Mary Jo Putney (8 page)

No, it wasn't
men
that she wanted. It was one man, one who would love and protect her in spite of her past, one who could initiate her into the profane, earthly delights that Madeline had described. At the thought, Diana smiled wryly, knowing what a romantic fool she was. It was a sign of how much she had healed that she dared to dream again.

Her cloak billowed out behind her, the heavy fabric snapping from the force of the gusting wind. She felt almost as if she could spread out her arms and soar far to the south, to the city that was the bright, corrupt heart of Britain. As always, the wind was shredding and dispersing her doubts and confusions, and she gloried in its cleansing strength.

When a drift of cloud darkened the moon, Diana began the long trek back to the cottage. Even in the dark she knew her way across the trackless heights as well as any native Yorkshire woman, though she had been raised far from these moors.

The greatest danger in becoming a courtesan was the risk that her choice might damage Geoffrey, since to leave him behind was out of the question. She would have to separate the two sides of her life in London, but London would expand his horizons as much as her own.

The drifting clouds unveiled the moon again as Diana neared Cleveden Tarn, a darkly shining circle of water. Level earth ran up to the edge, as if the tarn was a mirror that some goddess had dropped in the coarse grasses. Impetuously she knelt by the edge and stared into the moon-silvered waters.

Though better educated than most women, Diana had always been driven by emotion and intuition rather than logic. Logic whispered to stay here, where it was safe, but intuition called her to leave, to dare the dangerous, mysterious world that Madeline had revealed to her. The world where a beautiful woman might have power.

As she gazed into the dark water, calm certainty flowed through her, dissolving doubts. It was not chance that had brought Madeline into her life. The older woman was not only a friend but also an essential link to the future. Somewhere there was a man who was Diana's destiny, connected to her by a thread of undeniable fate, a man whom she would find only if she dared the unthinkable.

Caught in the spell of the full moon, she whispered, "Great goddess, will you show my lover's face to me?"

Then she laughed at her own foolishness. That she, who had been raised in a far-too-godly home, should indulge in superstitious nonsense!

Her laughter died. As clearly as if words had been spoken, Diana sensed that it was better not to know what fate held for her. If she knew the shape of the future, she might turn away from it. She must go blindly, trusting that her intuition and the hard-won faith that guided her life would carry her through.

Diana stood and slowly retraced her steps to the cottage, pulling her cloak tight around her slim body. The years of life in the safe shallows were over. Ahead of her lay her destiny, and that destiny was love.

Chapter 3

Diana's hands were not quite steady as she applied her cosmetics. Madeline had spent many hours training her to be as subtly provocative as possible and Diana could almost do it with her eyes closed. But this time the makeup was in earnest. Tonight they were going to an informal gathering at the home of Harriette Wilson, queen of the London demireps, and for the first time Diana would be offering herself in the market.

Laying down the hare's foot she used to add subtle color to cheeks paled by nerves, Diana studied her reflection in the mirror. The image that faced her was that of a sophisticated, worldly female whose heart-shaped face and delicate features were too flawless to be real. It was not the face of the young woman who had lived on the moors and baked bread and played with her son in the mud of a streambed.

Half a year had passed since she had hesitantly broken the news to her friends that she intended to go to London and become a courtesan. Not surprisingly, that simple statement had provoked a storm of protest.

What
was
surprising was that Edith, the very picture of rural conservatism, had supported Diana's goal, pragmatically saying that the plan had much to commend it.The real opposition came from Madeline, who had lived the life of a demirep without regret or apology.

It was one matter to sell oneself when there was no choice. Quite another to do so voluntarily. Maddy had mustered every available argument, pointing out that they were not in financial need, asking how Geoffrey would be affected, warning that Diana did not realize what she was getting into. Diana had conceded all her friend's points, her voice faltering when they discussed Geoffrey, but had refused to change her mind.

In the end, Madeline had thrown up her hands in defeat and promised to help Diana in any way she could. Without her aid, her endless lessons about men, society, and how to be alluring, Diana could never have come so far. While it remained to be seen whether she would be a success at her new trade, the fraudulent image in the mirror was a good beginning.

The low-cut blue silk dress Diana wore was the exact lapis-lazuli shade of her eyes, and her glowing chestnut hair was piled on her head in richly tousled curls before cascading down her back. Not accidentally, the style implied that her thick tresses would fall around her bare shoulders with unrestrained abandon if a man touched them.

As she made a minor adjustment to her hair, a soft knock announced Madeline's entrance. Since coming to London, the older woman had dyed the gray out of her brunette hair, and in the candlelight it was impossible to believe that she was more than thirty years old. Tonight Maddy was stunning in a burgundy-red dress, ready for her role as guide and guard.

Once she had agreed to support her young friend's ambitions, she had shared everything with her adopted family: her income, the fashionable Mayfair house where they lived, her knowledge of London and its ways. She had located the small school where Geoffrey was flourishing, and she had introduced Diana to her friend Harriette Wilson, an introduction which had resulted in tonight's invitation.

Diana turned with a smile, grateful to be distracted from her anxiety. Rising from her chair, she slowly turned around for her friend's inspection, her chin lifted to an angle that conveyed pride without haughtiness. Like every other aspect of her appearance, that angle had been carefully learned.

Madeline studied her, then nodded approval. "Perfect. You have hit the exact balance between the lady and the wanton."

Diana's smile was crooked. "In spite of all your thorough and embarrassing lessons on what gentlemen expect of mistresses, I feel more like a lamb pretending to be a lioness."

"We don't have to go tonight if you don't want to," Madeline said gravely.

"But I do want to, Maddy," Diana answered, her soft voice resolute. "Of course I'm nervous, but I'm eager too. Tonight I will enter a world that would otherwise be closed to me. Perhaps I won't like it and tomorrow morning I will be ready to fly back to Yorkshire. Then you can say, 'I told you so,' and I will nod in meek agreement as I embroider by the fire."

The older woman laughed with loving exasperation as she surveyed her protégée. The girl had never looked lovelier. Though she was twenty-four, older than most aspiring courtesans, she retained the dewy freshness of a seventeen-year-old. At first Diana had found the crowds and clamor frightening after the Yorkshire moors, but after three months in London she had a superb wardrobe and a sense of ease in the bustling metropolis.

Madeline shook her head in admiration. If she knew anything about men, they would be clustered around the girl tonight like bees around a honeypot. Perhaps Diana would dislike the sensation enough to retreat before it was too late. "You'll do, my dear," she said judiciously. "You'll do very well indeed."

* * *

Harriette Wilson's home was filled with men of the utmost respectability, and women with no respectability at all. All of the males present were rich or titled or fashionable, often all three, while the females were the
crème de la crème
of the demireps. Harriette herself waved casually as Diana and Madeline entered, then turned back to her court. Unlike most of the courtesan breed, "The Little Fellow" was confident enough of her own charms that even Diana's stunning beauty did not make her resentful.

As they paused in the doorway to Harriette's salon, Diana suddenly froze with panic. For months she had worked toward this goal, questioning Madeline, trying to absorb the sometimes shocking answers. She had acquainted herself with her body, done strange exercises to strengthen internal muscles, and learned how to throw a knife for self-defense. But even though she had been a dedicated student, the goal had seemed distant, dreamlike.

Now reality was upon her. Until this moment she could have turned back at any time to safe respectability. But once she set foot in this room, a fallen woman among other fallen women, the die was cast; she would be a whore, even if she never took a penny from a man. For an instant she considered flight; Madeline would take her away and she could abandon her insane ambition.

Diana's fearful pause was as effective as a planned grand entrance. Men were turning to look at her, their expressions running the gamut from simple admiration to naked lust. There must have been at least twenty men staring at her, all of them richer, stronger, and more powerful than she, and Diana was terrified to immobility.

Madeline touched her elbow, silently offering support, and Diana's fears ebbed. Her breath eased out, her heart returned to its normal rhythm. Her entrance into this room might brand her a prostitute, but no man could have her without her consent. Lifting her chin, Diana entered the salon, Madeline half a step behind her.

Within seconds men were approaching, eager smiles on their faces as they vied to introduce themselves. The voices jumbled together: "I'm Clinton..., Ridgley, ma'am, very much at your service..."

"Major Connaught, m'dear, may I get you a glass of champagne?"

As she looked into their admiring faces, the evening suddenly seemed so simple, so enjoyable, that she could not imagine why she had been frightened. With a peal of delighted laughter she offered her hand to the nearest one, a short redheaded fellow with bushy side whiskers. "Good evening, gentlemen, I am Mrs. Diana Lindsay, and I would very much enjoy a glass of champagne."

The redhead reverently kissed her hand while a balding gentleman rushed off for champagne. The third man, dark, poetic-looking, and very young, simply stared at her, his mouth slightly open. They really did think she was beautiful, and for the first time in her life Diana felt the power of her own beauty.

The next hour or so passed in a blur. She and Maddy sat by the wall, surrounded by men vying for her attention. She needed to say very little, and every word she did utter was greeted as a brilliant witticism. It was delightful and she felt as bubbly as the champagne, but she was in no danger of forgetting what kind of gathering this was. Across the room, a dark woman and a man in an army uniform were engaged in such astonishingly intimate caresses that Diana was hard-pressed not to stare.

Seeing the direction of her gaze, Madeline whispered that the dark woman was one of Harriette's sisters. The Little Fellow was merely the most successful of a notorious clan.

The couple slipped out together. Half an hour later they returned separately, the woman looking well-used but pleased with herself. Diana forcefully turned her thoughts from what had happened. If and when she went with a man, it would be as a result of more than fifteen minutes' acquaintance.

"My dear Mrs. Lindsay..." The voice in her ear was gruff and a little hesitant, and she turned to look up into the face of the balding man who had stayed very close since she arrived. He was Ridgley, she recalled.

She smiled with slow promise, the way Madeline had taught her. "Yes, Mr. Ridgley?"

He smiled back with fatuous delight. Incredible that her mere existence inspired such a response. After a long, dazzled moment, he said, "Lord Ridgley, actually." Clearing his throat, he added hopefully, "Are you looking for a protector, my dear girl?"

She studied him thoughtfully. He was middle-aged and stout, not repulsive, but no Adonis. Still, he had kind eyes. When the time came to take a lover, she could do worse, but Diana was a long way from making that decision. She laid a light hand on his arm. "Perhaps I shall be soon."

Ridgley swallowed hard. "When you do... pray think of me."