“His countenance is not displeasurable, but his beauty is marred by the lack of beauty in his soul.”
Vale stared in disbelief. He had never heard himself spoken of so harshly—and certainly not to his face.
“As bad as that?” he asked.
She winced. “I did not mean to...well, he is not the man I would have freely chosen to marry.”
For the first time, Vale wondered if he had done a disservice in offering for her hand. “Is there someone you would have preferred?”
“No.”
Relief washed over him.
“We have a convenient arrangement in which neither is to intrude into the life of the other,” she added. “We are civil to each other.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“He would not care, I think.”
Vale suppressed a snort.
“He has himself a mistress,” she supplied.
His heart sank. Though her countenance remained stiff and she straightened her shoulders, something in her tone belied her stoicism. He felt an odd compulsion to assure her that all was not what it seemed.
“If you’ve no wish to instruct me, my lord,” Harrietta continued, “it is of no consequence to me. I will find another who can.”
Vale began to pace the room. He could not let her go about her own devices and risk her landing in the hands of someone like Lovell.
He held out his riding crop and with its end, kissed a nipple through her gown. Pulling his wrist back, he made to strike her in that same spot. She gasped audibly, but to her credit, she did not shrink from him. The chit was determined.
“Very well,” he relented. “I will give you one night and one night only, but I have three conditions. Failure to meet any of them will indicate that you are not suited to be my pupil. Indeed, you will not possess the mettle to be a member of Madame Botreaux’s if you cannot perform these simple tasks. First, you will arrive alone. No friends, no chaperones, and certainly no husbands or lovers.”
“Your second requisite, my lord?” Harrietta prompted.
“Your impatience displeases me. The second condition is that you will meet me no later than ten o’clock tomorrow night—”
“Not tomorrow night!”
“Interrupting one’s master merits a sound punishment,” he informed her. “I recommend against it in the future.”
He smiled to himself, knowing full well that tomorrow night would prove difficult for her, for he had offered to take her to her very first opera, Le Nozze di Figaro by Mozart. Harrietta had been thrilled, for the Austrian composer was her favorite.
“I can do any night but tomorrow.”
“The choice is not yours.”
She bit her lower lip in thought. “Very well.”
Taken aback, he stared at her. Surely she did not mean it? He continued, “You will come clothed in no other color but red.”
“That were impossible.”
“The punishment for failing to address me properly will be three lashes. I can assure you already that your first lesson will not be an easy one.”
Her lips curled in a frown, and Vale felt satisfied. “Those are your conditions. Unless you are able to meet all of them, I suggest you think no more of this place. There are other diversions in London that will better suit you, ma petite.”
He left her to her own thoughts, satisfied there was little chance that she could succeed. But his plan did little to address another concern of his: what had prompted her to come to Madame Botreaux’s—and wish to stay? He thought about their wedding night and wondered if he had offended her somehow. He knew plenty of husbands who would rape thei