Eloisa James - Duchess by Night (6 page)

The Duke of Vil iers has arrived, Povy announced.

He likes the velvet suite, doesnt he? Relishes al that frivolous splendor. Tel him Il see him at supper.

He is accompanied by the Duchess of Cosway.

Jem looked up. Who the hel is that?

To the best of my knowledge, the Duchess of Cosway is some sixty years of age and lives a retired life in Colchester.

Oh dear, Jem said, grinning. I gather that Vil ierss companion is not an antique countrywoman?

Povy coughed. It is remotely possible that the young woman in question is the wife of the current Duke of Cosway, son of the aforementioned duchess. I understand that he contracted marriage at a very early age, but since he left the country thereafter, Debretts does not credit the marriage as having reached ful sovereignty.

Not consummated, in other words, Jem said, tracing the line under the bridge again.

Precisely.

Do you or dont you think this young woman is the bride-to-be?

It is possible.

But equal y possible that Vil iers has brought a fancy piece with him, gusseted up like a Christmas lamb. I wil greet the supposed duchess at supper as wel , Povy. Put Vil iers and the young woman in adjoining rooms.

Yes, your lordship. They are accompanied by a young man whom the duke introduced as a relative, Mr. Cope.

Never heard of him either.

He is quite young, Povy said. It was evident in his tone that Povy considered the young man too young for the exuberant nature of a Strange house party.

Thats not our problem, Povy. Has my new secretary, Miss DesJardins, settled in yet?

The young Frenchwoman seems quite comfortable, my lord. She is planning an entertainment for tomorrow. Something cal ed a Tahitian Feast of Venus.

Jem started smiling. I knew she would liven up our entertainments. Theyve been deadly dul lately. Tahitian as in the country of Tahiti?

My sense would be that there is little connection, except perhaps that the land of Tahiti is a very warm country, which encourages lack of clothing, Povy said repressively. Miss DesJardins has requested that the fires in the South Bal room be lit to their highest capacity and kept there. He cleared his throat. You might want to encourage the Duke of Vil iers to confine his relative to his quarters tomorrow. Miss DesJardins is talking of twelve virgins.

Twelve? Jem said, barking with laughter again. She must be trafficking in miracles. There isnt one in the house!

Mr. Cope Povy began.

Jem narrowed his eyes.

The lad has a remarkably innocent face.

Innocence is a time of life, not an irrevocable blot.

But Povy had known his master for many years, and he gave him a stern look. Mr. Cope is not prepared for the Feast of Venus.

Jem got up with a sigh. I suppose Il come down. I might as wel assess this child for myself. What a fool Vil iers is, to bring an innocent to my house. Povy, you do remember Wilkinson, dont you? He had an innocent face, but my word!

A very different kind of look in Wilkinsons face, Povy said.

Jem hated to leave his work, but he paid Povy a princes ransom just to know this sort of thing. His house sometimes shook from sins col ected under its roof, but the one thing he could not and would not tolerate was the defilement of innocence. No young woman played a Tahitian virgin in his house unless she did it for pleasure. And no Mr. Cope was going to lose his wide-eyed purity unless he wished to.

Though honestly, he couldnt remember the last young man whom he thought needed shielding. Vil ierss young relative was probably straining at the leash.

Wasnt there a time of life when you would have lusted to see a feast of Tahitian virgins, Povy? he asked, leaving the room.

No, Povy said repressively.

That seemed to answer that, so Jem continued down the stairs.

Fifteen minutes later he entered the smal Rose Salon without being announced, paused for a moment to survey his visitors, and then swore under his breath. Povy was an intel igent, canny miracle and he should never have doubted him.

There was only one word for Mr. Cope: adorable. He had curly brown hair, pul ed into a simple pigtail at his neck, with just a dusting of powder. He wore a beautiful coat; he could hardly be Vil ierss relative without exhibiting a fine sense of style. But his eyes gave him away. They were exquisite, and not just because of their color and a fringe of lash that could have graced a princess. They werefresh.

Jem shot Vil iers a look through narrowed eyes. There was something peculiar about this. For one thing, Vil iers wasnt sleeping with the woman hed dragged along with him, the supposed Duchess of Cosway, the duchess who didnt exist. She was a pretty piece, al right, as glittering and sultry as a peacock, but Vil iers was talking to her without the faintest desire in his eye.

On the other hand, Jem wasnt sure that Vil iers could feel desire for anyone, not if he were as il as he looked. The man had to have lost three stone.

Mr. Cope was standing close to Vil iers, with his eyes as round as saucers, staring at a statue Jem had shipped from Crete on an impulse. That kiss between Mars and Venus was on the risqué side. Of course, they were married (mythological y speaking). But the whole question of marital virtue was somewhat offset by the fact that Mars was wearing a helmetbut nothing else.

Vil iers, Jem said, walking forward.

The duke turned around and swept him a bow. Even gaunt as Vil iers was, he looked every inch of duke.

Wed better get you in bed, Jem said by way of greeting. Hed heard Vil iers was il , but hadnt realized how close he came to death. It gave him a queer feeling, so Jem said roughly, You look like hel .

Im better than I was. But Im not supposed to play chess, so Im relying on you and your dubious charms to entertain me, Strange.

Youl have to entertain yourself, Jem said, turning to the so-cal ed duchess and bowing. Good morning, Your Grace.

Instantly he saw that she was a duchess. A rather gaudy one, in an Italian style, but he knew instantly that he was looking at the Duchess of Cosway. Or perhaps the future Duchess of Cosway was the proper terminology.

It was a miracle that she managed to curtsy, given that her traveling dress appeared to have been sewed onto her body.

You do me too much honor, Jem said with patent insincerity. This was not the sort of guest he enjoyed. He disliked the way that titles, especial y the higher-up ones, seemed to give their holders the right to behave like despicable fools. She would be fussy, and shocked, and likely stamp out in high dudgeon in a day or so.

But then she smiled at him, a lush armful of warm Italian skin and sweet ruby mouth, and he changed his mind. There was something wicked about that mouth, a hint of a kiss or a kiss-to-be-taken hanging in the corner.

She may be a virgin, but she didnt look shockable.

Mr. Cope, on the other hand, was so new-fledged that he bobbed his bow like a schoolboy.

Jem was rarely shocked by life, but he was conscious of a little surprise now. In the course of throwing his house open to anyone he (and Povy) deemed interesting, he had seen al sorts of desire. Very little of it interested himand none of it surprised him.

But he was surprised now. Surprised by a little surge of interest in himselfshameful yfor Mr. Cope. For a stripling with big eyes and not even a sign of a beard. For a male. For Gods sake, Jem thought with disgust. If this is getting old, I want nothing to do with it.

And he made a mental note to stay far away from Cope.

Just how old is that youth youve brought along? he managed to ask Vil iers sotto voce , a few moments later.

Twenty-two, Vil iers said. I know he looks like a cherub, but dont be fooled, Strange.

What do you mean?

Hes a hardened reprobate. Plays the innocent because it pul s the ladies. Wait til you see him with them. They fal over him screaming. Fal backwards, real y. Hes a nice lad, though, and doesnt take advantage.

Try another one, Jem said, his voice hardening. This house may be a byword, Vil iers, but Il thank you to pack him up and send him home to his mother.

Vil ierss eyes narrowed dangerously, but Jem had never backed down to any dukes desires, and he wouldnt now. Especial y to one of the few men in England whom he thought of as being of his own weight intel ectual y.

I dislike the idea that my house is being treated as some sort of proving ground for innocents.

There was a thread of angerand an odd strain of amusementin Vil ierss voice. Al right, hes not a rakehel . Far from it. But he is twenty-two. And hes got as much right as anyone else to a ful life. Surely youd be the first to say that?

What do you mean? Whats his life been up til now?

His mother is eccentric, Vil iers said. She lives in the country and has kept him close by her side.

Jem glanced over at Cope. He was standing with the duchess as they examined the intertwined bodies of Venus and Mars.

The marble cleverly blended into one piece during the crucial encounter. The corner of his mouth quirked as he saw Mr. Cope point to the relevant spot.

Vil iers fol owed his gaze. Hes a wil ing learner.

Did you rescue him?

Something of the sort. I promised him a look at life that wouldnt hurt him. Hes twenty-two, andI hardly need to say ita virgin. I could have taken him to a brothel in London, but I didnt want that dewy look of his dashed when he had to hand over coins to the lass of his choice.

Jem didnt like the reasoning. Yet he couldnt deny but that it made sense. If he had a son, he wouldnt want him in a brothel either.

The same diseases are to be found here as elsewhere, he said, a warning in his voice.

Then Il trust you to steer him the right direction, Strange. Vil iers made a sour face. The trip took more out of me than I expected. My Scottish devil of a doctor told me not to travel, but I overruled him. And now I think he was likely right.

Vil ierss face was a pal id white, with deep bruises under his eyes. Jem jerked his head at Povy. Youl stay in bed, he said, and Il watch over your fledgling. And what of that duchess? Or should I say, half-duchess? Am I to watch over her as wel ?

Vil iers gave him a faint smile. You might want to warn your guests shes in the house.

A wild one?

Jemma had a Twelfth Night partydo you know the Duchess of Beaumont?

I met her once. Dared her to come visit, but she didnt have the backbone.

Or perhaps the desire, Vil iers said mildly. Not everyone thinks that an invitation to your house is a ticket to Paradise, you know.

Im glad you succumbed. And he meant it.

The duchess had al the married men at Jemmas party running in little circles around her. It was like a trained dog act.

Jem snorted. You werent one of them?

Not in the cards at the moment, Vil iers said. I didnt even make it to the bal room, just languished in a side room waiting for visitors.

There was a note of self-mockery in his voice. He didnt want sympathy. You deserved every moment, playing the fool with a rapier. Were too old for that.

Im not al owed to play chess, Vil iers said, sounding as if he were announcing a ritual castration.

Says who?

Dr. Treglown, the Scottish devil who saved my life. I was in and out of a fever for months, and apparently I did a lot of raving about chess. He says I have to take a break and rest my brain.

Ah, so a visit to the house of tarnished angels is a perfect convalescence. Though I stil dont quite understand why you dragged along those two, Il take care of them for you.

Put them in adjoining chambers, Vil iers said.

What?

Vil iers looked at him. I thought it was impossible to shock you, he observed. Im off to bed, if you please.

Povy ushered him away and Jem stood for a moment, staring at the odd couple stil looking at the statue. They were no longer examining the salacious point at which female marble blended into male. Instead, Mr. Cope was running his finger down the arch of Venuss neck.

It was one of Jems favorite aspects of the statue. Venus had her head thrown back, her face a mixture of desire, joy, and despair. The genius who sculpted it had captured, to Jems mind, the joyand the griefof marriage. Venuss head fel back, her body ravished by a pleasure she couldnt control and somewhat resented.

Jem wrenched his eyes away from Mr. Copes slender finger. Real y, it was time he took a mistress again.

He real y meant it: If this oddness was part of growing old, he wanted nothing to do with it.

The Definition of Marital Success

The same day

Before dinner

H arriet couldnt stop giggling, once she was alone in her bedchamber. Shed done it! Shed real y done it! She had bowed to Lord Strange, and murmured something in as gruff a voice as she could manage, and he had believed her to be male. She didnt see even a flicker of disbelief in his eyes.

The first moment she saw him, she thought the jig was up. She always considered Vil iers rather terrifyingly intel igent, with his heavy-lidded eyes and sardonic comments.

But Vil iers was nothing compared to Strange. Strange had a lean face that had seen use, but the sardonic lines by his mouth only emphasized the beauty of his bones, the banked sensuality of his eyes, the long body that reminded her of the coiled energy of a greyhound. Put together with the fierce intel igence in his eyes, and the charmGod, he had charm.

But it was his intel igence that made him frightening. No wonder Vil iers had cal ed him a genius. He looked like one. And yethe hadnt seen through her disguise!

She dropped to the bed, and froze for a moment before she realized that the odd feeling in her legs was due to her breeches.

She lay back and swung her legs into the air. It was utterly bizarre to see her legs in the open like this. She never looked at herself in a glass unless she was wearing a corset, camisole, panniers, petticoats, and a gown on top. Somewhere under there were her legs, one had to suppose.

But now, wearing this ridiculous male attire, they were exposed. Thanks to Vil iers, who had ordered her an array of clothing fit for a young prince, her breeches were closely shaped to her leg, ending at the knee. They buttoned on the outside, and had a closure in the front that made her laugh. Even her knees were entirely visible, clad in pale, violet-colored stockings.