Читать книгу Regency High Society Vol 7 - Diane Gaston, Ann Elizabeth Cree - Страница 20

By the time she entered Sloane’s carriage, Morgana felt quite in control of herself. Tears no longer threatened to embarrass her, nor did his lighthearted mood make her heart ache—very much.

Amy had already seated herself in the backward-facing seat, and Sloane took his place beside Morgana, tapping on the roof for the coachman to be off. He sat too close, it seemed, taking away all of Morgana’s air.

‘Did you have a nice visit, Amy?’ she asked. Better to converse with her maid than endure Sloane’s cheerful silence.

‘Oh, yes, miss, a lovely visit,’ Amy responded. ‘And I did not say one word about the masquerade.’

‘The what?’ Sloane’s voice boomed in the small confines of the carriage.

Amy’s hand flew to her mouth and she glanced in alarm at Morgana, who was not in any mood to hear Sloane upbraid her one more time.

She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘The masquerade at the Argyle Rooms tomorrow night. We are to attend. It is to be how we launch the girls.’

She could feel his eyes burn into her, though she could not clearly see them in the dim light of the carriage lamp. ‘Surely you are not seriously considering this?’

She could not explain to him that she agreed to this plan in part for his sake, to extricate him from the courtesan school. If it no longer existed, it could not threaten his happiness—or Hannah’s.

‘They must be set on their way sometime.’ She sounded exactly like Madame Bisou, but she did not care. ‘This masquerade is the perfect opportunity. Harriette Wilson says so.’

‘Harriette Wilson,’ spat Sloane. ‘Damn her for coming to your door.’

Amy gaped at them both.

‘I thought her very charming.’ Morgana’s voice was impudent. ‘In a way, she started the whole idea of the courtesan school. She was the inspiration, you might say. To me, it is fitting we use her idea of attending the masquerade.’

He snatched her hand. ‘Morgana, do not tell me you will attend this masquerade. I forbid it.’

She pulled it out of his grasp.

Forbid it? He had no right to tell her what she should and should not do. She was nothing to him. Nothing. Merely the cousin of his fiancée. ‘Of course I will attend. I am quite looking forward to it.’

He leaned towards her in the darkness, so close she could feel his breath on her face. ‘Morgana, it is bad enough that you allow those young women to become courtesans, but you must not attend this masquerade. You have no idea what happens at such events.’

She shrank back from him, but it was his proximity that disturbed her more than his warning. She knew enough of the world to realise the masquerade would be a raucous affair. She intended to be there to make sure her girls remained safe, that was all. He ought to understand her need to do so. But he could not understand the other emotions swirling inside her, the arousal of her senses caused by just sitting next to him.

‘This is not well done of you at all,’ he went on.

No, it was not well done to fall in love with the man affianced to her cousin. Nor was it well done of her to wish she could do with him all the things that Harriette Wilson and Madame Bisou hinted a woman might do to please a gentlemen.

‘I think it is very well done of me, sir.’ She faced him, anger rising inside her, piling on top of emotions that were no more than a jumble of pain twisting inside her. Loss, desire, loneliness—emotions that drove her to shock him further. ‘In fact, I think you are wrong about my girls becoming courtesans. I am quite convinced that this is exactly the life a woman should lead. Think of the independence. The excitement.’

He shook his head, looking contemptuous. ‘Be sensible, Morgana.’

Sensible? That was the last thing she could be right now. She could taste tears in the back of her throat. ‘Do you wish to hear more, Sloane? I have decided to join my girls. I will set up a business for myself. I am quite convinced it is the sort of life I would desire.’

Amy gasped.

Sloane grabbed Morgana’s arm. ‘You are not serious!’

Of course she was not serious. She was merely brokenhearted and trying so desperately not to reveal it.

‘I assure you, I am quite serious.’ This time his grasp was so firm she could not pull away.

The carriage came to a stop and Sloane turned to Amy. ‘Go on, Miss Jenkins. Miss Hart will be along directly.’

Amy scurried out of the carriage.

He turned back to Morgana and shook her. ‘I do not believe you, Morgana.’

‘I do not care what you believe, Sloane.’ Morgana was near hysteria now. ‘Do you think I wish to lead a life as dull as my cousin Hannah’s?’ She made herself laugh. ‘Oh, no. I desire excitement. I want to attract as many men as Harriette Wilson. I can do it, too.’

‘Do not be foolish.’ He was so close that her nostrils filled with the scent of him. She could almost taste his lips upon hers.

‘Do you not think I am able?’ Her voice wobbled.

‘I think you are being absurd.’ His face was inches away.

‘Harriette taught us well. I made you come to me, even though you have barely spoken to me for a month.’ Her breath quickened.

‘You did not.’

‘I can make you kiss me, too,’ she added.

He gaped at her. She lifted her eyes to his and slowly circled her mouth with her tongue. Then she parted her lips and closed her eyes.

She felt him crush her against him and press his lips to hers, tasting her as hungrily as if he were a man starved of food. She returned the kiss, every bit as ravenous, ignoring Harriette’s admonition about withholding her tongue. She wanted to fully savour him. One final time.

He abruptly drew her away from him. ‘Leave me, Morgana. Leave me now, before I do something we both will regret.’

‘I won’t regret it,’ she murmured, lost in the sensation of him. She kissed him again.

His hand rubbed up and down her back and circled around to her breast. She sighed, relishing the touch, wanting him to reach inside her dress, wanting to feel his hand upon her bare skin.

Instead, he pulled away. ‘No, Morgana.’ He opened the carriage door. He climbed out and extended his hand to her. She quickly straightened her dress and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. She took his hand, but only for as long as it took to climb out of the vehicle. Without waiting to see what he would do next, she ran to her door and took refuge inside her house.

Sloane signalled the coachman to stable the horses, then slowly walked to his own door. How could something he wanted so desperately go so far awry? He barely refrained from jerking the door open and slamming it behind him. His footman jumped to his feet at his abrupt entrance. With only a nod to the man, Sloane tore up the stairs, still on fire for Morgana and furious at her for playing the coquette. If she acted like that with another man—a thought that made him see red—she’d indeed ruin herself. Did she not know that, once lost, she would never get her reputation back? A man might be forgiven his passionate indulgences, but never a woman.

His valet shot out of his chair nearly as high as had the footman. ‘Go!’ shouted Sloane.

As the man nearly tripped in his hurry to get out the door, Sloane scoured the drawers and cabinets, finally finding where his man had put his brandy. Not bothering with a glass, he drank directly from the bottle.

The next day proved that Morgana, Amy and Miss Moore were excellent costumers. With fabric hurriedly purchased at the linen drapers, the older woman and the young maid had fashioned each girl an alluring outfit according to Morgana’s design, complete with identity-disguising masks. The costumes were simple, draped gowns, all in classical white and fashioned with fabric attached to their arms so as to resemble wings. Their masks were created from white silk trimmed with feathers. The girls were garbed as the Sirens of Greek myth, winged creatures whose singing lured sailors to their doom. For their début into the world of courtesans, Harriette Wilson had arranged for them to enter the Argyle ballroom as a group, singing a song, with Rose as the soloist. It would be a grand entrance.

Morgana planned a quieter entrance for herself in the Argyle Rooms. She would dress in a voluminous gold domino she had found in an attic trunk. It came with a matching gold mask to further disguise her identity. No matter what she had declared to Sloane, she meant to attend the ball merely as a spectator, to watch her fledglings take their first flight. After this night she would see them set up in rooms of their own. She would pay the expenses, of course, until enough money came in from gentlemen. But whenever she thought that far in advance, a sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

It was time to leave for the masquerade. She joined the girls in the hall, where a thin-lipped Cripps stood to assist them.

Katy’s spirits were so high, it was a surprise that her feet touched the floor. Miss Moore, who never in her life expected to be dressed in a grey domino bound for a masquerade, was nearly as excited as Katy. Mary, Rose, and Lucy were more subdued. They waited for Robert Duprey and Madame Bisou to collect them in one hackney coach and Mr Elliot in another.

‘Remember,’ Morgana whispered to the girls out of Cripps’s hearing. ‘You are not to give yourselves to any gentleman this night. You are a far more valuable commodity than to sell yourself to the first bidder. Recall what Miss Wilson said. Let the gentlemen pine for you.’

Her words turned sour in her mouth. Her girls were not objects to be sold at auction, but young women as dear to her as sisters would be. But everything had gone too far to turn back now.

Mary, Rose and Lucy gave solemn nods. Katy laughed.

Morgana tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Katy, did you hear what I said?’

The girl made a valiant attempt to look sober. ‘Yes, Miss Hart. I am too valuable to be sold this first night!’

Morgana winced.

‘The coaches are outside!’Amy called from the drawing-room window. She rushed over to give her sister a tearful goodbye. Lucy clung to her, looking anything but gay at the parting.

Mr Duprey and Mr Elliot soon were admitted into the hall and the girls sorted themselves into some order. As they left the house, Morgana refused to consider what the neighbours might think if they spied them all leaving at this hour of the night. By plan none of them had donned their masks yet, but anyone might guess they were off to a masquerade, the masquerade everyone knew about.

Morgana only truly cared what Sloane thought, if he gave it any thought at all. She’d seen him go out earlier in the day and had not seen him return. He must have gone to the musicale where Hannah and her parents would be. Morgana had refused her aunt’s obligatory invitation to go with them. It was late, though, and the musicale might already be breaking up.

Morgana rode in the hackney with Lucy, Mr Elliot and Rose. Mr Elliot would know what Sloane’s plans were for the evening, but she would not dare to ask him.

They arrived at the Argyle Rooms with all speed and were admitted without delay. By the time they had tied their masks into place, Harriette Wilson herself came out to greet them.

‘You look splendid, ladies.’ She gave them all a charming smile. ‘Everything is arranged. We need only wait for the music.’

She led them to the ballroom door, cautioning them to be very quiet. When the music began, the doors opened and Harriette led them in as they sang:

Sweet is the budding spring of love,

Next blooming hopes all fears remove…

Morgana, Miss Moore, Elliot and Duprey slipped in behind them as Rose’s crystalline voice dominated their chorus. A hum of excitement spread through the crowd.

When the song came to an end and the shouts of ‘bravo’ had ceased, Harriette announced, ‘Gentlemen and ladies, these are the Sirens. Beware of their delights!’

The Sirens, clearly a sensation, were surrounded as the orchestra again started to play and a quadrille was formed. Each of the girls had several gentlemen begging for the dance. Katy looked as if she were a cat dropped in a vat of cream. Rose backed away, and Mary seemed to have a smile frozen on her face. Lucy, on a happy gentleman’s arm, walked with a determined step to take her place in the set.

Several rather gaily and daringly dressed women glared at these newcomers who had captured the men’s attention so thoroughly. Morgana, uneasy as well about the gentlemen’s enthusiastic response, glanced towards Miss Moore, who beamed with pride. Madame Bisou strode proudly through the crowd, assuring all the gentlemen that the Sirens were every bit as entrancing as those of the Greek legends. Both Mr Elliot and Mr Duprey melted into the crowd, to enjoy themselves, Morgana supposed.

More people entered the ballroom, and Morgana became separated from Miss Moore. Through the sea of carousers she glimpsed the older lady heading towards chairs at the side of the room. The walls of the ballroom were adorned with a collection of classical statues in various poses, set high above the crowd. On the dance floor, the Sirens, in their white dresses, looked like the statues come magically to life, a perfect complement to the décor. The women dressed as medieval maidens, voluptuous milkmaids or lithe pages looked sadly out of place. Morgana circled the edge of the crowd to find a good vantage point to keep watch over her girls.

Suddenly an arm circled her waist and a man with brandy on his breath squeezed the flesh of her buttocks. ‘Well, well, and who might you be, m’dear?’ The man’s voice was thick with drink. ‘Have we met, by any chance? If not, I’d fancy knowing you.’

Morgana tried to pull away, but, though the gentleman was shorter than herself and much older, his hold on her was firm. The hood of his black domino fell away from his face as he tried to kiss her, and she realised with alarm that this was her uncle. Lord Cowdlin wore a mask, but there was no mistaking him.

‘Release me this instant,’ she cried, pushing at his chest.

He laughed. ‘Playing it coy, eh? Come. Come. I can make it worth your while.’

‘No!’ She brought her heel down hard on his foot.

With a cry of pain, his grip loosened and she wrenched herself from his grasp. She pushed her way through the throng of people to get as far away from him as she could. He had not recognised her, thank goodness.

Her arm was caught by another gentleman in a black domino. Without a thought, she swung a fisted hand towards the man’s face. He blocked it easily, grabbing her wrist.

‘Easy, Morgana,’ he said, leaning to her ear.

She glanced up and recognised her captor even through his mask. Relief mixed with exhilaration. ‘Sloane!’

He guided her to where the wine was flowing, and handed her a glass. ‘I told you this was no place for a lady.’

A lecture was not what she wished from him. ‘I thought I told you, I have no intention of being a lady.’ To prove it, she downed the glass of wine.

His brows rose. He took the glass from her hand. ‘Another?’

She shook her head, glancing around the room.

How many of these black dominoes concealed the very same gentlemen who graced the dance floors of a society ball? Men like her uncle who were married, who led respectable lives? How many of these men kept mistresses in some fine little house off St James’s Street? Would Sloane tire of marriage to Hannah and seek a mistress instead?

Of course he would. He might desire marriage to Hannah, but it was her respectability that attracted him, just as his money attracted her. How long before they both looked elsewhere for something more?

If Morgana did become a courtesan some day, as she’d threatened him she would, perhaps she would meet him again at a ball like this. Perhaps he would dance with her. Perhaps he would even take her to bed and she would discover the delights his kisses promised.

She would never be a courtesan or a mistress. Or a wife, for that matter. And soon she would even be without Lucy, Katy, Rose and Mary. She would be without Sloane.

A man and a woman, arm in arm, nearly careened into her. Sloane grabbed her and pulled her out of the way. The man and woman smiled at each other beneath their masks, happy and unapologetic in their enjoyment. She envied them.

Sloane continued to hold her even as they passed. Morgana faced him and tilted her head to him. He gazed down at her with his smoky grey eyes.

Why could she not be the courtesan for one night? What harm would it do? She would be doing nothing with Sloane that he would not do with another after his marriage. It was not so very bad, was it, to want one single night?

The orchestra began a waltz. She lifted her arms to circle his neck. ‘Dance with me, Sloane.’

Sloane gazed down into her face, still lovely even under a mask. He felt like a man suddenly seized by a fit of insanity. He pressed her to him, ignoring for the moment the crowds of people around them.

She led him on to the dance floor, and he took her into his arms again. Here in the Argyle Rooms there was no need to maintain the decorum of Almack’s. He held her flush against him, and they moved to the music as one, spinning and turning. His senses filled with her. He reached inside the gold domino that matched her eyes, and she reached inside his. The folds of their garments hid the play of their hands on each other, the intimacy of their bodies.

How had he ever considered being with any other woman but Morgana? No other possessed the same wild, untamed nature as he himself possessed, that sense of searching for something just beyond reach. She was what he searched for, and she was in his arms now. He was not about to release her.

At the end of the dance, he forgot the crowd, leaning down to taste her lips, lips she generously offered him. She tasted, not like the forbidden fruit a rake might grab for his own, but like a homecoming.

The sounds around him faded as he deepened the kiss. She entwined her fingers in his hair, and he gave himself to the moment. But there was a shout and a scuffle not far from where they stood. Sloane reluctantly released Morgana and pushed her behind him. Through the crowd he saw Elliot, of all people, swinging punches at a burly gentleman who tumbled on to the floor. Lucy looked on in alarm as the man rose and charged at Elliot. Sloane dived into the fray, Morgana at his heels. He grabbed the man by the collar of his coat and used the man’s own momentum to send him crashing into the crowd.

He caught Elliot by the front of his domino. ‘Get Lucy,’ he yelled to Morgana. ‘Find the others and be out of here.’

‘He put his hands on her!’ Elliot cried as Sloane dragged him to the door.

‘What the devil did you expect?’ Sloane muttered.

An alarmed Robert Duprey caught up to them, with Mary dragging a protesting Katy.

‘Do we have to leave now?’ Katy cried, looking back at two disappointed gentlemen. Rose hurriedly took a card from a grey-haired gentleman and followed them. Madame Bisou and Miss Moore pushed through the crowd.

When they were all outside the door, Sloane removed his mask. ‘It is time to leave,’ he said.

They could hear angry shouts from inside the ballroom. ‘I’m going after her!’ a man shouted.

‘Leave now!’ ordered Sloane. He seized Morgana’s arm and led them to the street. Elliot and Duprey quickly helped the other women into the waiting hackneys. Sloane closed the door of one, saying, ‘Miss Hart will come with me.’

The burly gentleman, two of his friends trying to hold him back, ran into the street as the cabs pulled away. He spied Sloane. ‘You interfering—’ He barrelled straight for him.

Sloane pushed Morgana out of the way and swung his fist hard, hitting the man in the stomach. The punch barely slowed the man. He knocked Sloane to the ground and fell on top of him. The man had his fingers around Sloane’s throat before Sloane could get his own grip on the fellow.

Just as he was about to knee the fellow hard in the groin, a flurry of gold silk covered them and the man cried out in pain. Morgana’s fingers gouged at the man’s eyes. He released Sloane and turned on her, but Sloane knocked him off and sent him rolling into the side of the building.

Morgana scrambled to her feet.

‘Hurry!’ Sloane urged as he led her to his carriage.

The coachman jumped on to his perch. ‘Be off,’ Sloane shouted, nearly tossing Morgana inside. When he fell in after her, the carriage was already moving.

She laughed, pulling off her mask. ‘You are a prime scrapper, Morgana,’ Sloane said as he brought his mouth to hers.

He untied the ribbons of her domino and removed the pins from her hair, which was already half-tumbling around her shoulders. He let his fingers slip through the silky dark locks.

She smiled at him. ‘Make love to me, Sloane. Please. Just this once?’

He looked into her eyes, but did not answer.

She grabbed at the front of his domino and pulled him closer to her. ‘I want to be with you,’ she insisted. ‘Just once. Please. Just this once.’

He had no intention of being satisfied with just once, but he need not tell her that. She’d discover soon enough. He captured her lips once more and let his actions speak for him.