Rohan was like some kind of cat. When she was very young Nanny Maude had taken her to an exhibition of wild animals in Hyde Park, and there were all sorts of huge, exotic cats. Rohan wasn’t a lion, he was one of the others. Sleek and black and dangerous, with hard eyes and a strange beauty. Rohan was like some kind of cat.
And she was a mouse. A mouse who snarled. And had teeth. An angry little mouse who fought back.
For the first time in what seemed like forever she giggled.
“What’s so amusing, my precious?”
She jumped. She’d given up locking and barring her doors—he always seemed to find a way past them. This time he
’d simply strolled in from her dressing room, moving as silently as…a cat.
She couldn’t help it, she giggled again. Once started, it was very hard to regain her composure. “I was thinking about you, my lord,” she said in a dulcet tone.
He raised an eyebrow. He looked particularly elegant tonight, and she remembered it was the beginning of the Revels. “You were thinking about me and laughing? How very damaging to my self-esteem. ”
“Actually I was laughing about me. I was envisioning you as some kind of cat, playing games with me, but that, unlike a timid little mouse, I fought back with hisses and fangs. ”
“Hisses and fangs, dearest? Oh, surely not. You really do have the strangest notion of your charms. ”
Elinor snorted, an act Nanny Maude had always deplored. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit, my lord? Your vast orgy begins tonight. Shouldn’t you be planning on ruining some innocent?”
“But you see, poppet, I am. ” He took a seat on the divan, glancing around him with great interest, and she could only thank God she’d had the sense to hide the clothes and money. “How have you been entertaining yourself? I sent an array of books to entertain you. ”
“And lovely they were, though certain illustrated volumes were not to my taste. I don’t know what antiquities those drawings were taken from, and I doubt that such interesting contortions could actually take place. And I took leave to doubt the size of various portions of the anatomy of some of the people represented. ” She managed to keep the flush of color, which had flooded her face when she first opened the volumes, away.
“Well, many of them were gods,” Rohan said carelessly. “Those were drawings taken from Roman ruins and temples in India. If you like, we can look at them together and I can explain which are exaggerations and which are not. I do believe most of the positions are feasible. I could be persuaded to attempt some of the more unlikely. ”
It did no good to glare at him. “I found the books very…instructive, but now you may take them back. They are irrelevant to the life I intend to lead. ” She could feel some of the color begin to creep up. Unfortunately she was remembering a particular plate, where the young lady, dressed in nothing but a silver girdle, was astride an Indian gentleman of quite astonishing proportions. She seemed quite happy about it, and Elinor inadvertently pictured Rohan in the place of the Indian gentleman.
Author: Anne Stuart
“Indeed,” Rohan murmured. “You don’t intend to procreate?”
“Those books aren’t about procreation, they’re about…” Words failed her.
Rohan was ever helpful. “Lechery? Degeneracy? Ruination?”
“Pleasure,” she said.
She’d managed to startle him, which was almost worth bringing up such a dangerous word. “I beg your pardon, my dear Elinor. Did you just equate pleasure with coupling?”
“It must provide pleasure,” she said frankly. “Otherwise why would they continue to do it? Why would you hold these ridiculous parties where people can fornicate in public, if they don’t find pleasure in it?”
He smiled at her, an enchanting smile that must have seduced a hundred women. Or more. “There is great pleasure in it, child. I’ve offered to show you more than once. ”
“It’s a pleasure I can do without, my lord,” she said.
“I don’t think so,” he said softly. There was a gleam in his hard blue eyes, at odds with his faint, charming smile, and she was held captive by that look for a long, breathless moment. And then it was past. “So why don’t you tell me the truth about your lurid past, my dear? You know I don’t believe your tales of music teachers and actors. You would be far more receptive to my delicate overtures if you’d ever consorted with…how did you put it…pleasure?”
She was going to escape, she reminded herself. She would have enough money to get away from him, enough to book passage back to England if that’s what she wanted. He could never return to those shores—she would be well and truly safe.
If telling him the truth, which she’d never told another living soul, would keep him occupied for the evening, then so be it. She took a deep breath, determined to be calm and unemotional.
“My mother sold me as a bed partner to a friend of hers, a gentleman who was so terrified of the clap that he only bedded virgins. I remained in his service for three months before he found a replacement. ”
“Indeed,” he said, not sounding particularly shocked. “Was he kind to you?”
“No. He didn’t speak to me. He rutted. ”