Eloisa James - Duchess by Night (8 page)

You are a miracle of knowledge, Povy.

Povy put aside his book and Jem finished his wine. At the end of their evening talks, Povy general y added a few valuable particulars about his guests, tips that he had not committed to paper. But tonight he hesitated.

Dont tel me that you are undecided about something, Jem said.

I am not entirely comfortable with Mr. Copes presence at Fonthil . Your Grace has always ensured that no innocence is besmirched under your roof.

I share your concern, Jem said, swal owing the last few drops, but I promised Vil iers I would look out for him, and I wil .

I believe that he might find himself an object of interest to many, Povy said.

Jem raised his eyes. Oh?

That particular kind of near-feminine beauty wil find many admirers.

I shal watch my little chicken careful y then, Jem murmured. Damn Vil iers for bringing him here anyway. He hesitated. Vil iers seems to want his ward introduced to the pleasures of female company, but Povy didnt blink an eye. It may be that Mr. Cope has another inclination.

Wel , Il ensure that he makes his own choices, Jem said, hating the fact that even the slightest hint of desire had crossed his mind when he saw this Cope. It was enough to make him dislike the man, but that was unfair.

The Duchess of Cosways reasons for visiting Fonthil were initial y unclear to me, Povy said, with just a hint of frustration in his voice.

You surprise me, Povy, you do. I thought nothing in the human heart was unclear to you.

Povy al owed himself a smal smile. However, I now surmise that she intends to create a scandal, thus drawing her husband back to this country.

Ah. Jem nodded. It wil probably work.

She sent out some twenty letters this afternoon, asking me to frank al of them for you. Since she could easily have had her traveling companion, the Duke of Vil iers, frank those letters, I gather she wanted your stamp on the letters, thus establishing her residence at Fonthil .

Wel , the scandal-broth brewing in this house ought to be good for something, Jem said. Is that it, Povy?

A final thought about your new secretary, Miss Caroline DesJardins. I am slightly worried that her ideas may be too outré.

Is it possible?

For the entertainment tomorrow night, she is employing several footmenthose with the better physiquesas primitive men.

And what does that entail?

Flesh-colored silk with a smal apron of fig leaves embroidered on the front.

Jem barked with laughter.

The silk is sewn to fit the body with the utmost exactitude, Povy said a bit gloomily. The effect is indelicate, to say the least.

I shal look forward to it, Jem said, chuckling. No, I think that Miss DesJardins is a welcome addition to the household, Povy. I loved her stories of the fêtes she designed in Paris for the Duchess of Beaumont.

Povy bowed and retired. Jem made his way upstairs to put on the suit with gold lace at the wrists (for he never disobeyed Povy), thinking al the time of wild French designers and errant duchesses.

In Which Plans are Made for Lord Stranges Enticement

H arriet looked at herself in the glass and felt as if shed drunk too much champagne. Staring back at her was a beautiful young man. Real y. Beautiful . He was wearing a velvet jacket of a dark lilac, over which spil ed the finest cream-colored lace. Little epaulets at the shoulders gave him form, and the jacket laced in the front in a manner which (incidental y) concealed the socal ed mans breasts.

But what Harriet kept staring at was her face. She never felt beautiful as a woman. She always felt overpowered by the huge hair styles demanded by fashion, by her panniers and multiple petticoats, by the way her corset pushed up her breasts and made them seem plumper than they were in truth.

But in a simple pair of pantaloons and a velvet jacket, with her hair pul ed back in a ribbon, you could see her face.

Harriet just kept looking at it. Without al those powdered curls towering over her forehead, her face looked both delicate and strong. Her mouth was actual y quite a nice shape, though she shouldnt be the one to say so. The way the valet had colored her eyebrows showed that their arch was a graceful wing that emphasized her eyes. Shed always liked her eye color, but thought they looked faded to the same tired brown as the rest of her. But now they picked up the color of her coat, and her eyes seemed almost purple. Exotic. Utterly unlike her in every way.

The only problem washer rear. Harriet turned around and peered back there again.

She could hardly believe that she was even contemplating walking through the door like this. Her breeches fit her body like a glove. That was one thing from the front, but when she craned her neck to see her behind, she felt palpitations coming on. Her bottomher bottom was exposed. Very exposed.

It was round. She had a very round bottom, as it turned out. Who knew that? With al the petticoats, and panniers, shed never given her bottom a second glance. But there it was.

She tried to think about mens bottoms but couldnt remember that shed ever seen any that were quite asas curvy as hers appeared to be.

Would everyone know the moment she walked into the dining room? If they discovered her secret, shed have to go back to wearing a huge wig and panniers. The very idea struck ice to her backbone. She couldnt do that yet. Not when she felt beautiful and powerful and freefor the first time in her life.

Harriet pul ed back her shoulders. If anyone suggested she was a woman, she would deny it with her last breath. She hesitated for one moment, wondering whether to add a bit more padding down there, in front.

She couldnt bring an image of the front of a mans breeches to mind either. Had she ever real y looked at a mans body?

Apparently not. Likely it was better to be discreet about the size of her pizzle, then, at least until she had a chance to investigate male breeches.

She marched out of her room, hesitating when she reached the top of the stairs and realized that Lord Strange was lounging at the bottom, almost as if he were waiting for her.

Of course he wasnt waiting for her. He probably greeted al his guests there. He had remarkably broad shoulders for a man who was so lean through the hips. What shed real y like to see was his bottom, but he was leaning against the railing, staring intently at a sheet of foolscap.

She walked down the stairs as solidly as she could, squaring her shoulders. At the bottom, she swept an acceptable bow, flourishing a hand before her forward knee, just as Vil iers had taught her.

Good evening, my lord, she said, deepening her voice.

Lord Strange looked up. Mr. Cope. He folded the sheet.

If youl point the direction to your drawing room, Il join your other guests. She could hear a clatter of laughter and voices coming from the other end of the corridor.

Il escort you, he said, looking irritated for some reason. But he didnt look as if he suspected her of being a woman, so Harriet felt a surge of triumph. She automatical y reached out to take his arm, and then quickly dropped her hand. Thankful y, he didnt see her error as he was tucking the paper away in his waistcoat pocket.

What are you studying? she asked, moving to the side so that their shoulders wouldnt touch.

An auction catalogue I just received from London. A man named Bul ock is sel ing off his col ection of hummingbirds.

What a lovely name, hummingbirds, Harriet said, before realizing that men didnt use the word lovely . I mean, the name is enjoyablethe hum and so on. She sounded like a fool.

Hummingbirds are smal birds from the Americas, Lord Strange replied, ignoring her stupid comment about hums. I am curious about them.

about them.

How many are there?

Two hundred and thirty-two.

That many birds! Dead?

He glanced at her. Quite dead. Stuffed.

She managed not to shudder. Men liked to kil things and stuff them. Even Benjamin had given up the chess board now and then to tramp around the woods with a gun over his shoulder. Excel ent! She said as heartily as she could. I love to shoot partridge myself.

The sardonic lines by his mouth deepened. He was probably laughing at her, but he didnt say anything. They reached the door of the salon, and a footman whisked it open. He stopped her for a moment.

Mr. Cope.

My lord?

Vil iers asked me to look after you. I shal endeavor to note your whereabouts, but I must ask you to seek me out if anything happens that seems uncomfortably novel.

Harriet was practical y dancing on her toes, she was so anxious to see something novel, uncomfortable or not. Thank you, Lord Strange, she said. Please and she gestured toward the door.

After a lifetime of sailing through doors ahead of men, she wanted him to go first. So that she could examine his bottom.

He shot her a look, and there was something curious there, something she didnt recognize. Dont play the fool too exuberantly.

I shal endeavor to do otherwise, she said, giving it a chil y emphasis.

Excel ent. He turned away and walked through the doors, only to disappoint.

His coat fel lower than his bottom. True, it was a glorious coat. The sleeves were pricked out in a faint tracing of metal ic embroidery. His sleeves ended in lace, lace of a dul gold color. The combination gave him the dark bril iance of a pirate king, Harriet thought with a thril .

He was everything she would have thought a man of his reputation to be: dangerous, sul en-looking, probably tired from al the degenerate orgies in which hed participated. He looked like someone who never found himself surprised. Even the sensual line of his mouth signaled he had experienced al the pleasures life had to offer.

It was real y a shame that his coat fel so low. His breeches were quite as tight as hers, but of an even finer fabric, and his legs were far more muscular. In fact, her muscles were feeble compared to those defined in his legs. It was fascinating. How could she not have noticed mens legs before?

He turned around, eyes indifferent. Come on, then. Vil iers says that you need to turn into a man, and my house is certainly the place to do it.

Her mouth fel open. He said

Lord Strange shrugged. Nothing embarrassing about that. We were al urchins at some point. He eyed her from head to toe. I know al about your mother and how close she kept you. The fact youve had no male companionship shows in the way you walk.

And talk.

He told you?

Were old friends.

Harriet gulped.

Il help you, he said, turning away. Tomorrow. Tonight, try not to get yourself over your head. Do you have a French letter?

Harriet blinked at him. What?

A French letter, he said impatiently. Tel me you know what that is?

She shook her head and he made a sound, half a groan, half a sigh. Il tel you tomorrow. Tonight, try and keep yourself out of anyones bed, do you understand?

Yes, she managed.

Damned if you dont stand like a woman, he said, sounding appal ed.

She pul ed her shoulders back. Better, he said grudgingly. Do you know how to fence?

She shook her head.

Il teach you how to fence tomorrow. You need to move like a man, not like a mol y. Maybe having a weapon in your hand wil help. He looked rather unconvinced. And for Gods sake, remember that men dont smile at each other the way youre doing now.

Why not? Harriet said, the smile dropping from her face. It was a fake one anyway, since she was getting more than a tad annoyed by Stranges arrogance.

You look like a lounger, he growled at her.

She blinked.

Look, youre at a disadvantage.

She put her hands on her hips and then dropped them when he gave her a disgusted look.

Trust me, you just are.

You could at least clarify your criticism.

His jaw set. Lets just put it this way: nature gave you a raw deal. Its not your fault.

What sort of deal? What are you saying?

Your lashes are too long, he said, leaning toward her. And youryour He waved at her figure. You just dont have the physique of a man.

Harriet was conscious of a bubble of laughter inside her chest, but she put on a look of furious dignity. I assure you that nature has given me everything I need to play a mans role.

I didnt mean that, he said, sounding horrified.

Good, Harriet said. And then, to prove her point, she deliberately adjusted the button-placket on her breeches, as shed seen men do hundreds of times.

Wel discuss it tomorrow, he said, stepping back. Vil iers asked me to help and I wil . But its going to be a hel of a task. I suppose we might as wel start by introducing you to a woman.

I can manage on my own.

He snorted, and then turned away, eyes searching the crowd. They didnt look like the cluster of degenerates Jemma had described. In fact, they didnt look very different from the people who attended Jemmas Twelfth Night bal . Of course, they werent wearing costumes, though there was a young lady off to the side who appeared to be dressed as a shepherdess. No shepherdess on Harriets lands wore her gown open to the waist.

Strange fol owed her glance. Good choice, he said. Youve picked out a lady who would likely be quite happy to usher you into the throes of manhood. And I believe she might even do it without giving you a disease. Just dont look so eager, for Gods sake.

No woman wants to bed a man who pants at her hem.

Harriet swal owed. This was going a bit faster than she had anticipated.

Come on. He strode off, and she fol owed, to find herself bowing before the young shepherdess a moment later. She had strawberry red hair and breasts that burst from her costume. In fact, she was just the kind of woman who normal y made Harriet feel miserably inconspicuous.

May I introduce Miss Nel Gale? Strange said. Miss Gale, Mr. Cope.

Normal y a woman like Miss Gale would get terribly nervous talking to a duchess. Yet if she happened to actual y look at Harriet, she would instantly label her a woman who was neither a chal enge nor a confidant. Then Miss Gale would curtsy, rather clumsily, and flutter away to laugh with more interesting women, the kind who knew scandal.