Chapter Eighteen
His wife was a bad influence on him.
Fred smiled. Not a terrible influence, perhaps. But he was definitely different from the way he had been the last time he’d been to Vitium et Virtus. Tonight, he was enjoying himself.
The dance floor was packed with devils, angels, sheiks and harem girls, and any number of mythological figures in costumes chosen for their ease of removal. By midnight, there would be couples kissing in dark corners, embracing in alcoves, and leading each other up the stairs to the bedrooms. While it would be a lie to pretend that the whole world was in love, it most certainly seemed to be in lust.
For a change, he knew how it felt. He was simultaneously satisfied and wanting, content and restless. Once the music had slowed and the chatter of the crowd faded to intimate whispers, it would be safe to slip away, reclaim his horse, and ride home.
He grinned. His friends had been right. Georgiana Knight was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him. He had not noticed how cold and unhappy he had become until she had come along to change him. Her scattershot manners were infuriating, of course. But try as he might, he could not stay angry with her for long.
He would be arriving close to dawn, when the first rays of sun shone through his lover’s bed curtains, and he would waken her with a kiss. Her blue eyes would open wide with surprise, before putting her arms around his neck and dragging him back down into the pillows with her.
She had been angry at him today as well. But when he’d gone to say goodbye she had given him the sweetest of kisses and wished him a safe journey, their argument of the afternoon totally forgotten. She had not announced that she loved him as yet, but her actions spoke louder than words.
For his part, momentous declaration should probably be spoken with some ceremony and not tossed over his shoulder on his way out the door. He doubted he was capable of poetry. He had given her jewellery. And he had not just given her flowers, today he’d made love with her in them. When he closed his eyes, he could still smell crushed grass and buttercups.
There ought to be something more than just words to convey the depth of his feelings. As he crossed towards the office, he glanced around him at the swirling dancers and swayed along with them to the beat of the music. Perhaps that was what he needed. She liked to dance. He would hire musicians and they would spend the evening waltzing in each other’s arms.
As they had in the past, masked women reached out their arms to him. And as he had done before, he disengaged himself and moved on. But tonight, he laughed along with them as he did so. While he was not precisely aroused by their advances, they did not leave him unmoved. Watching the abandon of the dancers made him even more eager for the night to be over, so that he might go home and work off the excess energy coursing through him.
Instead of simply walking away, he turned back to watch, just for a moment. And, as was true for everyone else in the room, his eyes were drawn to a woman in the centre of the crowd, dancing alone. Her gown was the green of a swell in the Mediterranean, the skirt tight through the hips and flaring out in a wave of ruffles and shredded ends, except in the places it was slit to reveal a bit of bare leg. Her bodice was a mass of pearls and spangles, giving the illusion that her breasts were bare under a spray of sea foam. It was accentuated by her long blonde hair, down except for a few small braids that held bits of coral and shell. Her face was hidden by a mask, covered with even more spangles, as smooth and bright as the scales on a fish.
Perhaps she had seen him stare, or perhaps she only sensed it. But she turned, looked at him with a tip of her head, and beckoned.
And, like any other wandering soul that came too near a siren, he went to her, his feet carrying him out on to the dance floor before his mind could register the risk. She was even more beautiful up close than she had been from a distance. Her movements were rhythmic, sensuous, and all too familiar.
Of course they were. He was not some innocent who could not spot seduction when it was within an arm’s reach of him. Why was she alone? More importantly, why would she not leave him alone? She seemed to have eyes only for him. She’d paid not a bit of attention to the people around her, laughing and darting away from those that sought to catch her.
But to him, she held out one long, bare arm, beckoning.
One dance. Just one. He would discover her identity. And then, club be damned, he would go home to his wife. He reached her side and her arm snaked about his throat and she danced about him, bobbing and dipping in a sinuous imitation of a minuet.
He matched her step for step, wary, but fascinated. They moved well together, as familiar as old lovers. Had he been with her before? It was not Caroline this time, he was sure. She was as dark as this woman was fair.
But her identity should not matter to him. Without even knowing the depths of his weakness, Georgiana had absolved him of his mistake on this very dance floor. In turn, he had promised her that his attendance here would be no risk to their happiness. And yet, he was failing her at the first test of his loyalty.
Without another thought, he released her hand, bowed briefly, and turned to leave her.
Before he could escape, she was in front of him again, intoxicatingly close, her hand on his cheek, her body moving against his. His blood rushed in response to the familiarity of that touch. He knew her. He had loved her, he was sure.
He did love her.
As the song ended, he reached up and snatched the mask from her face, mortified by the truth.
‘Surprise!’ She could see by the shock on his face that, for a while at least, she had fooled him. A part of her wanted to be angry that he would be so quick to succumb to the charms of a strange woman. But since that strange woman had been her all along, it was hardly fair.
In truth, she’d watched him for nearly an hour and seen no sign that he had come to the place to bed another. He had been sociable but businesslike in his dealings with everyone else.
It was only when he had seen her that he had fallen. Proof that he was attracted to her, not because they were married, but because he found her desirable.
But now, he was staring at her as if he did not know her at all. The look he was giving her was every bit as cold as the ones he used to impale her with, when he had refused to acknowledge her. Then he grabbed her by the arm and walked towards the door of the private suite.
‘You are making a scene,’ she murmured through clenched teeth as he hauled her by the arm from the dance floor.
‘I am making a scene? I am making a scene?’
‘You are,’ she repeated.
‘You cavort like some Cyprian in front of everyone in the room. And when I put a stop to it, I am the problem.’ He gave an amazed shake of his head.
‘Cavorting?’ She yanked free of his grasp. ‘I was dancing, Frederick. We were dancing.’
‘Dancing is only the beginning,’ he reminded her. And that made him sound less like a sensible man than a Puritan.
‘The beginning of what?’ she said.
‘You know precisely the sort of things that go on here. You questioned Westmoor about them at the ball.’ Now he was looking at her with disgust, as though she had even understood what she’d been asking before he’d enlightened her to the ways of love.
‘I meant nothing by it,’ she insisted, offering a gentle touch to his sleeve.
Now it was his turn to jerk his arm away. ‘That was what my brother’s wife claimed, when I danced with her, here. And to think what might have happened, had I not seen behind the mask...’
‘Caroline?’ If he was hinting at what she thought, it explained so much. ‘I am nothing like her.’
‘You are becoming more like her every day,’ he said roughly. ‘It is why you are no longer allowed in London and why I do not allow you here. Perhaps my brother does not care that his wife is a whore. Perhaps my father does not mind that half the children are not his. But I will not condone such behaviour from my own wife.’
‘I would never...’ she said, unsure whether to be angry or hurt.
‘You are right,’ he said. ‘You never will. Because you are going home.’ Then he stalked to the bell pull to summon Ben to remove her.
‘Alone?’ she said, suddenly just as angry.
‘I have business here,’ he said.
‘If that is what you wish to call staying away for days at a time whenever you become angry with me.’
‘I call it business because that is all it is. I have responsibilities here and cannot sit at home simply because you are too immature to be alone.’
‘I did not ask you to stay home with me,’ she said. ‘Because I did not wish to do it myself. I came here to have fun and to be with my husband. And I do not understand why you, and your refined sense of propriety, are willing to come here yourself.’
‘That is different,’ he said. ‘I am a man.’
She nodded in mock understanding. ‘So. You wish me to stay home, by the fire, for the sake of your reputation.’
‘For your reputation,’ he contradicted.
She ignored him. ‘And all the while you will be here, terrified of making another mistake.’
‘I am not frightened,’ he argued, just as he had the last time.
‘You do not trust yourself. And you will never trust me,’ she said, suddenly sure it was true. None of their arguments had been about her behaviour. They had been about his fears of things that would never happen. ‘Tonight, I did nothing wrong,’ she said, surprised that it was true. ‘I was dancing. It was nothing more than harmless fun. But apparently, you are the sort of person who will not trust his own wife, even when she is in the same room with you.’
‘The sort of person I am?’ He stared at her in disbelief. ‘I was honourable enough to marry you after I watched you behaving even worse than Caroline did, trying to throw away your reputation in this very club.’
‘And thank you so much for your charity,’ she replied bitterly. ‘Perhaps I should be forced to pin a medal on you for such an upstanding moral sacrifice.’ Their time in the country had been nothing more than a lie if he would not forgive or forget what had happened while they were in London. ‘Since my presence in your life is such a continuing annoyance, perhaps I should remove myself from it.’
She regretted the words immediately. But it was not too late. Now, he would tell her not to be foolish. A single word of kindness and she could apologise. Then they would go home together and be happy again.
‘Very good,’ he said, yanking the bell pull again. ‘Snyder will bring the carriage around shortly.’
She swallowed. ‘That will not be necessary. I will find my own way.’ Hadn’t that been her plan, from the first?
‘Very good,’ he said, making no effort to stop her as she left, unmasked, through the main rooms and out the front door.