Wicked (19 page)

Finding the dressmaker in her office, he offered no explanation of the time spent in her dressing room, nor did she inquire. He only asked whether they had all the measurements they needed.

"Yes, we're quite finished, my lord," Mrs. Moore circumspectly replied, careful not to glance at the clock, cautious also to say as little as possible with the young earl in such an unpredictable mood.

After an assistant was sent off with Serena's clothing, Beau acquainted the dressmaker with his wishes concerning his companion's wardrobe, his voice serenely compose
d
—
a
s though he weren't mildly disheveled and attired in wrinkled clothing. "We need the gold gown tonight as well as the petticoat and slippers. Have Miss Blythe billed for only that single frock. The rest is to be charged to me. I'd also like to have the other patterns she admired made for her; I'll leave the fabric selection to your judgment. We'll need some cashmere shawls, lingerie, dressing gowns, slippers, boots, the usual assortment," he casually added. "And unfortunately we require them in three days."

Beau calmly waited while the modiste sucked in her breath, the shock turning her pale. Once she'd sufficiently recovered, he said, "I understand under the circumstances your charges will reflect the necessary haste. And I thank you in advance." He smiled warmly. "Miss Blythe is very happy," he added, turning to go.

As was the proprietor of the small dress shop, who was rewarded once again by Lord Rochefort's incomparable largesse. But even as she returned his smile and murmured all the necessary phrases of leave-taking, a feeling of panic assailed her. She had to bring in a dozen more seamstresse
s
—
n
o, twenty. Immediately.

A short time later Serena and Beau emerged from the dressing room arm in arm, the lady's cheeks rosy from her exertions, her smile one of deep content. And oblivious to the whispers following their progress through the several rooms of Mrs. Moore's establishment, the young English lord and his lady seemed heedless of all but each other.

They didn't notice the couple approaching them as they emerged from the shop, nor did they immediately respond to the greeting directed at them, totally absorbed were they in their mutual postcoital bliss.

"Don't say you don't recognize me, Rochefort,
"
the young colonel exclaimed, offering a quick knowing smile to his wife.

The tone more than his name jogged Beau's fixed attention, and looking up, he saw Tom Maxwell whom he'd known since his youth in Yorkshire. Good lord, he thought. Was his entire roster of acquaintances in residence in Lisbon?

"I told Janie it was you. What brings you to Lisbon, St. Jules?"

"A short detour on my way to Naples," Beau replied, not certain how to introduce Serena. Cousin was out of the question; he'd known both Tom and Jane too lon
g
—
t
hey knew all his cousins, although luckily neither was a stickler for etiquette. Some stiff-rumped matron would have cut Serena cold. "May I introduce you to Serena Blythe," he said, realizing there was nothing to do but brazen it out. "Miss Blythe, Tom and Jane Maxwell. They're neighbors of mine in Yorkshire."

"Are you staying with Da
m
ien?" Jane asked. "We had dinner with him last week. How happy he and Emma seemed."

"He appears in good spirits," Beau evasively replied.

"Are you new in Lisbon, Miss Blythe?" Jane inquired, thinking her very beautiful even in her dowdy gown, curious to know more about the woman Beau was being careful to protect. He hadn't wanted to introduce her.

"This is my first visit," Serena replied.

Serena's upper-class accent offered a clue to her antecedents at least, although she could be an actress, Jane mused. But not dressed so plainly, she immediately decided. What an odd style of woman to be seen with Beau. Gorgeous, of course
—
that was a given with his ladie
s
—
b
ut not sophisticated, nor modish, nor preening on his arm as was generally the case. "Come have coffee with us at the Antiga," she invited, piqued with curiosity.

She saw Serena's fingers close tightly on Beau's arm.

"Do say yes," Tom interposed, oblivious to Serena's discomfort. "We haven't seen you since Felicia's wedding. And army duty is dull here, as you know, even with Napoleon's machinations to keep us alert. Fill us in on the gossip from London."

"I'm afraid we have an appointment," Beau said.

"Later perhaps," Jane suggested.

"That's possible," Beau politely replied. "I'll send a note 'round if our schedule permits."

******************

"Did you hear him say 'our schedule
?
" Jane breathlessly intoned as she and her husband watched Beau's carriage disappear down the street. "He's never included a woman in his personal life before. Women are only transient diversions for him. What was her name again? And did you see her gown?
 
It was at least five years old, although the fabric had once been very fine," she bubbled on. "I must talk to Emma about her. She's definitely something out of the ordinary for Beau, so innocent ... in an intoxicating kind of way," she more slowly added, as if contemplating the exact degree of Serena's allure. "Weren't you struck by her artless purity?"

"Good god, Janie, we saw her for only a few minutes. She looked damned pretty but regardless the young lady's uncommon charm, knowing Beau," he declared in a realistic male appraisal, "she'll be gone within a fortnight."

"/ think he seemed terribly smitten. Did you see him
look
at her? And he has to marry
sometime."

Her husband looked at her incredulously. "If he was smitten, which I seriously doubt, it was in one sense only, believe me. I wouldn't look for a wedding invitation from Beau anytime soon."

"I'm not so sure. You didn't plan on marrying me eithe
r
—
a
t first."

He smiled. "I had to grab you before Darcy Montague turned your head."

"So why can't Beau have those same feelings?"

"Because, my darling wife, he can't distinguish one woman from anothe
r
—
t
here are too many to narrow down the field to a single female. The man has them standing in line."

"You could be wrong," she repudiated, curling her lip in a pretty pout.

"And Napoleon could have a heart of gold, but let's not bet the estate on either one."

"You men have no romance in your soul."

"Including Beau St. Jules," her husband pointedly said.

******************

But whatever he was feeling right now was a very close approximation, for with Serena seated on his lap in the gently swaying carriage, her arms flung around his neck and her sweet laughter bringing a smile to his face, he was thinking of canceling their dinner tonight so he wouldn't have to share her company with anyone.

"Do you want to go to Damien's?" he murmured, stroking her back gently, the feel of her in his arms a jubilant kind of pleasure beyond any former experience.

"I'll do whatever you want to do," she breathed, nibbling on his earlobe.

"Which doesn't at the moment include Da
m
ien," he teas-ing
l
y whispered.

"Fine. Everything is
vastly
fine, darling Glory, including the entire state of the world," she grandly extolled.

He grinned. "You're easy to please."

Her lashes came up and her languorous eyes gazed into his. "Keep it in mind."

"I won't forget, believe me. I think that last climax is permanently etched on my brain."

"Am I unforgettable?" she flirtatiously purred.

"Oh, yes."

A prescient sentiment, had he known it.

It gave him pleasure to show Lisbon's sights to Serena. They saw the Alfa
m
a, the old quarter shaped by the length of its histor
y
—
t
he neighborhood a maze of sloping alleys, steep stairways, and small squares, the labyrinth of houses broken occasionally by the facade of a huge palace.

Se Patriarchal, Lisbon's oldest church, stood on the southern hillside of the quarter, its origins dating back to the twelfth century. Sturdy, fortresslike, massive in size, its Romanesque form lightene
d
with Gothic and Baroque additions.

The Palace Square, one of the loveliest squares in Europe, offered an unrestricted view of the Tagus, as did the ruins of St. George's Castle on the heights. Begun as an Iron Age settlement, occupied by Romans, Goths, Arabs, the castle was converted into a royal palace in 1300. And standing at the entrance to the former palace, the whole of the inner city lay at their feet.

When they'd seen enough picturesque churches, palaces, and quaint winding streets, Beau took Serena to the elegant shopping street, Rua Garrett, in the Chiado. At several of the antique dealers his uncle patronized he watched her piquant interest in all the beautiful items on display. He cajoled her into trying on an opulent pearl necklace one of the dealers had on display, but she refused to let him buy it for her. Originally from medieval Saxony, the necklace had been
.
brought to Portugal in a bridal trousseau centuries ago.

"It's too expensive," Serena murmured when Beau urged her to accept it as a gift. And he graciously acquiesced. But she allowed him to buy her a small inexpensive amber brooch with a wild
fl
ower suspended in the fossilized stone because she couldn't bring herself completely to give up having a memento from him of their time together.

When they returned to the hotel at twilight, the boxes from the dressmaker had already arrived and Serena's eyes shone as she pulled the silk gown from its wrapping of silver tissue. "Ohhhh . . ." she exclaimed, her eyes shiny with tears, the sight of the beautiful dress bringing back evocative memories. Her mother had worn a golden dress in the portrait painted of her shortly after her marriage, her pale beauty glowing from the canvas. How many times had Serena stood before that portrait, talking to her mother as if she were still alive; how many times had she found her father seated before the picture after her mother's death, his face wet with tears.

She swallowed hard, suppressing her sorrowful emotions.

"You don't like it," Beau said, looking up from the glass of Cognac he was pouring, taking note of her tear-bright eyes.

"No. I
do
like it."

He frowned faintly. "You're crying."

"Because it's so beautiful," Serena softly said.

"You're sure? We could find you something else," he suggested, wondering if Mrs. Moore could put together another ensemble on instant notice.

"No, really," Serena replied, carefully placing the sumptuous gown on the bed. "I like it immensely."

Beau quietly exhaled, the daunting task of obtaining a new gown averted. "We don't have to stay long at Damien's if you'd rather not," he said, taking note of her pensive expression.

"I don't mind," she replied, looking at him across the bed, a tentative smile fluttering over her mouth. "And I really appreciate the beautiful clothes."

"Don't thank me," he amiably said, holding the glass between his hands to warm the liquor. "You're paying for them yourself."

"For your coercion in getting me to Mrs. Moore's." Her smile was warm and familiar again. "And for your amorous entertainment at the dressmaker's," she sweetly added.

"Entertaining you is one of life's great pleasures, lollipop," he said, his voice velvet soft.

"So you don't mind me tagging along to Italy."

"Try to get away."

"I suppose you say that to all the women."

He
r
words triggered a disconcerting moment of introspection because he never had, his possessive impulses toward women nonexistent. And at the risk of denying his well-developed sense of indifference, he said, "No, never," because he felt a rare pleasure in her company. But he drained his Cognac in one swallow afterward, as if such renegade emotions required fortification.