Lady in Blue (3 page)

“I’m packed, all but gone already, and nothing will change my mind. The fact is, you are to all extents and purposes back on the streets. I’ll provide the names of my competitors, should you require their services, but you’d do better to find yourself a wife.” She flicked open her fan and studied the painted goldfish swimming over crisp folds of heavy parchment. “Indeed, I’ve likely done you a disservice all these years, dealing out one mistress after another while you put off the inevitable. You must marry, Bryn. You’re five-and-thirty years old, you know.”

Groaning, he plucked another hunk of shortbread as he stalked past the tea tray. “Don’t remind me. By now I should be dangling an heir on my knee. But things got out of hand.” He shot her a sideways glance. “The war didn’t help.”

“Five years in the army,” she pointed out, “does not account for three times as many spent catering to your own pleasures. No, no,” she protested, waving her fan when he spun on his heel. “Don’t snap at me. You must do as you wish, and heaven knows you will. The thing is, I shall no longer be here to stock Clouds with a supply of suitable mistresses. It is time you think about settling down. The Season is barely under way, and a fresh crop of debutantes awaits your inspection.”

“You might have given me some warning,” he grumbled. “I can’t look over the field with nothing to go home to at night. Even if I fix on a bride, it will be weeks before the wedding. And the wedding night.”

Did he look as pathetic as he felt? Bryn wondered. He’d come here with the familiar twinge of anticipation and dread he always experienced when replacing a mistress, but never had he imagined the roof was about to cave in. As he bit ferociously into the crisp biscuit, his eyes suddenly narrowed. In fact, Florette would not leave him high and dry. He’d bet everything he owned she had something up her sleeve.

His prowl eased into a languid, graceful stroll around the room, ending at the chair across from her, where he settled with his arms folded across his chest. “A wife,” he mused, gazing at the ornate ceiling. “I’ve done the pretty every season these many years, but each crop of eligible females is more insipid than the last. Don’t think I haven’t tried. Come to think of it, didn’t I offer for the Berrington girl?”

“Fifteen years ago, when you couldn’t afford a decent settlement.” Wickedly, Flo plucked the last chunk of shortbread from the dish. “Now your tastes are too refined. Nothing suits you.”

He grinned. The first three mistresses she’d provided had suited him very well, although Marita Sanchez had been a rare aberration from the type of woman he preferred. While the bed sport had been unparalleled in frequency and variety, her temperament was even worse than his own. Marita was a good argument for finding a demure English bride and settling down, which Florette damn well knew. More than likely, she’d planned it that way.

Her smile revealed nothing as she fluttered her fan and regarded him through the spectacles perched on her nose. “You will miss me,
sans doute.
I expect to be gone within the week.”

Recognizing a lure, he swam past. “Off to France, are you? The Loire Valley, as I recall. Near Blois.”

Flo acknowledged his swift dodge with a wink.
“Exactement, chéri.
To my family home, in a village so obscure I doubt it can be found on any map.”

And he was Queen of the Nile. Bryn raised an eyebrow. “You’ll provide me way to write you, or perhaps find myself in your direction?”

“But of course. When you send word of your nuptials, I’ll ship a case of the best champagne to be had.”

Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees and templed his hands. “And what has all this to do,” he inquired tranquilly, “with the Lady in Blue?”

“Ah.” The fan wagged appreciation. “I knew you would not fail me, Bryn. When did you suspect?”

“Not soon enough. But this is the last place I’d expect to troll for a wife. No wonder she was wrapped up like a mummy.”

“Wife?” Looking startled, Flo shook her head. “Oh, no,
mon ami.
No woman suitable to become Countess of Caradoc would set foot in this place. When Marita took her leave, I cast about for a young woman to replace her. Not an easy task, considering how very particular you are of late. But . . . well, you must judge for yourself. This one is on the house, as they say, by way of a parting gift. If she will have you. She insisted on seeing you first.”

“Indeed.” A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Aspiring mistresses don’t vet me,
poupée.
Rather the other way around.”

“Generally true,” she conceded. “But times change.”

Didn’t he know it. “And what is the name of this gift?”

“Perhaps ‘gift’ is not the right word,” Flo said meditatively. “For myself, there will be no commission, but Clare has requirements of her own.” She cast him a smug look. “Expensive requirements.”

“Clare what?” He winced at the impatience in his voice. “And how much?”

“Clare whatever-she-tells-you. And if she approved of what she saw, which I cannot know until I speak with her again, one night will cost you ten thousand pounds.”

“The devil it will!” Lurching to his feet, Bryn towered over the graceful tea table. “What in hell makes that rapacious female imagine I’d pay out a fortune for one night? And don’t tell me you led her to believe it was possible.”

“You can afford it,” Flo said imperturbably.

“Which is nothing to the point. I
hate
the first night.” Bryn felt the tips of his ears go hot. “What in blazes does she think I am?”

“Clare reveals nothing of what she is thinking. Not ever. Pray do not loom over me that way. It is most annoying.”

Firing her a look of pure malice, he stomped to the sideboard.

“Bryn, the real point cannot have escaped you. Clare is the last virgin I shall provide. If she agrees to meet you, perhaps you can negotiate better terms for the future. However, her price for the first night is inflexible. As a matter of fact, I don’t expect you to accept her. She is lovely, untouched, and available, but otherwise she’ll not suit you at all.”

He swung around. “And why is that?”

When Flo lifted her eyes, he saw the flash of cunning. “Clare is . . . not the usual young woman anxious to enter my profession. But she is determined to do so, however briefly. Her innocence fulfills your primary requirement, and your wealth satisfies her own. Beyond that I have little hope. Shall I tell her you are not interested?”

Bryn ran a finger under his starched collar. The mysterious Clare did not sound a suitable mistress, but Florette was deliberately trying to interest him by making the girl sound like forbidden fruit. He was well and truly hooked, he thought savagely, with Flo enjoying every minute of this. She was bent on victory in their last game and knew she held a winning hand.

“I am curious,” he allowed, “as you intended. And less interested than you hope. Now give over. What makes this one special?”

“Why, nothing at all. In bed, is not one woman much like the next? I doubt Clare found any fault in your appearance, for you are too handsome for your own good. But she may reject your offer nonetheless.”

“An offer I’ve not made,” he pointed out. There were wheels within wheels in this plot, and he was as anxious as she knew he’d be to trace it to the center. Damn Florette, and damn Clare, and loneliness, and lust.

And damned if he’d agree to anything until he’d inspected her the way she inspected him. If she wasn’t the most desirable woman on the planet, he would bloody well discipline his raging body the way he’d done, painfully, the years he’d spent attached to Wellington’s staff. On the Peninsula there were none of Florette’s virgins to ease the lonely nights. Surely it wouldn’t take another five brutal years of celibacy to find himself a wife.

“How much,” he asked acidly, “will it cost me to see her?”

“Why, nothing at all, assuming she agrees. For ten thousand pounds, she will expect to provide an audition. By sight only, of course. She won’t let you touch her until you’ve paid up in cash. As a personal favor, Bryn, I would ask you not to meet her out of trifling curiosity. If you’ve no real interest, let it go.”

His spine tickled a warning. “Just what is she to you?” he asked warily.

Flo tossed her head. “Goods. Wares. I’d market her carefully, with an eye to profit, were I not leaving the trade. As it is, I offer her to you without any charge of my own if you promise to treat her fairly. In honor of our years together.”

“Our friendship,” he corrected with a lopsided smile.

“Exactly.” Florette adjusted her spectacles and gazed fondly at the tall earl. He was combing his long fingers through the thick straight hair that must have defied his valet’s best efforts to control it. One swatch gravitated inevitably over his right eyebrow, giving him a boyish look at odds with the arrogance so natural to him it was more amusing than offensive. In a peculiar way, she thought of him as her son, although he’d be horrified if he knew that. Never had she met a man so determined to avoid emotional entanglements of any sort.

In most ways, he’d grown up too soon. But in others, he’d yet to mature. She had decided it was past time to shake him up, and by good fortune she had found the means to do so. “You have made me a wealthy woman, Bryn,” she said in a complacent voice. “Once you were able to pay, you more than compensated for my generosity in the early days. I could not possibly retire so young if not for your lavish commissions and your advice about how to invest them.”

“Had I anticipated the consequences, pernicious woman, you’d not have done so well by me.” His eyes were shuttered. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m retiring,” she assured him tartly, “not sticking my spoon in the wall. When things have settled, I’ll be in touch. Shall I send Clare to you?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he replied gruffly. “Eleven o’clock. Send her to Clouds.” He frowned. “No, better not. The place is a shambles after Marita’s theatrical exit. Make it St. James’s, and have her come in through the servants’ entrance. I won’t bite her, Flo, but for that amount of money I’ll damn well find out what’s under all those veils before making up my mind.”

“Fair enough. I’ll tell her so, and she will come to you if it suits her. Clare is my goodbye gift, or my last mistake, but under no circumstances do I wish to be responsible for anything that happens once you meet.”

“That sounds rather ominous.”

Rising, Flo held out her arms, and he walked straight into them for a last hug. “Ah, you are a beguiling thing, Caradoc,” she whispered against his neck. “Alas that I took my first lover long before I met you.” Setting him back, she brushed the hair from his forehead. “Still,
je ne regrette rien.
The profession has been kind to me, and I shall retire in comfort with memories of the most delightful sort to keep me young. Along with a dalliance or two,
tu comprends,
for one is never too old to dance.” Her eyes, which she’d once told him were greener than emeralds, shimmered with tears. “Take care, my friend. And look to the crossroads.”

As he drove away, Florette stood at the door and waved, feeling a tightness in the vicinity of her heart. On instinct alone, she had begun something that might well lead to disaster. Bryn was curious about the mysterious veiled lady, as she’d hoped. And resistant because he could not bear to relinquish control of any situation to someone else. But she knew him, and understood him better than he could imagine. The man needed exactly what she’d given him. All he had to do was realize it.

With a sigh, Flo closed the door. She had gathered the players and dealt out the hand, but the outcome was unpredictable. Clare was the wild card in this game. The Lady in Blue, as Bryn called her, was not what he expected. Nor what she wanted to be.

When they came face-to-face, anything could happen.