Desperate Duchesses (3 page)

From the corner of his eye, Elijah noticed that Corbin didn’t even blink at the idea he had just been invited by a duke to do his husbandly duty. Perhaps the man could keep Jemma occupied enough that she wouldn’t cause too many scandals before parliament went into recess. He turned sharply toward the door, annoyed to discover that his wife’s beauty seemed more potent in his own house than it had been in Paris during his rare visits.

Partly it was because Jemma had not powdered her hair. She knew quite wel that the shimmer of weathered gold was far more enticing than powder, and contrasted better with her blue eyes. It was only—he told himself—because she was his wife that he felt this prickling irritation at her beauty. Or perhaps the irritation was caused by her self-possession. When they first married, she wasn’t so flawless. Now everything about her was polished to perfection, from the color of her lip to the witty edge of her comments.

Those blue eyes of hers widened just slightly, and she cast him another of her glimmering smiles. “We real y are two hearts that beat as one, Beaumont,” she said.

“In that case,” her brother said, “it is truly odd that you have spent so much time apart. Not to break up this touching example at marital felicity—so rare in our depraved age and, I think we’l al agree, an inspiration to us al —but can you just show us the damned centerpiece now, Jemma? I’ve got an appointment on Bond Street, and your friend the duchess doesn’t seem to be making an appearance.”

“It’s in the next room, if Caro has everything prepared. She wasn’t quite ready when you arrived.”

Elijah caught himself before asking who Caro was.

Jemma was stil speaking. “I trust her with everything. She has the most elegant eye of any female I’ve ever known.

Except, perhaps, Her Majesty, Queen Marie Antoinette.”

Elijah shot his wife a look that showed exactly what he felt about those who boasted of intimacy with French royalty. “Shal we examine this centerpiece, sirs?” he said, turning to Corbin and Gryffyn. “The duchess is considered quite a leader of fashion in Paris. I myself shal never forget her masquerade bal of ’79.”

“Were you there?” Jemma asked wonderingly. “I vow, I had quite forgotten.” She tapped him on the arm with her fan. “Now it comes back to me. Al the men were dressed as satyrs—’twas most ravishingly amusing—but you wore black and white, for al the world like a parliamentary penguin.”

He dropped her hand, so that he could bow again. “Alas, I do not show to best advantage with a satyr’s tail.” And neither did the asses of Frenchmen, though he didn’t say it aloud.

She sighed. “Both members of my family declined to join the fun. So English—so pompous—so—”

“So clothed,” Gryffyn said. “There were some knees in evidence that night that should never have seen the light of day. I stil have trouble forgetting Le Comte d’Auvergne’s bony knobs.”

Jemma peeked through the doors to the bal room beyond. Then she laughed and flung them open. “How wonderful it al looks, Caro! You are bril iant, absolutely bril iant, as always!”

Corbin was briskly fol owing in Jemma’s train, so Elijah grabbed his brother-in-law’s elbow. “Who the hel is Caro?”

“Pestilently intel igent woman,” Gryffyn said. “Jemma’s secretary. She’s been around for four or five years. You haven’t encountered her?”

And, at Elijah’s shrug, “She prepares Jemma’s most extravagant escapades. Accomplices in scandal, that’s the way to describe them. Prepare to be dazzled by her incomparable abilities, not that you’l appreciate them. I don’t suppose that you’re secretly hoping that Jemma wil transform into a political wife, are you?”

“My hope is limited to a wish that she doesn’t topple my career,” Elijah said. “Do I understand you to say that al of Jemma’s secretary’s abilities are directed to the creation of scandal?”

“As I said, you won’t like it,” Gryffyn said. They were at the door. He pul ed it farther open and moved to the side. “This is pretty standard for her.”

Elijah walked through the door and stopped short.

“Bloody hel ,” he breathed.

“It’s better than those satyrs. No tail,” Gryffyn pointed out.

As Elijah stared into the room, he felt his hard-won calm and control slipping from his grasp. The huge mahogany table that general y stood in the dining room had been removed to the middle of the bal room. Rather than dishes, it held an enormous pink shel , apparently made of clay. Rosebuds were strewn al about, fal ing in chains to the floor. Numbly he noticed that Jemma was exclaiming over how realistic the flowers appeared. “And the sea shel s!” she squealed. “A beautiful touch, Caro!”

But that wasn’t it, of course.

What was making his heart thud against the wal of his chest wasn’t the hundreds of pounds worth of fabric flowers, nor the shel , nor even the pearls, because there were also strings and strings of pearls. God knows, he had more than enough money for whatever extravagances Jemma came up with. What Elijah treasured more than anything else in the world was his stock of careful y nourished, tenderly used, political power.

He had nurtured it day by day. Built up a solid reputation for energetic, thoughtful argument. While his wife lived in Paris for the last eight years, he built a career without the help that other men got from their wives throwing dinner parties, or hosting salons. He’d come to the top of the House of Lords, to one of the most respected positions in the kingdom, by marshal ing his intel ect, never taking a bribe. Separating himself from the corrupt policies and wild scandals that plagued Fox and the Prince of Wales’s disgraceful cronies.

And now, when he might have only a little time left to further his work—

The centerpiece wasn’t wearing a damned scrap of clothing.

And she was painted gold; never mind the pearls that were glued around her body at regular intervals.

His brother-in-law was watching her with a calculated, lustful look in his eye that Elijah despised, though he had to admit that only a dead man would ignore this centerpiece.

“At least she’s not wearing a tail,” Gryffyn commented.

At that very moment, the naked, gold-painted young lady bent sideways and fiddled with the little stand on which she was leaning. A huge spray of gorgeous peacock feathers burst from behind her beautiful y curved rear.

“Spoke too soon,” Gryffyn said happily.

“Damn it to hel ,” Elijah breathed.

R
oberta entered the room just as the peacock tail sprang into view. About to announce her presence, the butler froze, mouth open. She patted his arm. “I’l announce myself,” she told him. “My cousin is expecting me.”

He nodded and backed out of the room.

That was a stroke of luck, given that her cousin was not expecting her. In truth, the Duchess of Beaumont likely didn’t even know she existed.

The duchess was much more beautiful than the sketches Roberta had seen in
Town and Country Magazine
. Her hair was tumbled into a sophisticated mass of curls, and her clothes were exquisite. In fact, she looked rather like portraits of Roberta’s mother, with perfectly balanced features and deep crimson lips. But of course the duchess had a potent combination of elegance and sensual appeal that Roberta doubted her mother, buried deep in the country with a husband whom the charitable labeled eccentric, had ever possessed.

Roberta walked forward, but no one noticed her. There were two gentlemen standing by the table, gawking up at the naked woman. One had to suppose she was used to the attention, because she was smiling at them most genial y. In fact, she reminded Roberta of nothing so much as a toothy crocodile, if crocodiles were endowed with large, fleshy bosoms.

The only gentleman not staring at the goddess was glowering at the duchess. He had to be the duke. Beaumont was often il ustrated holding the reins of government or whipping members of the House. He looked powerful, with a sort of furious elegance.

“One of the points I should like to make,” he said with icy forcefulness, “is that this preposterously tailed young woman may wel destroy my career. She wil undoubtedly create an interesting evening, but have you given a thought to proprieties? I count among my important acquaintances a good many people with young, unmarried daughters. After one peek at this spectacle, they wil never darken the door of my house again!”

The duchess seemed unmoved. “I assure you that no one in Lords wil be other than amused by my centerpiece, Beaumont. My absence has had no effect on your ability to garner support, and neither wil my presence.”

“Apparently your years in Paris have had no effect on your intel igence,” the duke snarled. Roberta took a tentative step backward. She wanted no part in a marital quarrel.

“Apparently your manners declined in the same period; what a pity.”

“He’s right, Jemma. You’re being naïve,” another gentleman said, tearing his eyes away from the naked centerpiece. He looked so much like the duchess that he must be her brother, Lord Gryffyn, and therefore Roberta’s cousin (once, or twice, or

—if one is punctilious—twelve times removed). The eyebrows were darker, but his carelessly tied-back hair was the color of brandy. They had the same cherry mouth, though he had none of his sister’s flawless perfection. His coat was a nice steel blue, but looked as if he pul ed it on without thinking, as his waistcoat was an odd orange.

“I would guess that this particular Venus wil offend the female half of the
ton,”
Lord Gryffyn was saying.

“She is not Venus, but Neptune’s Queen,” a lady standing to the side put in. “Venus was a tired concept five years ago!”

She curled her lip with such emphasis that she had to be French.

“Ah, but this isn’t Paris,” Lord Gryffyn said. “We’re of tender stock, and we like to pretend that we don’t know what various body parts look like. At this rate, Mademoisel e Caro, you wil single-handedly instruct the better part of London on the composition of a beautiful pair of thighs. It’s not worth it.”

“Your own brother agrees with me,” the duke snapped. “I wil not have this sort of behavior in my house.”

There was a freezing moment of silence. The cheerful smile dropped from the duchess’s eyes. “Won’t you?” she asked.

The duke had to be six feet tal , but to Roberta he looked at least seven. “I wil not.” He spaced his words in an ominous fashion.

“In that case, I suppose I shal not be the one to educate the English on the delicate matter of a woman’s leg,” the duchess said. “Not when you’re there to do it for me, and in your own offices in Westminster.”

Roberta blinked, but the duchess was turning away.

“It’s damned hard to imagine Jemma as a political wife,” Lord Gryffyn remarked to Beaumont. “Do naked women grace tables in Paris? I’ve never seen one in London.” He checked himself. “Wel , not in this kind of house anyway.”

He looked up and met Roberta’s eyes. She involuntarily fel back another step. How could she possibly—

“Looks like you have a visitor, Jemma,” he said.

Jemma swung around, and so did the duke. The third gentleman was stil deep in conversation with Neptune’s queen and didn’t hear.

Roberta dropped a curtsy. “Good afternoon,” she said. “I’m afraid your butler was overcome by the event and retired to compose himself. I told him I would introduce myself.”

The duchess smiled at her. Roberta was suddenly aware of her large feet. She even felt as if her overstuffed, shabby bag, dropped in the foyer by a disdainful footman, was humping along behind her.

“Please forgive us for being in such disarray,” the duchess said, a wave of her hand signifying (one must assume) the naked woman and the squabble with her husband.

“Not at al ,” Roberta said, stammering. “My name is Lady Roberta St. Giles.” She paused.

There wasn’t a spark of recognition on the duchess’s face, but the duke stepped forward. “I recognize the name, madam.

”

Roberta breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re col ecting for the Chelsea pensioners, are you not? It was most kind of you to attend me here, but I assure you, quite unnecessary.” He came forward with determined kindness, clearly intending to sweep her out of the house. “I’m so sorry that you were present at a scene like this. It’s enough to horrify any woman of delicate sensibility.”

The duchess intervened. “If I am to be a political wife, Beaumont, I might as wel begin. I gather that charity, rather than peacock feathers, should be my every thought.” She tucked Roberta’s arm under her own. “Chelsea pensioners are a most worthy charity, Lady Roberta,” she said. “I’d be honored to hear about your work. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“You don’t understand,” Roberta said, holding her ground. But when she opened her mouth, she could not bring herself to tel the truth. That everything she owned was drooping in the entryway. That she had come—unannounced and undoubtedly unwelcome—to stay. To find a husband.

Without another look at her husband or her guests, the duchess began drawing her toward the door. “Please come to my sitting room,” she said. “Beaumont, do you make my farewel s.” She didn’t look at him as she said it.

The duke’s voice was icy. “And your centerpiece?”

“We shal discuss it later.”

“I see no reason to waste my time. A naked woman wil never grace my dining table. That is al I have to say about it.”

“Pish on that!” the duchess cried, stopping in her tracks and dropping Roberta’s arm. “She’s a work of art.”

“She’s a disgrace,” he countered.

The duchess showed no outward signs of fear, which Roberta thought was amazing. Faced with such a large specimen of enraged manhood, she herself would have quailed.

“You’re going to lose this one,” Lord Gryffyn said cheerful y. “Believe it or not, Jemma, your husband is up to good works that shouldn’t get mucked up by your naked ladies, no matter how luscious. What do you think?” he asked Roberta. “You’re obviously a proper young lady. Would you think that a bal featuring Lady Neptune would be il -received?”

Roberta glanced up at the centerpiece. She truly was naked: it was rather interesting how different her body was from Roberta’s. For one thing, her breasts had to be three times as large. “I believe that most people wil find it unhygienic,” she said.