with the ladies. “Have you done it with any of the other gentlemen here?”
“Mr. Anders tried, but I’m holding him aff. Young men are potent, but they lack skill, an’ they tend to do it too quickly to be o’ any use.”
Ravenna’s throat was dry. “Of use?”
“They’re all aboot their own pleasure an’ rushin’ to the finish.”
The finish? What was there to it other than the finish?
“I prefer it when a lad makes me come afore he’s taken his pleasure in me, when he’s still good an’ solid,” Iona continued. “But if he canna wait, afterward suits me too.” Her azure eyes sparkled. “Both afore an’ after suits me even better, o’ course.”
Ravenna shook her head. “Makes you come where?”
Iona’s fingertips covered her lips. “Oh, lass. Curse my tongue! I shouldna said a thing. But I thought—” Her gaze swept over Ravenna, then back to her face. “Oh, lass, I dinna ken whit I thought. I beg yer pardon a hundred times.”
“No. I’m grateful you wished to apologize. I hope that we can continue as friends.”
Iona released a heavy breath and the corner of her rosebud mouth quirked up.
“But . . .” Ravenna said, unable to still her tongue. “Did you . . . That is, was there anyone else here?”
“The professor. But he was all business, an’ his prick is a wee thing. It wasna much fun. Lord Whitebarrow has quite a sizable tool, an’ he likes it rough.”
Rough? Ravenna had seen “rough” with stallions and bulls. She had never imagined it of titled lords and ladies.
Iona blew out a quick breath. “I’ve done it again. I’ve said whit I shouldna. Truly, I should be horsewhipped, Ravenna.”
“No, really, I don’t mind it. It’s just that it’s all rather—rather—”
“New to ye?”
“Yes.”
“As it should be.” Iona took her arm. “I promise to speak more leddylike with ye nou. I flirted wi’ Lord Case too, but he’s preoccupied wi’ Arielle. ’Tis a pity, to be sure.” She sighed wistfully. “I think I should’ve liked it verra much wi’ him.”
Ravenna swallowed back the nausea gathering at the base of her tongue and detached her arm from Iona’s hold. She had to know. “What of his brother?”
The Scotswoman’s smile softened. “I couldna do such a thing to ye.”
“To me?”
“Why, lass.” Iona’s voice laughed gently. “Everybody can see he’s only got eyes for ye.”
Chapter 12
The Trouble with Masks
He only had eyes for her?
Impossible. “No. He doesn’t.” And if he did, it was probably when he wanted to speak to her about the murder.
It occurred to her that if Lady Iona had no qualms about pretending to be a maiden while being scandalously intimate with half the men in the house, she might lack the moral fiber sufficient to inhibit her from killing a man after stuffing him into a suit of armor. But despite her lusty nature, her eyes were guileless, her smile open, and her loyalty to Ravenna concerning Lord Vitor—however misplaced—must count for something.
“I think ye’ll find yer wrong aboot that, lass. Nou, will ye forgive me?”
“For what, exactly?”
“Why, for leavin’ the door to that parlor unlocked, o’ course.”
Ravenna laughed. At that moment Lord Vitor Courtenay entered the drawing room. He wore a loose coat the same color as his eyes, dark breeches, and he still carried his hat in his hand. As he paused in the doorway, a blur of white and black halted at his feet and yipped. The nobleman looked about the chamber, and his attention came to her.