The Scoundrel's Secret Siren (20 page)

When she returned home, it was to find that the new gowns she and Constance had ordered had arrived in time to be worn to the upcoming entertainment.
Lorelei was momentarily distracted from her plans by the genius with which Lady Hurt’s
modiste
had created her gown.

It was a beautiful burgundy, made of the finest satin and embroidered along the bodice with tiny seed pearls. Lady Hurst was very pleased with it also, and deemed a creation of unbridled magnificence. Lorelei ran reverent hands over the gown spread out over her bed, lost in admiration. It felt almost a sin to wear such a thing for the risk of tearing or damaging it.

When she donned it at last, with Nell’s invaluable help, the fabric flowed around her figure, highlighting her pretty slimness. She felt like a fairytale princess in the sumptuous gown. As Nell fixed her hair
a la Sappho
, Lorelei wondered idly whether Winbourne would think it fetching, before firmly reminding herself that his opinion did not matter in the least.

Standing in front of her mirror, Lorelei carefully fingered the elegant string of pearls about her throat. It had been a present from her father – something suitably demure for a young lady to wear in her first Season. The milky strand subtly emphasised the fine pallor of her skin.

“What a pretty gown! It is even better than that gown we saw printed in
La Belle Assemblée.
It’s a shame you do not have an emerald necklace like that lady on the fashion plate,” remarked Constance, who had come in to admire her sister’s gown and show off her own pale blue one. “They are all the rage, and it would go beautifully with your eyes!”

Lady Hurst, who was dressed to dine at the home of her cousin, looked over at the girls and chuckled. “What a goose you are, my dear Constance! Why, the pearls are much more becoming. This habit of wearing all one’s jewellery at once, which has lately become so popular with the younger set, is very tiresome to look upon. ”

*

Lord Winbourne arrived promptly at seven of the clock to escort Lorelei and Constance to Astley’s. Lady Hurst seemed astonished at this show of favour, having assumed from his missive that he would merely send a carriage. Lorelei watched as the earl proceeded to charm Lady Hurst with his good humour and excellent manners while they waited on Constance to join them in the parlour.

Though she carefully observed his every move, Lorelei could find no trace of the earl’s habitual hauteur, though she kept sneaking glances at his handsomely aristocratic visage. On the contrary, he was grace itself, and somehow managed to make Lady Hurst, a notably proper
grande dame
of the
ton
, blush as he genteelly assured her of her charges’ safety.

Lorelei did not trust him from that moment on: had he turned up mocking, reluctant and cold, she would have known just how to proceed with him. She would have known then that he had no tricks up his sleeve and she need not be on her guard. But now she knew that she could not hope to relax at all that evening, for surely he was up to something.

Lorelei greeted the
roué
with calm reserve, thanking him for his generosity. She caught the brief smirk he flashed her.

Constance was predictably late.
Lorelei expected the earl to say something cutting about silly young girls, but he said nothing at all on that head, merely offered a polite nod and accepted Lady Hurst’s offer of some tea while they waited.

Lady Hurst excused herself a moment to speak to her housekeeper, leaving Lorelei alone with her tormentor. Lorelei felt instant unease, even though the door remained open, as was only proper.

“Well, Miss Lindon, do you intend to snub me all evening?” the earl drawled. His voice was warm, intimate and slightly mocking.

He had the audacity to examine her through
a quizzing glass, which hung on a black satin riband around the earl’s neck. The gold frame reflected the light coming from the fireplace.

Lorelei knew for a fact that there was nothing in the least bit wrong with the man’s eyesight. The elaborate article was used solely with the purpose of mocking, snubbing or intentionally misunderstanding – whichever happened to suit the earl’s current whim.

She had heard from Julia that Winbourne wielded his quizzing glass with more invisible force than Mr Brummell ever had, and while Lorelei had never met Mr Brummell in person nor witnessed his levelling a set-down, she could very well believe it. He meant to play on her good breeding, she realised angrily.  A cool fury came over Lorelei as she decided to give the man a taste of his own medicine.

Lorelei narrowed her eyes in a way that Winbourne found to be utterly charming.

“Snub? I was not aware that I had snubbed you. Only maintained a proper degree of distance, my lord Winbourne. You will no doubt recall that such a thing as decorum exists for a reason.”

“Perhaps, though I suddenly find I cannot recall what that reason might be. Dare I hope that you will educate me? Ah, but you are angry that I have not humoured my niece.”

“Am I? Are we to be at daggers drawing then, Lord Winbourne?” she asked in her most saccharine tone.

“Only if you persist with this bit of nonsense, my dear. But that
is not to be borne!” declared the earl fervently. “You are an insufferable creature – you say whatever comes to mind and you pull my cousin into these ridiculous notions of yours. I know for certain that she had none of these romantic ideas before you met her, Miss Lindon. It is outrageous!”

“You only say so because I disagree with you and won’t obey you as everyone else does. But
 I don’t see why you assume that I should.” She did not look the least bit ruffled as she said this.

Winbourne watched irritably as Lorelei indolently considered a plate of chocolate candies on the low table, filled with dark plain truffles and chocolate disks generously sprinkled in Grecian nuts. At last leisurely selecting a truffle, Lorelei tasted it, before looking up at Winbourne. He looked rather inexplicably flushed.

“You hope to intimidate me. But it won’t do any good. I do not find you the least bit alarming and I have every intention of helping Julia in any way that I can. That is what friends do, Lord Winbourne. Besides which, I certainly won’t pretend that I have any intention of heeding your advice on this matter.”

Winbourne’s reply was cut off by the return of Lady Hurst and a very excited Con, who greeted him with a curtsey and barrage of youthful gratitude for so marvellous a treat as a horse spectacle. Lorelei, however, did not believe that that was the end of her quarrel with the earl.

*

Before the circus, the company went to dinner at a discreetly elegant establishment near Great Portland Street, where they were served with an array of fifteen delicious courses
à la Française
, including a clear vegetable broth which had lately become all the rage, a succulent roast with golden roast potatoes and spiced cream and tissue-thin ham in a honey glaze.

Lorelei found herself seated next to Mr Hunter, with Julia seated next to Lord Gilmont. Mr Hunter and Julia exchanged a few very meaningful glances, but he was nothing if not a perfect gentleman and he quickly engaged Lorelei in polite conversation.

His manner was elegant as he served her dishes and paid careful attention to her preferences. She found her assessment of him as a very intelligent and well-spoken man confirmed yet again and liked him more than ever for his gracious attentiveness despite his obvious preoccupation. She carefully avoided looking at Lord Winbourne.

It was a fairly informal meal despite the opulent setting, and conversation flowed freely. Julia ventured to engage Mr Hunter in a discussion about the theatre while shooting Winbourne a very boldly challenging look across the table. Lorelei suspected wryly that he would blame her for this show of spirit also.

In one of Mr Hunter’s earnest exchanges with Julia, the gentleman was overcome with sentiment and almost spilled his wine on Lorelei’s gown. She stopped the glass from toppling just in time, relieved to be spared having to go home with a damaged dress. Flushing instantly and thanking her, Mr Hunter proceeded to apologise profusely.

Lorelei found herself laughing and dismissing his concerns.
“I like you too much to remain angry at you,” she assured Mr Hunter, “even if this is my favourite gown.”

Winbourne watched the exchange, feeling his jealousy stir at the ease of their conversation. Lorelei’s merry laugh set her lovely eyes sparkling like fine emeralds. Winbourne felt his breath catch in wonder at the beauty and the fragility of Miss Lorelei Lindon – a woman he knew in truth to be nothing like the image of the porcelain doll which her appearance suggested.

He firmly reminded himself that she was much too tall to have a chance of attaining the virtue of perfect female beauty. It made absolutely no difference to the ardour that suddenly seemed about to consume him.

He could not ignore the acute stab of resentment that her merriment should be directed at Hunter – an extremely dull swain at best. This did a lot to unsettle the usually impassive earl. He had sworn that he would never again feel that way for any woman. Jealousy, and all that it entailed, was a fruitless emotion and he would not allow himself to succumb to such bitter disappointment again.

It was a very grim thought, and yet he was almost overpowered by the temptation to reach out to the golden-haired nymph before him, to pull her away from Hunter and into his own arms. To declare himself to her and to make certain that he was the only man who would ever take her to wife. It was an astonishing desire and it struck him most unexpectedly.

Perhaps all the hours he had spent watching Lorelei’s kindness to Julia and to her own sister had left an unexpectedly lasting impression upon him. Not to mention the no-nonsense care which she had shown him after his ill-fated duel. She was possessed of a complete disregard for the icy image which he had crafted so carefully over the years. The world almost tilted as he realised that he had somehow unexpectedly fallen in love, without having even realised what was happening.

Or perhaps it hadn’t been a process at all. Perhaps he had been quite hopelessly lost that first night they’d met on the Little Paddlington road. He had called her a ghost then, but between them it was he who had been the ghost, for very many years and without perhaps ever quite knowing it. Lorelei had laughed at him that night, and somehow brought him back to life. He marvelled that she hadn’t the faintest notion of how much her very presence moved him.

Lorelei was surprised to notice the peculiar intensity with which the Earl of Winbourne was watching her. There was no mistaking that look, and she knew it instantly for love.
She felt elated, dazed and unsure how she ought to proceed: she had yearned for his love for so very long, though it had seemed an impossible fancy.  Suddenly, she recognised in it the many peculiar little glances he had given her, and the enigmatic bitter smiles.

But it did not matter in the least.

Winbourne was a man determined to live alone, simply because he would take no chance on love,
on her
. That was plain as day. If he truly felt for her as strongly as that, he had had many chances to let his feelings be known. Yet, far from declaring himself, he still attempted to distance her with his affected nonchalance.

The hated snuffbox appeared again, as it always did, and she barely resisted snatching it from him, and tossing it into the nearest soup tureen. Certainly that would shock Mr Hunter and the rest of the company, and make a ridiculous spectacle of her. And Winbourne… He would simply give her one of his looks, and do nothing.

She could not, after all, make him admit to feelings which he wished to ignore. And yet she felt an unavoidable longing whenever she looked at him or thought of him. Despite what reason, propriety, or common sense may dictate, there was an inevitable connection between their souls, which pulled them together when social mores dictated they ought to be utterly apart. 

She wondered what would happen when they
were
inevitably torn apart. Somehow she felt sure she would never stop looking for his familiar figure no matter how much time passed. And Lorelei realised in that moment that she would never marry. How could she, when all her thoughts were for a man she would never have? A man who would never admit to his own feelings, never be brave when it counted the most?

He had imprisoned himself in a wall of ice far too well to be able to trust her and venture beyond it. And there was no way she could ever convince him that she was not that French lady who had left him for an officer – that she would never do that to him because she loved him and always would.

“Is anything the matter, Lord Winbourne?” she asked the man politely, because she could not quite help herself. If only he gave her some sign, with his voice or his gaze, she would commend herself into his keeping forever. She watched the snuff box disappear with an elegant flick of the wrist.

“The matter?” he asked, in the most affected bewilderment, “Why, nothing! Whatever could be wrong on such a fine night as this?”

Her heart plummeted.

*

After dinner, they arrived at Astley’s. Lorelei thought that it was utterly splendid – even Julia seemed cheered, for she took a greater part in conversation, and even smiled once at something Constance said. Lorelei had often marvelled that Con had such a way of drawing people into her laughter and her conversation, getting them to forget their woes.