“I’m afraid I already have an appointment after supper,” Harriet said quickly.
“You do?” Strange said, looking at her from under his lids. “Now who could that be with?” He looked down the long, glittering table, lined with people more beautiful than noble. “Nell, perhaps?”
Harriet gave him a cool little smile. “There are so many people in your house that it’s difficult to enumerate one’s acquaintances.”
“After your appointment, then,” he said softly. “I stay up quite late and I’ll warrant Kitty does as well. Shall we say eleven o’clock?”
All the stable boy mentioned was learning how to trot. And mount. How long could that take?
“I’m not sure Kitty will want to stay up so late,” Harriet said. “It sounds as if she had a strenuous day’s exercise.”
“Oh, it’s not so strenuous,” Kitty said with a giggle. “I spent a great deal of it on my back.”
The little line between Isidore’s brow deepened. “I’m afraid that I couldn’t possibly join you at that hour,” she said, politely enough. “I’m quite exhausted.”
“What a pity,” Strange said. He stopped looking at Harriet and gave Isidore a lavish smile. “It won’t be nearly as enjoyable without you.”
Harriet had a sudden, shocking realization. If Strange ever gave her that kind of smile, she would lose her composure. She might even beg him to take her to bed.
“Eleven o’clock,” Kitty said. “Would you like more angels than just myself? I’m sure—” she oogled Strange “—any number of Graces would love to perform tonight, Lord Strange. To sing madrigals, we need three.”
“I think all we need tonight is you,” Strange said smoothly.
Kitty erupted into giggles.
A thought occurred to Harriet. Something about what Kitty might be thinking. Her mouth fell open and at that same moment, Isidore’s fingers dug into her arm.
“I need to speak to you. At once!” she hissed.
Strange was standing up, signaling a general move away from the table. He paused just for a moment. “My guests await, and you, Mr. Cope, have an appointment…Shall we say eleven o’clock in the library? Mr. Povy can direct you.” Without waiting for a response, he walked away.
Isidore’s grip strengthened. “Harriet!”
Harriet turned to Kitty, wanting to say something. But there was a deep excitement and—yes—enjoyment in Kitty’s eyes that stopped the words in her mouth. Kitty was perfectly happy with the idea of Mr. Cope, Lord Strange, and one solitary angel. Harriet swallowed.
“Eleven o’clock!” Kitty said, trotting away.
Isidore dragged Harriet to the side of the room. “Do you have any idea what Kitty is planning to do tonight, Harriet? Do you?”
“I just figured it out!” Harriet said, panic making her head reel. “I had no idea!”
“You must stay in your room,” Isidore stated. “Better: you can sleep with me in case Strange walks straight into your bedchamber.” She looked around, but almost everyone had left the dining room. “Harriet, this is a—a degenerate house! These people are—are—they are doing things—”
Harriet couldn’t help laughing a little. “Isidore, you knew that. Why do you think that Jemma said she wouldn’t come here, even though she’d hosted all sorts of shocking parties in Paris? Her Paris events roused scandals because someone’s costume was a bit risqué, or a married woman paraded around with someone else’s husband. Strange’s reputation—and his house parties—are on a totally different scale.”
“I didn’t understand the reality of it. It makes me feel unclean to even be here! Where is Villiers? I thought he was supposed to protect us. Harriet, what are you going to do?” Isidore’s eyes were bright and alarmed.
“Well, I’m not going to engage in any sort of hankypanky with an angel,” Harriet said, practically. “You needn’t worry about that. I’ll figure something out. Perhaps I’ll claim to be ill and just leave Strange and Kitty together.”
“Ugh!” Isidore said. “I don’t like him at all now, Harriet. I don’t like it here. Two men and one woman.” She shuddered. “So far I’ve been bored to tears by half-clothed virgins and invited to hear madrigals sung by angels. I find the mixture of culture and nudity tedious. But you’re having fun with Strange, aren’t you?”
“It’s nothing to do with Strange,” Harriet said, though she was lying. It was Strange. Half her pleasure, perhaps more, came from the time she spent with him, fencing with rapiers, fencing with words. Of course, it wasn’t a real attraction. The pleasure had to be coming from the fact it was all so illicit to hunger for a man who didn’t even think of her as a woman.
Not that she would ever consider going to that library to meet Strange—and Kitty.
Not even to see Strange unclothed.
“It’s because of how much fun I’m having in male clothing,” she told Isidore. “I’ve never been so free before.”
“I don’t want to be this free,” Isidore said. “I’m turning more and more staid by the moment.”
“I can lend you my breeches,” Harriet suggested. And then: “I forgot my appointment!”
“What appointment?” Isidore exclaimed. “Not another appointment with a woman, surely?”
“It’s at the stables,” Harriet said. “A very nice stableboy is going to teach me how to mount a horse properly. I keep almost falling off the other side.”
Isidore rolled her eyes. “I am going to bed. I think I may announce a case of infectious red spots tomorrow. Anything to keep the Graces out of my bedchamber. And Strange. I certainly don’t want him bursting in on me while I’m in my nightgown again. I hardly had my hair brushed.”
Harriet watched her climb the stairs, thinking about just how much she’d like Strange to visit her bedchamber, if he knew she was a woman.
She wouldn’t care if her hair were brushed. She would just—
She wrenched her mind away. That was foolishness.
Chapter Eighteen
Harriet’s Shock, Part Two
Two minutes later she was walking into the warm stable. It smelled of clean horses, leather, and manure. The horses poked their heads over their stalls and whickered for a carrot.
“Good evening, Nick!” she said, as the boy appeared around the end of the stable. “This is so very kind of you. You must be exhausted after a day’s labor.”
“It’s me good deed for the day, miss,” he said. “My mother would never forgive me if I let you be discovered.” He hesitated.
Harriet smiled at him. “You very likely want to give me a warning about Lord Strange’s establishment.”
“Anyone can tell, miss,” he burst out, “that you’re not the usual sort of woman who stays at the house. It’s not the place for you.”
“I’m a widow,” she said. “I promise you that I’m not shocked, Nick.”
“Married is one thing,” he said stubbornly. “But you’re a lady, and ladies don’t have a place here.”
She couldn’t help smiling at that. She knew quite well that Isidore would agree with him. “I promise you I won’t stay even a moment if my disguise is uncovered,” she said. “Would that make you feel better?”
Then she leaned to kiss his cheek because he was—
But whatever thought she had flew from her head as the door at the end opened, letting in a swirl of snow and wind. She leapt back.
Strange stood in the door for a second, and then walked forward, throwing the door shut behind him. He pulled off his gloves, one by one, with a silent precision that contained as much threat as a tiger’s slavering yowl.
“Good evening,” Harriet said. “I thought you were with your guests, my lord.”
“I had the suspicion that I should watch you,” he said. He turned his eyes onto young Nick. “Off to your quarters, boy.”
Nick hesitated, throwing a worried glance at Harriet. She brought out the coin she saved for him. “I’m most grateful to you for your tutelage, Nick. Thank you. And I’ll see y
ou tomorrow.”
“But you’ll—” he said, but stopped. Obviously, he needed the position, and she could see chivalry and terror warring in his face.
“Go,” Strange said. There was something flat in his tone that made the boy turn and flee.
Harriet turned to face Strange. He’d been irritable with her before, but now there was true rage burning in his eyes. He slapped his gloves into the palm of his hand with a noise like a gunshot.
“Is there some way that I can help you?” Harriet asked.
“Do you know, I thought the opposite?” he said. “I thought that I should watch over you, to make sure that you weren’t beguiled by one of the scum that sometime float around the house. But I didn’t realize that you would be a predator.”
Harriet blinked at him. “Predator? I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I take umbrage at the insult, my lord.”
“You take umbrage,” he sneered. “I catch you kissing my stable boy, a good boy, and giving him money, and you take umbrage?”
She frowned at him. “He was helping me—”
“That sort of help isn’t allowed in my house,” he said, and his voice was as chill as a frozen knife. “Never. Under any circumstances. Do you understand?”
“I—”
“A simple yes or no is enough. Do you understand?”
Harriet stood there for a moment trying to figure out if she did understand. The only possibility that came to mind was—
Her mouth fell open and she could feel her eyes growing round. “You couldn’t—you didn’t—” She spluttered. “You degenerate beast!”
There was a moment of panting silence in the stable, and suddenly Strange threw back his head and started to laugh. The noise of it rang in the rafters and made the horses prick up their ears.
“You are a fiend,” Harriet said, moving to walk past him. “Your mind is as black as a privy. I’ll leave these premises tomorrow.”
He caught her arm, still laughing. “I’m not a fiend, Harry. I’m not.”
She glared at him. “No one but the most dissipated rascal could have such a thought in his head.” She jerked her arm away.
He was still grinning. “It’s your face,” he said, sounding utterly unrepentant.
“My face!” she said, feeling her cheeks go red. “There is nothing in my face that would lead anyone to that conclusion. You, sir, are just as much a hell-hound as they say of you, and I was a fool to come near your estate. I’ll leave tonight!”
“Don’t you see,” he said, grabbing her arm again, “I was just trying to protect young Nick? You’re damned beautiful for a man, Harry. It made me suspicious, and I shouldn’t have been. You can’t help the way you’re born.”
“The very fact the thought came into your mind—”
“I’m an adult. I run a house party that makes no pretenses to follow the rules of decent society. Of course I thought of it. Among other things, I’m the father of a lovely little girl. I have to think about such things.”
Harriet shuddered. “I pity you, then. Because my father and mother never worried about that.”
“Oh, they must have,” Strange said. “Not worry about you? With that beauty you have? The way your eyes look, so innocent and that brown-violet color?” His mouth curled up. “They worried about you, young Harry. It’s to your mother’s credit that you never encountered this sort of ugliness.”
“If you have, it’s because you live a licentious life,” Harriet said, feeling as if the moorings of her rage were slipping away from her. A moment ago she was about to leave the estate, and now he was looking at her, and there was a shadow of something on his face that made her feel odd. It was almost sadness, but how was that possible?
“Quite likely,” he said.
“You shouldn’t have such people around you,” she snapped. “Then you wouldn’t have to have such invidious thoughts.”
“I would always have that kind of thought.”
“I pity you, then,” she said. “I know the friends who enter my home. I know their strengths and their weaknesses. I need not fear them.”
“No one knows what’s in another man’s heart. The greatest evil often lies under the prettiest face.”
Something went across his eyes that was pure pain, but he shook it away, and the laughter was there again. “Now, you must forgive me, young Harry. Really you must. You see, I did think I knew you. And my rage was all the greater because I suddenly thought I’d made a mistake.”
Harriet smiled, a bit stiffly. “It’s quite all right.”
His charm was a potent weapon. He walked back to the house, talking of inconsequentials. But Harriet felt faintly nauseated. This was not the house for her, not a place where Strange clearly expected that sort of thing might happen to little Nick. She needed to leave. And what’s more, she would take Nick with her. She could easily employ him on her estate. She had about sixty people there, and not a single lecher that Nick needed to fear.
When they entered the house she started toward the stairs, but Strange stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Surely you haven’t forgotten Kitty?”
“I’m sure the two of you can entertain each other,” Harriet said, not impolitely. “Will you give her my excuses, please?”
“So you can go upstairs and instruct your man to pack your bags?”
She hesitated. It seemed so bald. And yet, why prevaricate? “Yes,” she said. “This is no place for me.”
He dropped her arm. “Of course, I cannot stop you. Will you bid Villiers goodbye tonight or tomorrow morning? I was bid to his room this evening.”
“Then I will join you and make my farewell,” she said. “And I do thank you for your hospitality, my lord. It’s not your fault that I am more naïve than I thought. I belong at home.”
“In the country? Do you live in the country, Harry?”
She nodded. “I thought it was a boring existence, but now I am changing my mind.”
“I wish you would change your mind about Kitty. How often does one get to see an angel perform?”
Harriet didn’t bother to answer that. He walked up the stairs beside her.
Villiers’s chamber was hung with blue velvet and had the lush atmosphere that Harriet imagined one would find in a courtesan’s drawing room. Villiers was lying on a settee next to the fire, wearing a dressing gown of rich black embroidered with pearl. Candlelight threw shadows on his face, on the exquisite drape of his gown, on the lavish velvet on the walls.
He put down his book when they walked in. “Thank God you’ve taken pity on me,” he said. “I’m thinking of hobbling to the window and throwing myself out into the snow from pure ennui.”
“Alas, I bring ill tidings,” Strange said, throwing himself into an armchair. “I’ve insulted young Harry here, and he’s determined to leave the house since my mind is black as a privy. I do have that phrase right, don’t I, Harry?”
She scowled at him.
“Black as a privy!” Villiers said, his eyes showing some interest. “I agree, I agree. What on earth inspired such a diatribe?”
“There is no need to go into particulars,” Harriet said stiffly.
“I have an uncommonly pretty stable boy,” Strange said, ignoring her. “I’m afraid that I assassinated your protégé’s character by jumping to the conclusion that Harry was interested in an intimate relationship with the boy. To do myself justice, he was kissing him. Such a neophyte as I am, I’ve never seen a man kiss a man, except in France, of course.”
“I kiss men often,” Villiers said. “Just to make them flustered. Remind me to kiss you on our next meeting, Strange.”
“I shall look forward to it,” Strange said.
“You really should forgive him,” Villiers said to Harriet. “The man lives in the country. How does he know how civilized people behave to each other?”
“But he suggested—” Harriet said.
Villiers lifted his hand. “Just so. One abhors to mention these things, dear Harry, but th
at does not make them disappear. Strange is right to look out for his people, stable boys and all.”
If put that way, Harriet had to agree.
“The proper thing to do in this circumstance,” Villiers continued, “is to tell Strange that if he plays the fool with you again you’ll pummel him so hard that he’ll fart crackers.”
“Fart crackers,” Harriet said, laughing despite herself. “You mean fire-crackers? Right.”
“Like to see you try,” Strange said.
“Please don’t leave tonight,” Villiers added. “I was sadly brought down by the journey here, but this afternoon I felt the first glimmer of hope that I might actually be able to emerge from this damned velvet nest.”
“I thought you liked this suite,” Strange said.
“Inexorably vulgar,” Villiers said. “Blue velvet. Paugh!”
“I am learning so much tonight,” Strange said. “But here’s another little problem for you to solve, Strange. I don’t think you’ve met the Graces. They’re a lovely troupe of young women. If you’d like to paint them, they’re agreeable. If you’d like them to sing or dance or otherwise inspire you, they’re capable of doing that too.”
“Wonderful,” Villiers said. “I’m not up to being inspired, but I grieve at my loss, truly I grieve.”
“At the moment they are rehearsing an inspiring performance of madrigals to be sung while dressed as angels,” Strange said.
“A performance designed for a bishop,” Harriet added.
“Dear me, how lucky the Episcopancy is sometimes,” Villiers said. “Nothing half so thrilling ever comes my way.”
“That’s just it,” Strange said. “One of the Graces, a lovely young thing by the name of Kitty, has offered a private performance to myself and Cope. That is, I believe she meant to offer it just to Harry, but I elbowed my way into the party.”
“Ungracious,” Villiers said. “You are growing more countrified by the moment, Strange. Don’t ever do that if one of the young ladies offers me a private performance. I should be forced to run you through. Miss Kitty agreed to perform for both of you, did she? An enterprising young woman.”