Читать книгу Lord Libertine - Gail Ranstrom - Страница 11

Chapter Five

Bella tightened the laces at the top of her chemise and tucked the strings into her bodice. “Keeping Mama and Lilly occupied is more important than you can know, Gina. But if there is ever anything I cannot handle alone, I swear I shall enlist you. I swear it.”

Gina frowned, suspicion narrowing her eyes. “See that you do, or I shall take matters into my own hands.”

“Just what do you think I am keeping from you?” She smoothed the fabric of her gown over her hips.

“Many things, Bella. For instance, who was that man today? The one you addressed as Mr. Hunter, who attempted the introductions? Surely you have not forgotten such a handsome man?”

How much could she tell her sister without inciting her horror? “How could I introduce you without giving myself away to Lilly? And no one knows me by my name.”

“Really?” Gina tilted her head to one side. “What do they call you, then?”

“Lady Lace.” She tried not to notice Gina’s giggling as she stuffed a handkerchief in her reticule. “And I am not altogether certain Mr. Hunter is the sort of man one ought to introduce to one’s sisters.”

“I gathered as much,” Gina said. “But I think I would not care. He is far too handsome. And the others, as well.”

The slightly stubborn jut to Gina’s chin warned her that her sister would need better answers. Which of the Hunter brothers did she have her eye on? Or was it Lord Humphries? She supposed it did not matter—any of them could break her heart.

“Why are you hiding your name, Bella? I thought you did not give a whit for your reputation now that Cora is dead.”

“I do not care in the least, but I thought it better if no one knew where to find me. The last thing I want is for Mama to get word of what I’m doing. How ghastly it would be to have some man turn up on our doorstep asking for an audience.”

Gina sank onto the bed in feigned distress. “Oh! That would be dreadful, indeed. Awful even under the best circumstances. Mama is enough to frighten all but the most ardent suitors away.”

She smiled at Gina’s teasing. “And anyway, Gina, when we return to Belfast and our mourning ends, there is still a chance that you and Lilly will find husbands among the gentry.”

“You, too, Bella.”

“That is quite impossible. My face is now known in London. How could I tell my future husband that he could never take me beyond Belfast lest I be recognized as a…a…” She shrugged and gave a self-deprecating laugh as she pinched her cheeks to bring her color up. “I am not blameless. I have now kissed more men than any collective dozen of my friends.”

“As to that, Bella, was Mr. Hunter—the one who spoke to you—one of the men you kissed?”

Heat crept into her cheeks and she busied herself with fastening a jet necklace around her throat. “Really, Gina! I do not see what difference that would make.”

“Well, if you are not keeping track, someone should.”

“Yes, then. Which is all the more reason I wish to keep you and Lilly away.”

“Was he that dreadful?”

No! Lord, no. In point of fact, he’d been the best of the lot. “I fear that he would think you and Lilly are likewise…loose. He could have reason enough to believe that, since we were together. Would you really want to defend yourself against an ardent swain?”

“Yes, if he looked like Lord Humphries or any of the Hunter brothers. I am assuming, of course, that you have cleared them of any suspicion of having killed our Cora.”

“I, ah, of that group, I have only kissed Mr. Andrew Hunter.”

“And you have acquitted him?”

“Not entirely.”

Gina tilted her head to one side. “Not entirely? But how is that possible?”

“I…it was rather sudden and he turned away immediately afterward, so I fear I must do it again before I can eliminate him.”

The corners of Gina’s mouth twitched. “Ah. I see. Well, yes. I suppose you must. And then move on to the other Hunter brothers? And Lord Humphries?”

“Eventually,” she admitted. “If I do not find the murderer first.”

“But tonight?”

She swept up her cloak and turned toward the door. “Tonight I am not likely to see them. Remember, I am going where scoundrels and rakes go.”

Andrew leaned over Charlie’s shoulder. “Seen enough?”

“We’ve only just begun. Do you suppose it is all like this?”

“I haven’t a single notion, Charlie. This is my first visit, as well.” When they had arrived at Bethlehem Hospital and paid the keeper for entry, Andrew hadn’t known what to expect, though he gathered he would not find it entertaining. Thus far he’d been right.

They’d been led past cells where unfortunates were either cowering in corners or reciting nonsensical words in singsong voices. Here a man played in his own filth, and there a woman exposed her breasts and cackled. Yet another man screamed and shouted curses, pounding the door separating patients from visitors. And everywhere the odor of unwashed bodies and rancid food assailed them.

The keeper, their guide, told stories of how this one had been abandoned by a lover, or that one had lost his entire family in a fire and had fallen into deep melancholy. But how, Andrew wondered again, could such misery be entertaining? Was it all just a matter of taste?

As much as he wanted to leave, he also wanted to find out what purpose Dash had for this outing, because it was not like his friend to arrange something like this without a reason.

Charlie shrugged and echoed Andrew’s own thoughts. “I cannot see the purpose of this, Drew. It tickles none of my senses. I am not amused, entertained, titillated or curious. Surely there’s more?”

“Observation of human nature, I believe Dash said,” Andrew whispered.

“An’now, gents, ’ere we are at the commons, or the gallery as some calls it,” the keeper announced. “These ’uns is harmless. You can ’ave a bit o’ fun with them if you wants. Cost you extra, though.”

Another group of visitors had arrived before them and stood in a far corner, their laughter overriding the sound of shouts and curses. Andrew turned in the direction of their pointing fingers to find a group of men scrambling over what looked to be a hunk of nearly raw meat. The scene reminded him of a pack of dogs behind a butcher shop. This, he assumed, was what the keeper had meant by “a bit o’ fun.”

Dash, who had gone ahead with Henley, Jamie and Throckmorton, glanced over his shoulder to look at Andrew. Waiting for a reaction, no doubt. But Andrew had none to give him. Whatever response Dash had been looking for, he could muster neither outrage nor amusement. He’d seen enough in the war to make him numb to human suffering and to realize that there was no limit to man’s inhumanity. He turned back to the activities in the common room, trying to keep track of the shifting tableaus as they were incited by the “visitors.”

Money changed hands, and then one of the inmates approached a woman dressed in a mobcap and a low-cut dress. He whispered in her ear and she glanced at the group that had sent him. A manic smile exposed gaps where teeth should have been, and she began to hitch her skirts up around her hips. Lord! Were the visitors such immature idiots themselves that they derived pleasure from seeing an unfortunate expose herself?

But it did not stop at that. The payment had been for something else entirely. There, for all to see, the male inmate dropped his trousers and the pair of them began to copulate to the enthusiastic encouragement of the onlookers. On some base level, Andrew realized that watching such activities was arousing for a good many people—that it awakened a hunger, at the very least. He’d known courtesans and the owners of private clubs to arrange such performances. But here and now, at the expense of those who either did not comprehend their actions or appreciate that they were being made sport of, it seemed intrinsically wrong.

“Amazing, is it not, what one will do for money?” Dash asked. “I daresay we could make this lot do damn near anything we chose.”

Andrew blinked and turned to his friend. “For a crust of bread or a cut of meat?”

“Aye. Does it remind you of the war, Drew?”

This echo of his own thoughts caused the hair on the back of Andrew’s neck to prickle. Was this why Dash had brought him here? “The madness? Or the depravity?”

“Both. And the power. Bedlam is as close to Valle del Fuego as I’ve found since our return.”

That godforsaken village! “Why would you want to be reminded, Dash? God knows I’ve spent years trying to forget.”

“Aye, but there was something there—something lacking in London. Some tiny primal spark. You must feel it. Something so…so fundamental that it has no name.”

There was more Dash was trying to tell him, something he would not put into words and was pleading with Andrew to understand. “Uncivilized,” he admitted. “Not altogether comfortable.”

“Precisely!” Dash’s expression was somber. “It pulls at one, does it not?”

Andrew glanced again at the copulating couple. Yes, it pulled at him, that urge to shed everything civilized. This was the part of Bedlam that appealed to Dash—primeval man, stripped of morality, propriety and law.

A chill crept down his spine, and his throat clogged with the heavy atmosphere. He wanted to feel again. Anything. To have some part of him awakened to ordinary senses. What would that take? The pull grew stronger, almost impossible to resist. He wanted it, craved it, and yet the last shred of decency he possessed resisted. He spun back down the passageway. “I need a drink.”

Belmonde’s! Ah, thank God for ordinary debauchery. Andrew’s tension eased as he downed his second brandy. Tonight he’d come dangerously close to the abyss. He’d flirted with it for so long that he was mildly surprised he’d even recognized the line. And some fatalistic part of him knew it was coming—the day he could no longer resist the pull. The day he would cross that line.

He was on his way back to the salon from changing coins for counters when he passed the foyer. Ah, the night was full of surprises. There stood Bella, even lovelier than usual, in earnest conversation with the doorman. And he knew why. The little chit did not have entrée.

He went forward. “Ah, here you are, my dear. Don’t dawdle.” He removed her cloak and handed it to a waiting footman, then turned to the doorman. “Biddle, see to it that she is admitted without delay in the future, would you?”

“Why, yes, sir. I’d have done so ere now, but she did not mention your name.”

He grinned down at the speechless woman as he took her arm. “Ah, she is shy, Biddle. Very shy. But you will use my name in the future, will you not, my dear?”

Her eyes widened and she nodded.

He slipped Biddle a few counters and winked as he led her away. “How nice to see you again, Bella. Dare I hope you were looking for me?”

“You…you may hope anything you wish, sir. But I had no idea you’d be here. I thought you and your ilk would be at some aristocratic soiree.”

His ilk? He laughed. If she only knew what “his ilk” had been up to tonight! “You’re more likely to see me here or at some other tasteless entertainment than at a soiree. But tell me, what is your business here?”

“I was looking for…for…”

“Yes. The right man, I believe you said the other night.” He shook his head and gave her a rakish grin. “I believe you’ve gone astray, Bella. The only men here are the wrong men.”

“Yourself included?”

“Myself at the top of the list.”

“I see.” She looked down pensively and a stray curl tumbled over her shoulder. “Well, I suppose I should at least thank you for not exposing me this afternoon.”

His conscience tweaked him when he recalled how very close he’d come to doing just that. He still wasn’t certain why he hadn’t. “My companions were much amused by your snub. I think you owe me something for that. I can tell you that I was made to bear some rather cutting rebukes, which I’d have cheerfully done had I but known the reason.”

She made no reply as he captured a glass of wine from a passing footman’s tray. He presented it to her with a slight bow. “I believe you are still pressing forward with your ambition to become a lush?”

She looked confused for a moment and then laughed. “Not quite so diligently as last night, but yes. I have become a great believer in bottled courage.”

What an odd phrase. Did she actually need to fortify herself to come out, or to kiss men? A sudden suspicion tweaked his pride. “Are you meeting someone here, Bella? Or are you on your own?”

“A-alone.”

Just the word he had been hoping to hear. “Not any longer, my dear.”

“A-about my name, sir.”

“If you would like proper address, madam, you will have to give me your entire name.”

“I haven’t had to give it until now, sir.”

“Then how would you like me to address you? And should the occasion for an introduction arise? Then what, madam?”

She heaved a deep sigh and glanced around. “Could we not just ignore it? Or ‘madam’ will do. In any event, it will not matter much longer.”

Disappointment sharpened his response. “Oh? Then shall I assume you are near to making your choice?”

“There is not much choice about it, Mr. Hunter. I have yet to find…”

“Yes, the right man. So I gathered. And I also gather that I fall short of your requirements?”

“I…suppose that would be for the best,” she said, though her tone was uncertain.

He found encouragement in her hesitation. “Then what is your purpose here tonight? You’ve said you are not meeting someone, so…?”

“I thought I might see a familiar face.”

“You have, madam. Mine.”

“Oh, dear.”

Her chagrin was almost comical and he grinned at her confusion. “Not quite the response I was hoping for, but at least you are honest.”

“Actually, I thought this would be an establishment frequented by, well, by men who did not often attend ton events.”

“Looking for fresh hunting grounds, my dear Bella?”

“No. Yes.” She shook her head and glanced up at him. The look in those captivating hazel eyes warned him that she was about to lie. He waited, quite breathlessly, for what she was about to say. “I wanted to learn how to gamble.”

Ah, diversion. Excellent ploy. So much more inventive than a bald lie. Too bad she didn’t know who she was playing with. “Allow me. I would recommend beginning with rouge et noir or vingte et un. The rules are simpler than the other popular games, and the play is easier to follow.”

He led her toward a rouge et noir table and explained the rudiments of the game. When she nodded, he handed her a counter. “Try it, madam. There’s nothing like risk to make one feel the excitement, is there?”

She held his counter up and smiled. “I have nothing at risk. Does that make it more exciting for you?”

He laughed. Lord, but she was breathtaking when she smiled. He wished she would do more of that. “I am feeling the excitement even now, Bella.” And he was.

She turned back to the table and gave him her glass, but not before he noted the flush that swept up her cheeks. He watched her as she studied the play. After three rounds she placed the counter on red and stood back.

Red won the count, and she grabbed his sleeve in her delight. “Now what do I do?”

“Wager again or collect your winnings and leave the table.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Bella.” He wondered if caution or risk would win her imagination.

She left the counters on the spot. And again, red won. She clapped her hands and turned to him. “Again?”

“And again, and again, if you wish.”

The tip of her tongue made a brief appearance to moisten her lips as she thought this over. Finally she nodded to the croupier to let her wager stand. Andrew leaned close to her ear and asked, “How does it feel, Bella, to have your fortune riding on the turn of a card?”

“Your fortune,” she reminded him in a whisper. “And it makes me tingle all over.”

He groaned at the mere thought. God, what he’d like to do to her to make her tingle! She turned to him at the sound and her eyes widened. “Oh! I should have paid you back, shouldn’t I?”

“Noir!” the croupier called.

He shrugged. “Too late. All gone. And now how do you feel?”

She watched the croupier scoop her pile of counters away. “Determined to win it back.”

“I fear I’ve done you no favor, Bella. You have all the makings of an incorrigible gambler. Soon you will be impoverished, and ’twill be all my fault.”

“Truly?”

“Aye, but I could show you other ways to take a risk. Ways to find that same thrill and more.”

“You could?”

Ah! How telling. If she were truly a courtesan, she would not have missed that innuendo. Perhaps she was an adventuress, or an ingenue seeking a protector. And again his curiosity was piqued. Who was she, really? And what was her game? She intrigued him more than any woman he’d ever known. He took her hand and led her toward the dim end of the huge salon and one of the many curtained alcoves reserved for private play.

Whirling her into one of the empty niches, he snapped the draperies closed. Darkness surrounded them, intimate and dangerous. He found her narrow waist and pulled her against his chest. Instinct led him to her mouth, and the merest brush of his lips stifled her little gasp of surprise. Oh, but he would not claim his kiss so soon. He paused to nibble at her full lower lip and slide his hand down the length of her spine, pressing her closer. Her lips parted in anticipation, and he answered with a soft tantalizing touch, still not a proper kiss. Her arms circled his neck and she tried to deepen the contact. Yes, just a few more moments and she would be his for the taking.

He kissed the line of her jaw up to her earlobe and paused there, running his tongue along the curve of her ear until she shivered.

“What price, sweet Bella?” he whispered in that delicate opening, not wanting to cheat her of her due, nor willing to wait much longer. “Name your terms.”

She moaned and he was lost. Whatever she wanted, she’d have it. He was no schoolboy, but she made him feel like one, caught up in the wonder of a first kiss. All he could think of was the way she felt against him, the way she tasted, the sweetness of her response and the heart-wrenching sound of her yearning whimper.

He returned to her mouth and hovered there. She would have to come up on her toes to make the final contact. The choice would be hers. Ah, but he knew his women, and Bella lifted toward him. The last rational fragment of his brain worked feverishly. Could he take her here, on the banquette behind this velvet curtain? Should he whisk her home to his bed? Or was there somewhere she’d rather go? To her rooms, perhaps?

The curtain snapped back and the spell was broken.