20
Lady Melisande Carstairs had erotic dreams that night. For the first time in her life she woke up as her body convulsed with a little shiver of pleasure, and so she sat up, horrified. There was the faint light of dawn filtering through her curtains, and she could see the bottle of laudanum on her bedside table beside a half-filled glass of water.
No more laudanum for her, she thought grimly. She hadn’t wanted it in the first place. Rohan had tricked her, the slimy snake, and right now he was probably off celebrating his escape from her.
Except he was probably asleep at that hour, she decided fairly, closing her eyes again. Which was a good thing, because he hadn’t escaped at all. If he thought she was staying off her strained ankle and leaving everything up to him then he was far too trusting, and Rohan didn’t strike her as the trusting sort. She would be up and about once the vile drug was out of her system. It was Tuesday, and thanks to her presence at the Elsmeres’ rout, she had received invitations on her own to attend a ball given by the rather notorious Duke and Duchess of Worthingham, and if Rohan refused to accompany her she would go alone. There was some reason why women should not attend social gatherings on their own, but she couldn’t remember. Perhaps most of them had companions to accompany them.
Of course she had more than her share of companions. Miss Mackenzie, her aging governess who oversaw the reading lessons, would occasionally fill in as a duenna, but she didn’t approve of Viscount Rohan, and she might very well refuse, leaving her with the choice of Emma or Violet, either of whom would throw the assembled multitude into a state of disbelieving horror. It was tempting, but she couldn’t afford to risk losing one of her last opportunities to make progress. The night of the full moon was fast approaching.
It was past ten when she hobbled downstairs, accompanied by the strictures of half the gaggle. “I’m perfectly fine,” she said by the time she made it to the first floor. In truth, her ankle hurt like blue blazes, but she was still able to walk, and she was hardly going to let a little discomfort get in her way. “Stop fussing!”
Emma had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, watching her halting progress with a stern look in her eye. “You shouldn’t…” she began, but Melisande forestalled her.
“There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll rest when this is over. It’s not as if the damned thing is broken. I can stand a little pain.”
“You are the most stubborn creature,” Emma said in her calm voice. “Why wouldn’t you listen to good sense?”
“Because I don’t see it as good sense. Is Lord Rohan’s horse still here?”
Emma shook her head. “He sent someone over to collect it last night. He…er…also took your horse, as well. He said you shan’t be using it for the next few weeks and he had need of it.”
Melisande stared at her, incredulity and anger warring for control. “And you just let him?”
Emma’s smile was wry. “Do you really think I could stop a peer of the realm from doing exactly what he wanted? Did you expect me to throw myself in front of the horses?”
“Stealing a horse is a capital offense,” Melisande said darkly.
“Stealing a teaspoon is a capital offense,” Emma replied. “I think it would be a waste of time to try to charge him with the crime. Surely you’re not thinking of leaving the house? The doctor ordered bed rest.”
“The doctor is an old woman.”
“Am I going to have to have one of the girls sit on you to keep you from racing around?”
“It won’t do any good. Truly, Emma, I’m fine!” she insisted. “Just a little bit of pain in the ankle, but I can certainly handle that. I need to go see Lord Rohan. We have things to discuss.” Things like the moments in the darkened room in the caverns, or the way he’d kissed her.
“You know as well as I do that young women do not pay visits to the establishments belonging to gentlemen. If you wish to see him you send him a note asking him to call on you. How many times do I have to remind you of this? And how many times have you ignored me?”
“You know as well as I do that we can’t afford to wait. He’s just as likely to wait until next winter to respond. No, if I want Viscount Rohan’s attention I’m going to have to track him down to his lair and force him to listen to me. I need a carriage.”
Emma looked at her, fully as stubborn as she accused Melisande of being. “And what if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll simply ask someone else. Don’t be difficult, Emma. If you thought about it you’d admit I’m right. If you’re worried about my reputation you may accompany me, but I’ve already ridden through London sitting in Rohan’s lap, so I would think any reputation I had left is completely shattered,” she said cheerfully. “Which is just as well. Reputations are tiresome things. I’ll do much better without one.”
“If you think my presence would do you any good then your intellect has shattered, as well. Being accompanied by a notorious madam is no way to ensure respectability.”
“Well, I live with a notorious madam and twenty former prostitutes, Cyprians, courtesans and streetwalkers. I would think that would pretty much put paid to any hope I have of being considered proper. Give it up, Emma. It’s a waste of time. You know I’m quite devoid of sensibility. I may as well be practical.”
Emma’s mouth set in an attempt at a stern line. “You’re tiresome, you know that,” she said in a repressive voice.
Melisande limped toward the settee, settling gracefully, not allowing even a grimace to cross her brow, prepared to wait her out. “I know. In the meantime, why don’t you show me how the girls are progressing.”
It had ended up a peaceful afternoon, watching Emma put the younger girls through their paces. Betsey had done her irrepressible best, an impish grin on her face, and it was all Melisande could do not to laugh. The child was darling, and the thought of the life she’d been headed for made her blood run cold. It was children like Betsey, women like Rafaella with the scars and the limp, women like Emma, who was just learning to smile again, who reminded Melisande that she didn’t dare lessen her efforts.
She tried to remind herself that she could wait a day before confronting Rohan, but she couldn’t sit still. She’d been restless, edgy, her skin prickly, her body in an odd state of nerves. Her breasts tightened uncomfortably in the soft cotton shift, and between her legs she felt a strange tightening and dampness when she least expected it. She’d taken a warm bath that morning, hoping it would ease some of the tension that ratcheted through her, but it had only made things worse.
She blamed the laudanum. People said it gave you strange dreams, and while she couldn’t remember any of them they had to be responsible for the uproar her body was in. The thought of staying home that night had become unbearable, and in the end she looked Emma Cadbury in the face and lied.
“I did promise Rohan I would meet him at the Worthingham’s ball tonight,” she said blithely. “I know you’d prefer I stay home, and I understand your reservations about visiting Bury Street, but even you must agree that this is unexceptional. I’ll bring Miss Mackenzie with me until he arrives, just to make sure everything is proper.”
Emma looked at her suspiciously. “It’s hardly proper for you to be there with only Rohan as your escort.”
“Of course it is. I’m not a green girl. I’m a widow, and the rules are different.” At least, she was relatively certain they were. “He’ll bring me home—you know how ridiculously protective he is.”
Emma’s eyelids had lowered. “And I wonder why that is.”
“Oh, because he’s madly in love with me,” Melisande said airily. “He can’t bear to be away from me, and he…”
“Is that wishful thinking on your part?”
“God, no! I was simply being facetious. He’s the most controlling creature I’ve ever met. And do you think there’s a chance in this world that he’d be faithful?”
“No.”
The monosyllable stopped her cold for a moment, and then she continued gamely. “He just wants to make certain nothing happens to me while I’m around him. He doesn’t want to be held responsible if I bring the whole of society crashing down, which he seems to think I will.” Melisande pushed her hair away from her face. “Don’t worry, Emma. He’ll keep an eye out to make sure no evil rake takes advantage of me and he’ll see me home safely.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Of course,” she said. Believing it. Until she remembered the weight of him, on top of her, between her legs, and the prickling of her skin increased, and the tightness between her legs.
“You know, I find I don’t believe you,” Emma said after a moment. “I believe you’re far too interested in Lord Rohan for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with the Heavenly Host, and I have to warn you that that can be extremely dangerous.”
“Dangerous? Why? Do you think he’ll try to murder me?”
“I’m sure he’s tempted,” Emma said wryly. “Women love rakes. You haven’t been in society enough to realize it, but a rake is almost irresistible, and I believe you’re on the point of succumbing.”
Melisande looked at her across the tea table for a long moment, then gave in. “Well, in truth,” she said carefully, “I was thinking it might be a good idea to have an affaire with the Viscount Rohan.”
Emma had been pouring, and at that she dropped the teapot with a clatter, splashing hot tea all over the place and breaking one of the delicate china cups. “Hell and damnation,” she said, desperately mopping up tea and milk. And then she looked up. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.” Melisande reached out and took one of the tea-soaked biscuits. “I thought I might have an affaire with Rohan.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Don’t be so narrow-minded, Emma. You’ve always insisted that there are real pleasures to be had with a man, and I thought it was past time I discovered what those are. According to the gaggle, Rohan is a particularly gifted man in that department, ensuring even his hired companions enjoy themselves. He seems the logical choice.” She congratulated herself on her practical tone.
Emma stared at her in amazement. “I see… And what made you come up with this idea all of a sudden? Last I had heard you’d sworn off men for the rest of your life.”
Melisande took two more biscuits before they become hopelessly soggy. “Well, I had. But I thought it would make an interesting scientific experiment. I’ve had…relations with my elderly husband, who I adored, and with a young man I thought I loved, and I failed to find any of the messy business enjoyable. Now I’ll try an expert, and if he can’t make it palatable then I expect I’m better off doing without.”
“Is that the only reason?”
Melisande thought of Rohan’s mouth, hot and wet against her, of his hands beneath her skirts, touching her, rousing her, shocking her with that intimate pleasure. She shook her head, as if to shake the thoughts out of her brain. “That’s it.”
“That’s it,” Emma echoed flatly. “I’m not against the idea of you having an affaire, even marrying again. Assuming you found a good man. Viscount Rohan is most definitely not a good man.”
“Well, I didn’t intend to marry him. I just thought I might…shag him.”
“Oh, lord, where did you hear that word?”
“From you. And it seems like a good enough word. I could use tup, I suppose, or even f—”
“Don’t!”
Melisande grinned. “Well, I’m certainly not going to call it making love, since love will have absolutely nothing to do with it.”
“And you think his lordship will be amenable to this? I got the impression he wanted to keep you at arm’s length.”
Sudden doubt squeezed at Melisande’s heart. “Do you think he wouldn’t want me?”
Emma looked at her for a long, contemplative moment. “He wants you,” she said at last. “Trust me, I’m an expert at seeing what men want, and Rohan most definitely wants you. I’m just not convinced that he’d be any good for you. Why don’t you choose someone a little easier? Surely there are other men whom you find charming.”
“I don’t find Rohan charming,” she said with great truthfulness. She didn’t want to consider what she found him.
“He’s not. He is, however, very enticing. Even I can tell that much,” Emma said. “Isn’t there someone a little less…dangerous?”
Melisande thought about it, trying to picture the men at the Elsmeres’ party, the men she’d seen in the park. “Well, there’s Harry Merton. He’s pretty enough, but he has a tendency to giggle…”
“No!” Emma’s reply was so quick and sharp that Melisande stared at her.
“Why not? He seems perfectly pleasant.”
“I’m sure he is. Nevertheless, I’d like you to keep as far away from Mr. Merton as you can. Rohan is a lamb compared to Harry Merton.”
“I don’t think we’re talking about the same man,” Melisande said doubtfully. “Mr. Merton is charming and rather foolish, and I’m certain he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Perhaps I’m mistaken.” Emma’s smile was forced. “But humor me on this one. If you must have an affaire then take Viscount Rohan. Just be certain not to fall in love with him.”
Melisande hooted with laughter. “That,” she said, “would be completely idiotic.”
“Yes, it would. But women have an unfortunate tendency to think that they have to be in love in order to enjoy sex. I don’t want you to fall into the same trap. He doesn’t love you, is incapable of caring for you or any woman, I expect. I don’t want your heart broken.”
“Pish. My heart is made of sterner stuff than that. If I don’t like it, then I’ll walk away. Besides, I don’t expect to enjoy it much anyway, and then it will be over before he has time to dismiss me. That’s what men do with their mistresses, isn’t it? Dismiss them?”
“You could always dismiss him.”
“And I will. I’ll use him and discard him,” she said grandly, almost believing it. “Starting tonight.” She rose, trying not to wince as pain shot through her ankle. “I’m going to need to find something to wear, I suppose. I don’t suppose the gaggle…”
As if on cue they filed in. Rafaella had a diaphanous gown over one arm, and the rest of them were laden with hair ornaments and face paint.
“I presume you were all listening in,” Emma said in a tone of acceptance.
“Of course we were,” Violet piped up, and Sukey shot her a quelling glance.
“We’ve decided to have a discussion with you, Lady Carstairs,” Sukey said. She was a natural leader, her years with the bishop notwithstanding, and the others nodded.
Melisande resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that Viscount Rohan is up to no good.”
“Of course he’s up to no good,” Violet broke in with a saucy smile. “That’s half the fun.”
“Violet,” Emma said in a reproving voice.
“Leave this up to us, Mrs. Cadbury,” Sukey said. “You’ve had your say. It’s time for ours. Now that you’ve decided to sleep with my lord Rohan you’re going to need a bit of advice.”
“I really don’t think it’s necessary.”
“Well, that’s where you’re wrong,” the girl replied. “You’re going to be flat on your back with your heels in the air before you even realize what’s happened, and that can be a dangerous position to be in.”
Melisande envisioned that position and felt her face grow crimson, her tongue too strangled to speak.
“We’re not talking whores’ tricks,” Hetty offered. “Well, in fact, we are, but we’re not talking about games and such. We’re talking about babies.”
“You don’t want to get pregnant,” Sukey said earnestly. “And there are ways to avoid it. Where are you in your monthly courses?”
Melisande could feel her face flaming. “I may not even go through with this. Lord Rohan might not want me. Or I might decide it’s a bad idea.”
“It is a bad idea,” Emma broke in resignedly, “but you’re going to do it anyway. Trust us, we’ve all seen it often enough. Answer Sukey’s question.”
“Perhaps two weeks since my last.”
Sukey shook her head. “Bad timing. If you could put off shaking the sheets with the gentleman for another week, it would be safer, but I know that’s hard when the blood is up. We’d best tell you what to do.”
“I like a sponge and vinegar,” Agnes announced.
“I prefer a copper penny,” Hetty said.
“It’s not an issue if you simply use your mouth,” Violet offered, but was quickly shouted down.
“She’s not going to start with that, you idiot,” Sukey said sharply.
Melisande was embarrassed, horrified, and unwillingly curious. “What in the world do you do with a copper penny? Offer a prayer to some saint.”
Agnes, the only practicing papist in the group, laughed. “You do the same thing you did with the sponge and vinegar, my lady. You insert it into your—”
“Stop!” Melisande cried, her curiosity more than satisfied. “I promise you I have no need of such stratagems. I’m barren.”
“What makes you think that?” Emma said. “Just because you didn’t conceive with an old man or a singular occasion with a younger one doesn’t mean someone with Lord Rohan’s…vigor…wouldn’t do the job.”
Enough was enough. The last thing Melisande wanted to be thinking about was Benedick Rohan’s vigor, or inserting peculiar things into the most private part of her body, or letting Rohan put anything of his into that same place.
“Or there’s coitus interruptus,” Sukey said. “He can just pull out and spill his seed on the sheets, or on you. It’s not foolproof, and not as much fun for the gentlemen, but I imagine Lord Rohan’s not interested in fathering bastards. He may even have a French letter.”
“What’s a French letter got to do with anything?” Melisande inquired, more mystified than ever. “If you’re expecting me to put a piece of paper in my…”
“Such an innocent!” Sukey said, shaking her head. “It’s a wonder we allow her out at night. A French letter, Lady Carstairs, is something the gentleman wears over his rod. He spills his seed inside it, not inside you.”
Rod, she thought, momentarily distracted. It seemed like rather a nice word. Evocative. “I think Rohan will be prepared,” Emma said. She looked at Melisande for a long, thoughtful moment. “Is there any way I can make you change your mind?”
Melisande shook her head, half determined, half terrified.
“Then ladies, we need to make her irresistible,” Emma announced. “Hetty, where are your emeralds?”