Lord Lightning (8 page)

But even so, her instincts told her that she must
stay with him, at least a little longer. He needed her help, this Leo who could not love. But how to get him to allow her to stay?

Lord Hartwood picked up the banknotes from his desk, rose, and began to walk slowly over to where she stood. He was back in character again, all Byronic hero. His brooding eyes expressed the agony of his own existence as they swept over her, filled with bleak regret. He sighed deeply, until it seemed his entire being must echo with the cry of his empty soul. She doubted anything she said could reach him now, he was so totally one with the role. But what a role it was, and how well he portrayed it! First Lovelace and now Lord Byron’s haunted Corsair. That last sigh of his would have been heard clearly in the cheapest seats. But what a shame it was, in view of his own needs, that he kept choosing such unrewarding roles. Lovelace and
The Corsair
would not teach him how to love. But as that thought flickered through her mind she saw all at once how she might use his love of theater to reach out to him without exciting his fears.

“Would your purpose be accomplished,” she asked, “if I were to
pretend
to be your mistress?”

“What do you mean?”

“I might go with you to Brighton and
act
the part of your mistress, though only when we were with others. You would not have to treat me like a mistress when we were in private.”

***

The woman was mad. He could think of no other explanation. But at the same time, the boldness of her suggestion intrigued him. Others rarely matched him in his ability to come up with outrageous schemes, but Miss Farrell was making a habit of astonishing him.

“What would be the point of pretending?” he asked.

“Well, it depends, of course, on what you want a mistress for. If it were only to satisfy your lust, I can see that the arrangement wouldn’t suit.”

“Indeed it wouldn’t.”

“But I doubt lust was your reason for selecting me as a mistress. I am not a woman who inspires lust in men.”

He could have argued the point with her, remembering the unexpected strength of the passion that had filled him when he had dallied with her the previous night, but he thought better of it. And besides, whatever had called out his surprising response to her, it was gone now. Perhaps it had just been the effect of the brandy.

“So,” she continued in the same calm tone, “since your reason for wishing to bring along a mistress did not spring from carnal need, it is likely you had some theatrical purpose in mind. Leos are known for their love of theater.” She paused in her discourse and gazed up at him through ginger lashes. “If it was indeed the theatrical aspect of having a mistress that motivates you, I believe I can fill the role to your satisfaction.”

“Based on what?” he asked, fascinated.

“On the fact that I have always been accounted a very good actress.”

He mentally compared the earnest little soothsayer with Violet and the other actresses of his acquaintance and again suppressed a smile. “I should hardly have thought that your life would’ve offered many opportunities for acting.”

“But that is where you’re wrong. My Aunt Celestina was a great lover of the theater, so we spent many happy evenings acting out together the various parts in her favorite plays. At times, she would invite other gentlefolk from our neighborhood to take part in our performances. The vicar, who had attended the theater in London several times, told her I was quite the best Lady Teazle he’d ever seen.”

“So you would act my mistress, with some help from Mr. Sheridan and the vicar?” he asked, unable to suppress his smile this time.

“With pleasure, my lord.”

Really, he should make her take the money and get rid of her now, before some sentimental maggot in his head—some relative no doubt of the one that had bitten him the previous night—made him accept her crazy offer. But it was too late. It was a very speedy maggot and had already taken a good nip. As much as he wanted to, he could not bring himself to dismiss her.

Mad as it was, her suggestion had a kind of lunatic appeal. It would be a relief to have a mistress with whom he did not have to pretend to feel passion.
Nor could he deny that he would find her company entertaining. She was such an original; he would never know what she might say or do next. And the truth was he felt a certain regret at the thought of never seeing her again—though that would soon wear off, as he knew very well he was incapable of feeling anything for a woman. It was only the novelty of her belief that he might be loving and loveable that intrigued him.

Still if he were to send her away now, she might continue on in the belief that he had, tucked away somewhere, a loving heart. How better to dispel that fantasy than to take her with him. A few weeks with him would destroy any illusions she might have about his goodness, and without them she would lose her power to interest him.

And besides, if he agreed to go ahead with her ridiculous scheme, he
would
have a mistress to flaunt in his mother’s face. It wouldn’t matter whether he actually had sexual congress with her. Just to force his mother to dine with a woman she believed to be his mistress would be enough.

And if the scheme failed? He would dismiss her. There was little to lose in attempting it, and who knew? Perhaps the little fortune-teller could pull it off.

I
am tempted to try your scheme,” Lord Hartwood announced. He stood at the window, his pale curls shining like an aura in the shaft of light that illuminated him from behind. “I
do
need to bring a mistress with me to claim my inheritance, even if she be only a simulated mistress.”

He was going to let her stay! Eliza felt an unexpected bolt of fear.

“But I am not at all convinced that you could play the part.”

A second bolt: disappointment.

“How good an actress are you, really? Could you behave convincingly in such a role? Could you pretend to be a brazen woman? Could you carry on shamelessly in front of disapproving eyes? You will pardon me if I say I find it hard to believe you could carry off this particular role, no
matter what success you may have had playing Lady Teazle with the vicar in your aunt’s parlor.”

Eliza’s pride was wounded. She was a very good actress and surely she had given him as yet no reason to doubt it. She advanced on him, her newfound resolution making her bold. “Try me. I shall show you what I am capable of.”

Lord Hartwood paced over to a sofa that stood by the wall. When he turned to face her, the corsair was gone; in his place was the theater director. “Very well. Pretend you are in my mother’s parlor. Lord Mumblethorpe is sitting over there. He’s very conservative in his views. Are you ready to put on a show for him?”

Eliza nodded. She strode over to the sofa and seized the lace antimacassar that lay on top of its cushions. She draped it around her like a shawl, letting the ends flutter down across her bosom, imagining it to be the fringe of the silken dressing gown Violet had worn. She spent a moment getting into the role, then with a delicate wiggle, she let her lashes drop seductively, took a deep breath, and turned to face him.

Lord Hartwood favored her with a moment of intense regard. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. But before she had time to react, he made his way over to her, swept her into his arms, pressed her against the hard length of his body, and planted a long and soulful kiss on her lips, while his other hand curved over her buttocks.

It took all Eliza’s self-discipline to keep from tearing herself out of his embrace. Instead she focused
on his kiss. His lips were as warm as they’d been the night before, and when he parted them slightly to suck gently on her upper lip, she tasted the faint flavor of coffee. She opened her lips as well. Immediately she felt his tongue touch hers as he deepened the kiss. Her knees felt weak and she thought she might swoon from the sensation. But she knew that if she gave him any sign that she was disturbed by his simulated lovemaking, he would dismiss her instantly. So she tried as hard as possible to display the same kind of cool disregard with which she imagined a woman of the world like Violet would have responded to such a caress. She moved her lips against his, following his lead, and pressed her hips harder against his body. She hoped he couldn’t feel the frantic beating of her heart.

After what felt like a very long time, he let her go, and she stepped back, her heart still pounding.

“You did that surprisingly well,” he said. His lips quirked in something akin to amusement, though his eyes blazed with the same fire as the night before. “You did not scream or faint but kissed me in a most mistress-like manner. That bodes well for the scheme.”

Eliza nodded dumbly. Her heart was still racing, and she still felt the strange tingling somewhere deep in her belly, that his roving hands had awakened. It struck her that acting the role of his mistress might be as challenging as being a real one, and given the strength of her response to him, for
a moment she questioned her own motives in continuing. But then she shook off her doubts. Her motive was only to help him get through a tricky period as his true character emerged. He would not really make her his mistress. She would not wish him to. This was only theater.

As if sensing her discomfort, Lord Hartwood announced mischievously, “I believe we must try that again, just to be sure,” and he moved toward her again, his dark eyes sparkling.

This time he drew her into a delicate Sheraton side chair upholstered in stripes of pale green and pink and, when she was seated, dropped his pale head onto her lap. Arching his back luxuriantly like the lion from which his sign got its name, he raised his head, letting it rest against her breasts and nuzzling her gently with his cheek. She could feel her nipples harden as he did so.

It was infuriating! She appeared to have no control at all over her reactions. She prepared herself for the inevitable letdown she must feel when he became aware of her inability to carry off the role, but to her relief her body’s involuntary response did not seem overly to disturb him.

“Ah,” he said with a tone of contentment, letting his hand explore the underside of her breast. “I believe I could pursue this line of inquiry quite profitably for some time.” He exhaled gently. “Should you like me to continue?”

“I should not,” Eliza said as quellingly as possible. She struggled to compose herself. “I believe
I have shown you that I can handle whatever is required.”

“Perhaps. Though I should hate to make such an important decision on so little information. If you were to go with me as my mistress, you would have to maintain the role for an entire fortnight. I must be sure you are up to the strain.”

His dark eyes again twinkled as his hand gently brushed against her peaked nipple. As he did so, he scrutinized her face closely, until she felt she couldn’t bear another second of this torment and must end it, if her failure meant leaving him. But just as she was about to leap up and free herself he removed his hand and said, “That is enough for now. I do not wish to put my own resolve to so fierce a test. I don’t know where you got the idea you aren’t attractive.”

She went limp with relief, but forced herself to respond to his question, keeping her voice playful to match his tone. “How
could
I be attractive with such a multitude of freckles? The boys used to make fun of them when I was young. My aunt tried every nostrum anyone ever recommended but nothing would make them go away. And I have red hair, too. Can anything be uglier?”

“Young boys know nothing about it, Eliza. Nor do elderly aunts. As a man of worldly experience, I can assure you your freckles are rather fetching. And though it isn’t the current fashion, many men are quite fond of red hair. If you gave it some attention yours could be truly beautiful. Don’t underestimate yourself.”

Eliza could feel herself blush. No man had ever spoken to her like this. But of course, theirs had been a very small village.

“On the other hand,” Lord Hartwood continued, “your gown
is
a fright and fits all too well with your idea of yourself as a hopeless spinster. If you are to accompany me, we will have to do something about your clothing. I can imagine nothing less mistress-like than that gray sack you’re wearing. But it is no great matter to correct that,” he assured her. “I recently had the modiste prepare a new wardrobe for Violet, one created especially for this journey. It is still here. Her taste in clothing was that of a consummate strumpet.” A nostalgic look flitted across his face. “Indeed, that was a great part of her charm for me. Perhaps some of her things might be made to fit you.”

Eliza doubted it, remembering the actress’s lush form, but she did not correct him. He had come so close to sending her away, and she knew he was still far from believing that her idea might work.

“I shall order her trunk to be brought to your room. Look through it and pick out something suitable,” Lord Hartwood ordered. “I will meet you there in an hour. See what you can do with yourself in the meantime.”

It was with mixed feelings that Eliza rummaged through the trunk filled with the clothing Lord Lightning had purchased for Violet. Piece by piece she pulled out the garments made for the woman who had really been his mistress,
clothing as beautiful as Violet herself. As she examined them, she felt a burst of envy. If only she possessed a fraction of Violet’s beauty! But even as the thought flickered through her mind, she reproached herself for it. Her mother had been given the gift of beauty, and that beauty had ruined her life. It was a mercy Eliza had inherited none of it. It was far better to have been given only the gift of good sense.

Yet, as she examined each of the gaudy garments, looking for those whose color would not clash with her red hair, she wondered if good sense alone would enable her to make a selection from the bounty that emerged from the trunk. She knew nothing about the construction of a fashionable ensemble. Her aunt had prided herself on ignoring the trivial details of dress that filled the minds of lesser women and had not thought it important to instruct Eliza about them. Until now, Eliza had not felt in any way deprived, especially since on her birthday each year her aunt had most generously provided her with a new costume made of sturdy material chosen for its ability to withstand wear and perfect for those occasions when they took tea with the other maiden ladies of the neighborhood and made their weekly visits to the poor.