Reckless (3 page)

She could still feel his hand on her arm, strong, restraining her. She was a woman who couldn't bear to be forced, bullied, cowed. So why was she tenderly stroking the place where he'd held her?

She was moon-mad. Calf-brained, addlepated.

But in this one matter her formidable intellect was no match for the dismal, unpalatable truth. She was in love with Adrian Rohan, and had been for years,
and nothing, not his rudeness nor tales of his outrageous excess, nor all her own rational self-discourse, could change her.

And once more castigating herself as an idiot, she fell into a deep, troubled sleep.

 

Adrian Alastair Rohan stared down the dress of the exquisitely beautiful, exquisitely silly Miss Leonard, bored beyond belief even as he said all the right things. Usually an amiable flirtation was as good a way to spend an interminable evening. He would get no more than a kiss from Miss Leonard, and while kissing had long ago lost its charm, he had it on good authority that Miss Leonard had had a great deal of practice at it and was considered something of an expert. It could be entertaining to see if he could manage to teach her something new.

He'd rather be teaching the nervous and thoroughly delicious Charlotte Spenser, though he wasn't quite certain why. Her clothes were atrocious, her manner less than cordial, and whenever he happened to see her she acted as if he'd committed some foul crime. Yes, his reputation was terrible, but in his experience most women found it irresistible.

It was the rest of the time that interested him. Because the honorable Miss Charlotte Spenser couldn't keep her eyes off him, a fact he found amusing. Despite her avowed disapproval of him and everything
he stood for, he was fully aware she watched him whenever she thought no one would notice.

As a poor relation and a spinster of no particular beauty she tended to hang back at the edges of the crowds, where she thought she could remain unnoticed while she stared at him. As far as he could tell, she paid no particular attention to anyone else.

He was fully accustomed to having women watch him with appreciation and even longing. He was wealthy, heir to a title and possessed of more than average good looks, all thanks to his parents. His height, his pretty face, his deep blue eyes, so like his father's, had nothing to do with any accomplishment on his part, and he accepted the blessings of fortune with no particular vanity. Those blessings enabled him to indulge his varied appetites and interests, and for that he was casually grateful.

But he wasn't the prettiest young man in society—Montague held that particular office. Nor the wealthiest, and he was a mere viscount, not a duke or even a marquess, though that would come once his father died. And as the honorable Miss Spenser could attest, he was far from the most charming. He had a nasty tongue and was never known to suffer fools gladly.

And yet still she watched him when he danced with the newest beauty, when he laughed with his friends, when he snubbed upstarts and drank too much and occasionally made an ass of himself. And he wondered why.

One possibility, and by far his favorite, was that she was planning his murder. The poor relation, snubbed once too often, was out for revenge, and he might very well find his next glass of negus poisoned, or a knife between his shoulder blades.

It was nothing more than he deserved, but he doubted she had that in mind. In truth, he knew exactly why she watched him, and it was for the same reason half the women in society, young and old, married and single, plain and beautiful, watched him. She fancied herself in love with him.

If she ever allowed herself to hold a civil conversation with him he would have been more than happy to explain that it was no such thing. Society would have it that women were pure and romantical and men filthy, lusting beasts. To his immense pleasure, he knew otherwise.

Miss Spenser wanted him. Oh, she wanted it wrapped up in posies and flattery and the marriage bed, but she wanted his hands on her starched-up body, stripping those ugly clothes away from her.

And he'd be more than happy to oblige, except that he never touched well-bred virgins. The very thought of finding himself leg-shackled to a scowling, disapproving creature like Miss Spenser was horrifying. And his hypocritical father would see to it that he did the right thing, entirely ignoring his own degenerate past.

Miss Spenser would just have to watch him
covertly and sigh. And he'd have to resist the impulse to see if he could make those stern lips soften, and where he could make her place them. He'd be willing to wager that he could have her putting them anywhere he wanted, and he could think of several friends who'd be willing to take up that wager.

But he had a mistress for that sort of thing, or would have, as soon as he found someone to replace the divine Maria, who'd decided she'd rather have a fat old man with an even fatter pocket.

At least there was the gathering of the Heavenly Host. He was looking forward to seeing Montague again, looking forward to indulging his more base appetites. Perhaps he could persuade one of the ladies present to dress in something unflattering and lecture him like Miss Spenser. And then he could proceed to give her exactly what he wasn't allowed to give Charlotte.

The perfect name for her. Charlotte—such a prim, disapproving word. He couldn't imagine why he was interested, apart from the novelty of it all.

He heard Lady Whitmore's trill of laughter from across the room, and he smiled wickedly. Perhaps he would have to make do with Miss Spenser's exquisite cousin. A noble compromise on his part, one he'd make quite easily. And by the time he returned to London he'd probably forget all about Miss Spenser and her longing eyes.

Because he couldn't just play with the virgin, not if
he valued his freedom. But he could have her cousin, and that would more than suffice.

“My dear boy, I have been looking for you everywhere.” His cousin's heavily accented voice greeted him as he finished the dance and relinquished Miss Leonard and her impressive bosom to her next partner.

Adrian glanced at Etienne de Giverney. Actually his father's cousin, and closer in age to the old man than to Adrian, Etienne had a kindness for his young cousin, and Adrian found he quite enjoyed the man's company. For one thing, his parents disapproved of him, which was always a boon. For another, Etienne had a taste for things that bordered on the shocking. And while Adrian had sponsored his cousin's entrance into English society, it was Etienne who'd ensured he'd be admitted to the exalted ranks of the Heavenly Host, despite the fact that his father, who had once presided over their revels, now held the group in contempt.

But that was his father. The only man he knew more capable of administering a setdown than he was.

Etienne, being French, had more than a passing acquaintance with some of the darker practices shunned by polite society. He had introduced his second cousin to the pleasures of the opium pipe and ways he could gratify himself alone that were as inventive as they were dangerous.

Unlike his father, who seemed to have forgotten his own disreputable youth, he encouraged Adrian's love of curricle racing, and he played for stakes even higher than Adrian did, with more success.

Adrian never cared if he won or lost. His inheritance, even before his esteemed old man gave up the ghost, was huge, though not quite as impressive as Maria's fat gentleman, the nabob. And at least with Etienne he was never, ever bored.

No, he could look forward to three days of delicious debauchery, as well as a much-needed visit with his dearest friend Montague. He wasn't going to think about Miss Spenser again, he was certain of it.

“There is little sport here,
enfin
?” Etienne said. “Let us see if we can find something to entertain us at Le Rise.”

Le Rise was quite the most daring of all the houses of ill repute, the second best thing to the gatherings of the Heavenly Host. The gaming stakes were extremely high and at times quite shocking, the wines were tolerable and the other entertainments were quite irresistible. It was almost impossible to gain entry unless one was of the very highest level. Adrian had been one of the first members, of course, and Etienne was admitted as his guest.

“If we can't then we're pitifully jaded indeed,” Adrian said in his perfect French.

Etienne laughed. Leaving Adrian to wonder whether he might not have spoken the ugly truth.

N
ormally the thought of a trip to the countryside would have been Charlotte's idea of perfection. She had never been overly fond of London. It was noisy, smelly and dirty, and while the opportunities for theater and lending libraries and the company of like-minded women were stimulating, the thought of rusticating, at least for a short while, was divine.

But divine had nothing to do with how Charlotte intended to spend her time in Sussex. The Mad Monks were meeting for their debauched revels, and she was to be a part of them.

The trip in Lina's well-sprung barouche had been almost too short. At Lina's suggestion she wore a bonnet that concealed most of her face, and kept her head down. Her height likely gave her away—there were few women quite as long-limbed as she was—but she had every intention of managing a crablike scuttle to appear shorter and more subservient. It was
to be hoped that anyone who gave her a second glance would assume she was Lina's maid, because even amid full debauchery a lady still needed her personal attendant. Meggie had been brought along as well, and had anyone asked, the answer would have been that the Countess of Whitmore required her own hair dresser. In fact no one asked. Such concerns over propriety had been absent. By the time they were settled in the distressingly normal rooms at Hensley Court they had seen no one, not even their ailing host, and Charlotte's nervousness began to decline.

“It's very simple, darling,” Lina said airily as they drank their afternoon tea, thoughtfully provided by Montague's excellent staff. “The monk's robe will cover you completely, from the top of your head down to the very tips of your toes, and you're so tall everyone will assume you're a man. Just try not to hunch, dearest. Throw your shoulders back but keep your head bowed. You won't need to say a word—your vow of silence is evidenced by the brown color of your robe, and your watcher's status is signaled by the white trim on your sleeves. You may move freely around the grounds, though on no account go near the Portal of Venus. All rules are off there, but I'll point it out to you before I get…er…distracted. You can go anywhere else, unless a door is locked, but that's usually signaled by a gentleman's neckcloth attached to the outer door. As long as those remain the couple or group inside don't wish to be disturbed.”

“Group?” Charlotte said faintly. What had started out as a lark was becoming far too real, and she wondered whether it was too late to change her mind, if she'd wanted to, that is.

“Sweetheart,” Lina said patiently, “that's what an orgy is. Two people is simply sex, three or more is an orgy. But don't worry—there are any number of members who much prefer an audience for their activities. I promise you you're more likely to be able to observe an orgy than to be invited to participate in one.”

“You relieve my mind,” Charlotte said in a hollow voice.

Lina surveyed her. She was dressed in a nun's habit, albeit one made of silk and tailored to her exact dimensions. She hadn't yet taken on the headdress, and with her curly black hair and bright eyes she looked like a very wicked young
religieuse
indeed.

“If you've changed your mind, as I'm beginning to think you should, there's no disgrace. I can have John Coachman drive you home, with no one the wiser, or you can stay in these rooms and enjoy Montague's impressive hospitality. He has the finest chefs. And while a few of the guests return here for respite during the revels, the majority of them stay at the abbey, which has been fully remodeled for this purpose, so you'd be unlikely to run into any of them. And one would need a boat to get to and fro, which
discourages people from coming back. You could be quite peaceful…”

“I'm coming with you,” Charlotte said firmly. “Brother Charles, at your service.”

Lina shook her head. “Whatever you want, my dear. I am convinced that the only harm you'll suffer is to your innocent sensibilities, but not one will touch you. If they do, all you have to do is scream very loudly.”

“Wouldn't that gather too much attention? I'm not supposed to be female, am I? I'm not wearing a nun's habit like you.”

“Oh, a great many women enjoy the freedom of a monk's robe. Trust me, if you're not careful the Mad Monks will know the difference from the way you walk.”

“I can walk like a man,” Charlotte protested.

“Indeed, my sweet, you cannot. You have the most delicious sway to your hips, something I've been trying to emulate. To you it comes naturally—I'm very jealous. It's a good thing you refuse to dance. If society saw the way you walk I'm afraid you'd no longer be able to disappear into the wallpaper. Men would be flocking to you.” Her voice was wry.

“I don't want men to flock to me,” Charlotte protested. “I'm quite happy keeping you company. If you find my presence tiresome I can always…”

“
Now
you're being tiresome,” Lina said lazily. “You're my cousin and the sister of my heart, the
only human being I trust. And you have yet to pass judgment on me, when clearly you're dying to make me realize the error of my profligate ways. I want you with me as long as you can stand it.”

“And if you marry again? I doubt your husband would want me along.”

“I have no intention of marrying again,” Lina said shortly, her voice oddly hollow. She seemed to be looking into the past, at something extremely unpleasant, and Charlotte had a strong suspicion what she found so troubling.

And then Lina shook herself, laughing. “And if I'm fool enough to change my mind you're to beat me soundly until I come to my senses.” She rose, reaching for the starched headdress, and a moment later turned for Charlotte to admire.

“I don't know that the lip rouge works,” she said dryly.

“It's part of the plan. You need to take off those clothes. They stand out under the monk's robe.” She started toward her, and Charlotte slapped her arms around her body, hugging it tight.

“Don't be ridiculous.” She was not about to give up anything without a struggle.

“Most of the women wear absolutely nothing beneath their costumes, Charlotte. It's a warm spring night and those clothes can be smothering, particularly since you're covering your head.”

“The only time I'm naked is in the bath, and if it
were up to me I'd wear clothes there, too,” Charlotte said sturdily.

“Tiresome girl,” Lina said fondly. “Meggie, bring out the black gown. That will at least cover you without being indecent.”

Charlotte looked at the wisp of black silk draped in Meggie's capable hands. “No.”

“The only way people will believe you're a man is if you dispense with stays. Trust me, you won't believe how freeing a simple chemise feels. No one's going to be looking beneath your robe. If you want you can keep your garters and stockings on. Many women do, even when they're making love.”

“They
do
?” she said, fascinated in spite of herself. Lina's maid began to divest her of her ugly dress, making quick work of the buttons she often struggled with, and the ugly thing tumbled to the floor.

“They do. Men find them exciting. Women do too, both the ones wearing them and the ones…er…enjoying the women who wear them.”

“I still don't understand how that's possible,” Charlotte said, not noticing as the maid began to unfasten her stays. “Nor do I understand how men…”

“With luck you'll get a thorough demonstration,” Lina said, surveying her critically. “My dear, you have quite a lovely bosom. Why do you strap it down like that?”

Charlotte slapped her arms around her chest. “They get in the way,” she said, disgruntled.

“Off with the hoops too, dearest. Those will give you away even more than your breasts.”

“Could we please stop discussing my
breasts?
” Charlotte begged, her color fiery.

Lina hesitated. “My dear, I really don't think this is a wise idea. You're too innocent…”

If there was one thing Charlotte detested it was being told how innocent she was. She'd been half tempted to cry off, but she despised cowardice almost as much as she hated being thought an innocent girl. She was a woman, scientist, and there was nothing she need hide from in her quest for knowledge.

She wanted to know what men and women did. It was a perfectly reasonable curiosity on her part, with no chance for harm to befall her. The Mad Monks were poseurs, playing at vice. Her own biggest risk was a long night of boredom.

She slid off her demi-hoops, standing there in her plain white chemise, knickers, stockings and garters. “This will do,” she said firmly.

Lina shook her head. “No, love. Take the rest off. And if I were you I'd remove the stockings—they might impede you if you decided you wished to move swiftly.”

Charlotte looked at her, taking in the ominous words. “And why should that be?”

Lina shrugged. “There are undoubtedly some tiresome people here, though they're mostly on their best behavior. I promise I'll be nearby, in case you run
into a problem. But humor me. The black chemise and nothing else. You'll adore the sense of freedom it gives you.”

Charlotte doubted that, but she did as she was told, divesting herself of every last piece of her own clothing. “Where's the robe?” she demanded nervously.

Meggie produced it, muttering darkly. She'd been against this from the beginning, but Charlotte had been adamant. The monk's robe was made of heavy brown cloth, doubtless far more elegant than traditional monk's garb, and she slipped it over her head, feeling it settle down around her body like a soft caress. She pulled the capacious hood up and breathed a sigh of relief. The sleeves were long enough to cover her delicate hands, her face disappeared into the shadows of the hood. She could do what she wanted with no real fear of discovery.

Lina came up to her with a strip of white cloth, tying it around her sleeve. “Mustn't forget this, darling. It's your safe passage.”

Charlotte eyes it doubtfully. “What would happen if I lost it?”

Lina had an odd expression on her face, like a mother sending her child away to school for the first time. “Nothing very terrible. If you lost the riband and someone accosts you simply tell them no. They're honor bound to obey.”

“
Honor?
” Meggie said with an indignant sniff.

“Of a sort,” Lina said. She looked at Charlotte.
“Are you ready, my dear? It's not too late to change your mind. It's already getting dark, and once the sun sets we're due at the Abbey.”

“I'm not changing my mind, Lina.”

“Then keep your head and voice down and we'll depart. And Charlotte,” she added in a pained voice. “You won't think too harshly of me, will you? I freely participate in these undertakings, and if I thought it would give you a disgust of me I would have refused to bring you here.”

“Darling, nothing will give me a disgust of you. You may take your pleasure however you will, just as men do. I promise I will make no judgment.”

Lina smiled at her. “No, you really wouldn't, would you…? Nevertheless, I think I'll see if I can arrange for someone else to keep an eye on you. The kind of sport I'm about to indulge in is far from dignified, and I'm not certain I want you picturing
that
in your mind every time you look at me.”

Charlotte laughed, ignoring the uneasy pinch of her stomach. “Whatever you think best. As long as no one accosts me or demands anything of me I should be quite fine.”

“Trust me, love, no one will. There are few rules among the Heavenly Host, apart from ‘Do What Thou Wilt,' but one that remains sacrosanct is that all acts must be agreeable to every partner, and no one is to interfere or criticize a member's choice, be it
an unusual act or simply to watch. No one will touch you, darling. I promise.”

Charlotte glanced down at the bright white ribbon she'd tied around her arm. “I'll be perfectly fine, Lina. Don't worry. I have complete faith,” she said. And wondered if she lied.

 

Adrian stood off to one side, watching the ceremony. He hadn't bothered with monk's robes or any of the other ridiculous trappings the Heavenly Host liked to indulge in. He preferred his sinning to be flagrant—the idea of hiding behind robes and secret passwords was anathema to him. He liked to think there was nothing he wasn't willing to do, and no one he wasn't willing to let know about it. Including his esteemed, disapproving, hypocritical father, who'd indulged in the same excesses at an even more advanced age than Adrian's twenty-eight.

His mother was a different matter. She worried way too much, but he could rely on gentlemanly restraint to keep most people, including his father, from spreading too many tales.

She wanted him to marry, to give her grandchildren, and he supposed he'd do so, eventually, simply to make her happy. His mother's happiness was one of the few things he cared about, aside from his own determined pursuit of pleasure.

She wouldn't be at all happy to know he was at a gathering of the Heavenly Host. This would have
stopped a better man, but, then, he was a very bad man, as Cousin Etienne cheerfully assured him, a rake and a libertine, a seducer of the worst kind. He said it as if conferring a great honor, but Adrian felt no particular pride. In general, he felt nothing at all apart from the pleasure of the senses. The small death of an intense orgasm, the sweetness of the opium pipe, the wild absinthe dreams that could fuel his more intense couplings.

And that was why he was here, despite all the folderol, the Latin which was hardly up to the standards of his classical education. He came for the sex, in all its most unbridled variations, he came for the total lack of inhibition and restraint. He came for the motto emblazoned across the stone arch that led to this outer garden: Do what thou wilt. He intended to.