скачать книгу бесплатно
‘You did not know she would do this?’ Sloane did not sound as pleased as she.
‘No, indeed.’ She smiled.
Take me, take me, some of you,
While I yet am young and true.
Rose finished the last refrain, and the audience burst into applause and cheers.
Morgana clapped as enthusiastically as the rest. ‘Well done!’
Sloane muttered, ‘She selected the right song.’
Morgana’s smile faded at his grim expression. ‘Can you not enjoy it, Sloane? What a lovely moment for her!’
‘She places you in jeopardy, Morgana. If you are associated with her, questions will be asked.’
The orchestra started playing a waltz, and several couples in the crowd started to dance.
Morgana glanced around her, savouring the gaiety. ‘Oh, do not be cross any more, Sloane.’ She gazed up at him and her voice turned low. ‘Dance with me.’
His eyes held hers for a moment, then he suddenly gathered her to him and swung her into the dance. The lamps above them blurred as they whirled round and round, and Morgana felt as if she were indeed soaring in the stars, with Sloane’s arms around her. His chiselled features softened as he gazed down at her. He held her as close as he had when they’d danced in her parlour. Morgana thought she knew how heaven might feel.
The orchestra segued from the waltz into a more rousing, lively piece, and the dancing became more boisterous. Sloane guided Morgana away from the carousing. They were about to enter the path when they saw Katy walking with two gentlemen, one on each arm.
‘What is she up to?’ Morgana said with irritation.
Katy came closer, and Sloane pulled Morgana halfway into the bushes, hiding them both by putting his arms around her.
‘You see her companions?’ he whispered.
Katy was flanked by none other than Morgana’s uncle and Lord Poltrop. Like Rose, she had shed her mask. Even worse, she was gaily allowing the gentlemen to place their hands upon her, one of them squeezing her derrière.
Sloane held Morgana out of view as they passed…
‘She promised.’ she began, but, when she lifted her head, he was so close, she forgot what she was about to say.
He did not release her, and her arms had nowhere to go but around his neck. His eyes darkened, and he pressed her against him so firmly she could feel his arousal from beneath his clothing. From Madame Bisou’s lessons, she knew what it was—and what it meant. Sparks of pleasure glittered through her like the lamps strung through the trees. She laughed and pulled his head down to her eager lips.
His hand slid down to her hips and ground her against him. His tongue played in her mouth. She met his kiss eagerly, daring to let her tongue frolic with his, feeling her whole body come alive with need. His lips slid to her neck and she heard herself whimper at the ache of pleasure created as he tasted her tender skin. His hand moved to her breast and Morgana covered it with her own, urging him to not move it away, but to fondle her more.
‘Sloane,’ she moaned, her voice husky. It started to make sense to her, all of Madame Bisou’s lessons. She wanted more of him, could imagine the sensation of feeling his bare skin against hers, of feeling his hands upon her. This was desire, she realised, and it frightened as much as it thrilled her. How easy it would be to become carried away, to allow him to lead her down the Dark Walk with him.
Still, she did not wish him to stop. She found his lips and tasted him again. She pressed herself against him, unable to stop herself, unable to allow this moment to end.
He broke away. ‘This is madness.’ He held her at arm’s length, panting, every fibre of his being on fire for her. By damn, he wanted to make love to her, wanted to discover how that depth of emotion that swung her from weeping for Lucy to cheering for Rose, that passion would play out in bed. The same recklessness he chided her for, he’d been willing to exploit. And her enthusiastic response showed him she wanted him to be the rake, not the reputable gentleman.
‘That was not well done, Morgana,’ he said.
She looked at him with a puzzled and wounded expression.
He had to impress upon her, convince her that this path she was bent upon would only bring her pain and eventual loneliness. If she did not exercise some restraint, how could he? ‘Were you practising Bisou’s lessons, Morgana? Practising at being the harlot?’
Even in the dim light, he saw the shock in her eyes. She swung her hand back to strike him, but he caught her wrist before her palm connected to his face. ‘You are making a spectacle. Someone will see.’
Under her mask, her eyes blazed. ‘What will they see? They will see the very reputable Mr Sloane cavorting with a harlot. Take care, Sloane. Your hard-won respectability may be ruined by me.’
‘Indeed it may.’ He still gripped her wrist and held her so close he could feel the angry rise of her breast against his chest. ‘You are not acting the lady, Morgana.’
Her arm flexed again, but the movement only rammed her full against him. ‘You are not acting the gentleman.’
Her words struck the blow her hand had missed.
She hissed, ‘Perhaps you ought to return to your very silly, respectable Lady Hannah. A gentleman would not keep her waiting.’
Hannah? He had forgotten about her while he held Morgana in his arms. Even now, while they exchanged angry words, his body came alive with the feel of her. He wished more than anything to be the rake he once had been.
He pushed her away before he could kiss her again and act on that nearly irresistible impulse.
‘I will return to her.’ He spoke more to himself than to Morgana, trying to convince himself that he wished to return to the task of acting the host.
‘Yes.’ Her voice was so low he could almost not hear her. ‘Of course you will return to her.’
Before he could speak another word, she spun around and ran to her supper box, skirts flying. She did not look back.
Sloane followed, sickened by his own behaviour, but more by his words. He’d blamed her for that kiss, for his own arousal, for his own desire to risk her ruin in the gardens at Vauxhall.
He watched to see that she reached the box without mishap. Katy had returned and was now busily flirting with Sir Reginald. Lucy, Elliot, Mary and Duprey were there as well. He wanted to order Morgana to take them all home now, before something worse happened. But, damn him, even more, he ached to grab her hand and run with her down the Dark Walk.
Some gentleman he was. If anyone cared to examine him in the light of day, they could undoubtedly see he was as shabby as Vauxhall’s plaster columns and painted walls.
He quickly backed away before the others of Morgana’s party saw him. He made his way through the revellers to the other side of the park, and slipped into his own party’s supper box. After him came Hannah and David, the other young people good-naturedly teasing them about being together. Cowdlin and Poltrop now sat with their wives in domestic harmony, and behind their backs Athenia held hands with Varney. Hannah looked unusually subdued. David fetched her a glass of wine and returned to fill his own glass with some more of the arrack punch.
Sloane joined him.
‘Have you missed us, Uncle?’ David asked, slurring his words. The young man must have dipped into more than his share of the arrack.
‘I confess I wondered where everyone went off to,’ Sloane lied.
‘Just looking at the sights,’ said David, his eyes drifting over to Hannah.
Athenia whispered something in Hannah’s ear. Hannah whispered back. Sloane felt relieved of the obligation to join her.
His mind and senses were still filled with Morgana, not the thoughts of a man intent upon offering for a society miss. At the moment, any thought of marrying Hannah was unbearable.
The signal sounded for the illuminations to begin, and everyone in the party hurried out of the box to get a good view. Sloane looked through the crowd and found Morgana, standing with her girls, all looking like the high-flyers they would become. The sight of Morgana roused him all over again. Instead of the illuminations, he watched her, the flashes of light catching her mask. The sparkle and crackle and boom were nothing to the explosions ricocheting inside him.
He’d be damned if he did not find in Morgana a kindred spirit, but one who would cause him to lose the game he’d bid so high to win.
Later that night, after a very subdued Hannah and her dozing parents delivered him back to his town house, Sloane donned dark clothes, grabbed his swordstick and his knife, and slipped back out into the night, bound for Milk Street and the living quarters above the shop of a certain button seller.
As he blended with the night on his way to Cheapside, he formulated his plan, glad he had a target for the pent-up emotion inside him. Murder might be justified, but he would settle for frightening the fellow. He gripped his swordstick tighter as he hurried to avenge the man’s evil deeds.
Sloane knew exactly what would keep the man’s breeches buttoned when the next pretty girl came into view.
Chapter Thirteen
Over the last month of the Season, Morgana saw little of Sloane, though he was often at the same balls and routs she attended. He continued to show some attention to her cousin, but never to her. Worst of all, he no longer slipped through her garden wall to share breakfast or dinner or to assist with Madame Bisou’s lessons.
Mr Elliot, who, like Mr Duprey, visited more frequently than before, disclaimed any knowledge of why Sloane avoided Morgana’s company. He said Sloane spent a great deal of time secluded in his library, adding that Sloane seemed irritable at times, snapping at Elliot but apologising afterwards.
Morgana knew precisely why he avoided her. He thought her no more than a harlot, a threat to his desire to be accepted into the beau monde, to marry her cousin.
Still, she could not help gazing out of windows, hoping to catch sight of him leaving his house, to see his tall figure striding down the road. Her heart ached for missing him.
She realised the loss of his company had been her fault. He had scolded her for her wildness, but then she’d kissed him as wantonly as any harlot might do. He had lost respect for her, and that was painful indeed.
Why could she not have merely employed the pretty flirtations that gave Hannah such success? Hannah, though her manners were lively, never strayed too far from what was proper. Unlike Morgana.
Even Hannah’s spirits had altered lately, her gaiety forced. Morgana could only suppose that Hannah worried that Sloane would not make an offer after all, although she long had been convinced that Hannah loved the idea of marrying a rich man more than the man himself. Indeed, Hannah seemed to prefer David Sloane to his uncle.
Partly to keep her mind off Sloane, Morgana allowed her girls more outings, all of them wearing hats that obscured their faces. They shopped at the Soho bazaar with money Morgana had given them to buy trinkets. They attended a performance at Astley’s Amphitheatre. Daring indeed, because five lovely young ladies together, even though chaperoned by Miss Moore and escorted by Mr Elliot and Mr Duprey, attracted nearly as much attention as the arena’s spectacular feats of horsemanship. Robert Duprey had also taken them each for rides in Hyde Park.
This morning’s breakfast conversation was all about Mr Duprey.
‘I shall never ride with him again,’ Katy said dramatically. ‘He near enough turned the curricle on its side—’
‘Nearly turned the curricle on its side,’ Miss Moore corrected.
Katy stared at her. ‘Nearly turned the curricle—’
‘Do stop!’ cried Mary. ‘I think Mr Duprey is quite good at handling the ribbons. I am sure I never worried for one minute about it.’
‘He is a menace!’ Katy shouted. ‘Rose, you must agree.’
Rose, who was chewing a piece of toasted bread, could not respond right away.
Katy did not pause. ‘He near enough—nearly—ran into some fellow in a phaeton—’
‘A gentleman, dear,’ said Miss Moore. ‘Not a fellow.’
‘I tell you, I nearly got my neck broke.’
Mary sprang to her feet. ‘I will not hear Mr Duprey so maligned. He has been nothing but kindness and generosity and all that is proper.’
‘How proper can he be spendin’ all his days with a pack of dolly mops!’ Katy demanded, a bit too loudly to be ladylike.
Morgana massaged her temples. The headache that roused her before dawn still pained her, and the discussion at hand was not helping. ‘Do not call yourself a dolly mop, Katy. You are better than that.’
Katy laughed. ‘Gracious, Miss Hart. We ain’t nothin’ more than fancy dolly mops.’
Morgana sighed. There was no use arguing with Katy. It would only egg her on and make the headache worse. Finishing her now tepid cup of tea, Morgana bade them good morning as an example of ladylike manners, and went in search of Lucy.
It did not take long to find her. She was in the garden pulling weeds. Mr Elliot stood nearby, chatting with her.
‘Good morning, Miss Hart,’ Lucy said, rising to her feet.
Mr Elliot nodded.
Lucy smiled at Morgana. Either the morning air or a blush had put colour in her cheeks. Or had she and Mr Elliot found a private place to be together?
‘I was just telling Mr Elliot the news my mum sent to Amy and me. Did she tell you of it?’
‘No.’ Amy had lately chattered more about her sister, how she feared for Lucy in her new life, how she wished Lucy would content herself with being a maid and forget this notion of being a courtesan.
Morgana sharedAmy’s sentiments. As the days went on, she dreaded more and more the moment she would have to release them into the life she had created for them. Two months ago Morgana had been convinced that she would be providing them with a better life. Now she feared she would only cause them more unhappiness, like the unhappiness she now felt.
‘What was the news, Lucy? No one is ill, I hope.’
‘Nothing like that, miss.’ Lucy glanced to Elliot, who nodded encouragingly. ‘It is the shop next door to my father’s. The button seller. Do you remember about him?’
Morgana was not likely to ever forget. ‘I remember.’
‘Well, my mum said he moved away. Just up and moved. He’s gone.’
Morgana could barely speak. ‘Indeed.’
‘And I was asking Mr Elliot if he thought it could be Mr Sloane’s doing. Do you think so? Mr Elliot says he does not know, but I think Mr Sloane made him go away. Mr Castle has run the shop for ever and his father before him and now it is empty and he’s gone.’
Morgana felt her senses, so dormant of late, come to life. Of course Sloane had been responsible. Like a secret champion, he’d avenged Lucy. Sloane had driven the man off.
‘It does seem odd,’ Morgana managed.
Lucy and Mr Elliot shared smiles, and Morgana felt a wave of envy. Lucy and Elliot had found a steadfast friendship, perhaps more than a friendship, though Morgana dared not ask. Morgana was happy for her even if, at this moment, it made her own loneliness seem more acute.
A voice sounded from the other side of the garden wall. ‘Elliot, where the devil are you?’
Sloane.
He stepped through the gap in the garden wall and caught sight of Morgana. ‘Oh.’
Elliot sprang to attention. ‘Did you have need of me, sir?’
Sloane looked as if he were about to retreat back to his own property. ‘No, just wondered where you were.’
Morgana remained riveted to the spot, but Lucy skipped over to Sloane.
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said with meaning in her voice.
