Wicked (23 page)

They were both on their best behavior that day, careful of their words, courteous, gracious, Serena telling herself it would never do to weave unlikely fantasies concerning Beau St. Jules and love, Beau attempting to repair the damage he'd done by speaking so forthrightly of wives. But the strain of such cautious restraint cracked when the ballgown was delivered at four.

"What's this?" Serena coolly inquired as the numerous silver boxes were deposited in the sitting room.

Beau was standing in the doorway of the garden, his tall form outlined by the setting sun. "You needed a ballgown for tonight."

"I can't afford one. Take these back," she instructed the manager who was overseeing the delivery.

"That won't be necessary, Ramos," Beau calmly said, walking into the room. "We'll manage now. Thank you." He guided the manager to the door.

"Look at the dress at least," he told Serena after shutting the door.

"I
can't
afford another gown, especially a ballgown."

"You didn't mind my buying the paints."

"I needed them," she flatly said. "And they're not a fraction of the price of a ballgown. I can pay for those."

"Good god, Serena. Who the hell cares who pays for what?"

"I care," she sharply said. "I'm not your mistress or your latest cyprian or any of the other terms used to describe a kept woman."

"Lover?" he softly said.

"That's different. And I consent to that gladly." Her voice suddenly went hushed. "The subtle distinctions probably don't matter to a man like you but they do to me." She turned away from him and stared out the window, her emotions in tumult. She wanted him without reservation and had to fight to maintain some hold on reality, wishing she didn't have to think about the price of a gown or the price of her reputation or the price of trying to hold a man like Beau St. Jules.

She heard him come up behind her, the scent of him sweet in her nostrils, his presence filling her senses, and she wondered once he left her how long it would take to forget the shivering lust his nearness precipitated.

He stood very still behind her for a moment and then gently touched the tips of her fingers. "Could we compromise?"

Yes, she wished to say, yes, I'll do anything, but she knew she couldn't and still regard herself separate from the women she professed not to be. "I don't know," she quietly said, her gaze unseeing on the half-shadowed garden.

"I don't want you unhappy," he murmured, tugging gently on her hand to turn her back to him. "Let's talk about this."

"So you can have your way?"

"So we can meet somewhere in between. I don't think of you as anything other than
a
woman I adore
!
When I buy you things, it gives me pleasure, that's all; it's not mean
t
to belittle you or your circumstances."

"I wish I weren't so poor. Maybe if I weren't it wouldn't bother me if you bought me the Italian papacy."

He smiled, just a little smile. "Since Napoleon carted away most of the papal treasures, I probably could afford to buy it for you now."

"
I
don't want the vestments," she said lightly. "Only the Apollo Belvedere."

"Too late," he said with feigned regret. "The Apollo's in Paris. Would you settle for a ballgown?"

Serena gently sighed.

"It's just a present," he said. "People give presents to those they love all the time."

He noticed immediately as did she.

The word "love" shimmered between them for the briefest moment.

And then as impulsively he overlooked its implications.

"Take the dress," he said. "Please, I picked it out for you at seven-thirty this morning."

"Mrs. Moore must have been surprised."

"Grateful, I'd say, that I hadn't wakened her any earlier."

"What if I don't?"

"I'll understand," he said, trying to comprehend the incomprehensibl
e
.

"Should I just give up completely and let you have your way?"

"It would solve several more, er, imminent problems."

"Such as?"

"The diamonds I bought you."

"Beau!"

"They're perfect with the dress and Emma's wearing diamonds and all the diplomats will be awash with jeweled decorations."

"I won't. No. Absolutely not."

"Should we compromise on that then? Keep the dress, don't take the diamonds."

"Are you manipulating me? Are the diamonds a ploy to make me take the dress?"

"No, I really bought them."

"I don't believe you."

"Don't move."

And he returned a few moments later with three red leather cases. "There," he said.

Serena couldn't resist looking even though she knew she could never accept them. Placing the cases on a nearby table she opened them one by one to find a dazzling necklace set with hundreds of glittering diamonds, a bracelet that shone like the sun, and pendant earrings that must have belonged at one time to a queen, they were so richly adorned.

"You're too extravagant."

"And you're too principled."

"I'll take the dress," she quietly said.

"And I'll return the diamonds."

They sealed their bargain with a kiss.

A kiss that turned after a time into something quite different because they hadn't made love all day in the beleaguered atmosphere of politesse they'd maintained and they urgently longed for each other.

When Serena and Beau arrived at the embassy, breathless and laughing and apologizing for almost being late, their affection for each other was so obvious, Da
m
ien took Beau aside before the others arrived and cautioned him to more prudence in the presence of their guests.

"No one will believe you just met Serena when you came to dine if you act like an impassioned lover," his uncle cautioned. "I'll expect a little more discretion. Is it possible from you?"

"I'll be the most proper of dining guests," Beau promised, "as long as Emma seats me next to Serena."

"Done. Remember, it's Serena's reputation that will suffer if you misbehave, not yours. Are we understood?"

"You have my word."

"She's quite lovely tonight, by the way. But I don't see the diamonds," Damien drolly noted.

"It was a negotiated settlement," Beau replied, his mouth quirked in a grin. "And mutually satisfying."

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

But Beau found it stranger than he expected to pose as a proper gentleman, for all the male guests were thoroughly enamored with Emma's young relative. They crowded around Serena at the interval before dinner was announced, they gazed at her with and without subtlety during dinner, and once the dancing began, she was besieged with partners.

He acquitted himself well through it all, playing the role of dinner partner with a well-behaved urbanity that had his uncle amazed and Serena charmed. He was gracious and affable, taking part in the conversation with apparent interest, generally overlooking the lecherous glances and conversational overtures directed at his lover before, during, and after dinner.

Serena was enjoying herself, which was the point of this evening, he reminded himself, and he'd given his word to Da
m
ien.

But he glanced at the clock often.

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

He happened to be talking to Tom and Jane Maxwell when the musicians entered the room and he paused momentarily in midsentence at the virtual rus
h
of men toward Serena.

"You have rivals tonight," Tom noted. "Miss Blythe has taken the fancy of all the eligible males in attendance."

"And a good share of the ineligible ones as well," Beau dryly observed
.

"Emma tells me you've promised to dance with Serena," Jane slyly said, drawing her own conclusions about Miss Blythe and Beau despite Emma's unimpeachable explanation of a relationship.

"She's only been to country parties and expressed some apprehension in so rarefied an assembly." Beau's tone at the end held more than a note of sarcasm. "So I offered to dance with her."

"She seems to be waiting for you," Jane declared.

"Can't put it off, Beau, if you promised." Tom, aware of his friend's reluctance, was amused.

"Didn't say I'd dance the
first
dance with her," Beau muttered.

"Perhaps she didn't realize that," Jane pointed out. "She's looking this way. And here comes Emma with a determined look in her eyes."

"Serena's putting off all the men clamoring to dance with her," Emma bluntly said. "I'd say it's time, dear Beau."

He took a deep breath as if dancing with Serena were capitulating to some unknown force and then with a bow toward the ladies he moved across the polished floor.

The circle of men surrounding Serena took note of her gaze and parted on Beau's approach like doors on smoothly oiled hinges. The attraction between the two young people was immediately evident to all but the most obtuse and a hushed silence descended on the group.

Stopping a short distance away from his expectant lover, Beau stood motionless for so lengthy a time, several observers said afterward, they wondered if he'd come up to the mark.

With lust and denial simultaneously pervading his soul, he didn't realize it could be so difficult to say the words, the sensation of stepping off a ledge into a bottomless black chasm overwhelming him. But he was an honorable man for all his libertine faults and he gracefully bowed at last and murmured very low, "Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Miss Blythe?"

Gazes swiveled from the Duke of Seth's disreputable son to the blushing young lady and breath's held, everyone waited for her reply.

She smiled faintly at first and then gloriously, tantalizing the crowd of men admiring her, each in turn wishing her smile were directed at them. "I thought you'd never ask, Lord Rochefort," she softly said. "Did the music not suit

"It's been so long, Miss Blythe," he lazily replied, "it seems I've learned to ignore the sound of violins."

"But not me, I hope." Her voice was luscious and low as if she were alone with him in the roomful of guests.

He knew better than most how to overlook convention and when he spoke, lust smoldered in every syllable. "I could never forget you, my lady . . . rest assured."

Even had Lord Rochefort's wager not been so well known, the couple would have drawn every glance as they danced, their looks so fine. His dark strength overwhelmed her pale, golden beauty, but with a distinct tenderness unfamiliar to those who knew him. Serena looked very young in his arm
s
—
s
lender and small in the shimmering rose gown, her cheeks flushed, her gaze lifted to his. And yet being held so close by a man who was a byword for vice lent a tantalizing erotic undertone to her innocence.

The heady perfume of sin and scandal always followed in Lord Rochefort's wake.

No woman he set his sights on had ever refused him.

"He must have just discovered Miss Blythe when we first met them in the street," Jane murmured to her husband, her gaze on the dance floor. "He obviously has a hand in dressing her no
w
—
h
er gown's exquisite. Do you still think Beau views this woman like all the rest?" she archly queried, the quintessential image of carnal desire before their eyes.

"I stand corrected, darling," her husband acceded, fully aware like everyone in the room of Beau's libidinous interest. "One doesn't see St. Jules on the dance floor every day."

"Nor so possessive. Did you see him almost rise from his seat at dinner when the Swedish consul made too personal a remark to Serena?"

"Everyone did. That collective gasp heard 'round the table wasn't in regard to the turbot sauce."

"I must find out who she is," Jane insisted with the fervent curiosity of a matchmaking female. "She's certainly poor, we know that."

"Which matters not at all to Beau. He's remarkably republican, regardless the adverse connotation to the word since Napoleon."

"I wonder if she's truly related to Emma," Jane mused, her mind teetering with possibilities. "Do let's invite them to lunch.

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

"You've quite shocked everyone, darling," Serena lightly said. "No one else dares join us." They were quite alone on the dance floor.

"They're too busy drooling over you," Beau dryly remarked. "Which reminds me, I forbid you to talk to the Swedish consul."

"He's much too fat," Serena airily noted, a teasing glow in her eyes. "Not at all my style."

"No one better be your styl
e
—
e
xcept me," he muttered, the tedious hours of forced good conduct taking their toll.

"How swee
t
. . . you're jealous."

"I'm not jealous." He said it offhand, the concept mildly incredulous.

"Well, proprietary then." Understanding the bounds of her own spirited independence, she was enjoying his need of her.

He gazed at her quizzically. "Impossible."

"Should I dance with the Swedish consul?" she inquired, her tone dulcet.

His brows came together in a scowl. "Not unless you care to see Swedish blood shed tonight."

"Must my partners be vetted by you?"

"It's a thought," he moodily noted, wondering how it was possible he cared so much with whom she danced.

"You
could dance with me all evening," she playfully murmured.

"No, I could
not,"
he softly said, a sigh of resignation flaring his nostrils. "Choose whatever partners you wish, lollipop."

"You're sure?"

"Faced with the prospect of dancing the rest of the evening, definitely yes." His gaze flickered briefly to the musicians. "How long is this dance going to last?"

"How gracious you are, milord."

His dark eyes held her amused gaze for a moment. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he grumbled.

"But you dance so beautifully, dear Glory," Serena cooed, like a flirtatious society belle. "Why don't you enjoy it more?"

"Because if I'm holding a woman in my arms, milady," Beau
-n
egligently drawled, "I'd rather be fucking her."

"I'm shocked, Lord Rochefort," she said, affecting the scandalized horror expected of a lady.

"
I didn't realize I could still shock people," he said, smiling, "least of all you."

"And now I'm forcing you to waste your time," she teased.

"I don't mind making an exception occasionally."

"Because I'm so adorable." Malapert and cheeky, she gazed up at him.

"Definitely because of that," he softly said.

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

Having done his gentlemanly duty, immediately after his obligatory dance, Beau bowed to Serena, said very low and heated, "I expect you to behave," and before she could reply, he walked away to the card room. And while gambling with a preponderance of elderly diplomats didn't hold enormous appeal, it was a good deal better than dancing. He sat in on several hands, drank considerably to ease the tedium, and frequently rose from the table to stroll to the ballroom door and survey his lover's current dance partner.

He found himself counting the passing minutes on the clock or computing the exact number of crystals in the chandelier. The decorations on the consuls' coats at his table numbered a shocking eighty-five, he idly noted at precisely
11
:17 and yet he played consistently well as always, gambling being a reflex action in his brain. But time crept by so slowly he found himself wondering if the elegant timepiece on the mantel was in need of repair, and more importantly how long a party for consul-generals lasted.

Some moments later, when Lord Dufferin sat in on their game, his conversation and manner that of a man well into his cups, Beau questioned whether he was still capable of counting cards properly. And when he winked periodically in his direction, Beau first thought the elderly lord had an uncontrollable tic in his eye. So he politely ignored what he considered an infirmity of old age or too much drink and concentrated on his cards, winning so much that attention was drawn to their table. The crowd was extensive, he noticed, looking up after winning another ten thousand. Duf
f
erin was sweating now for he'd lost heavily, but in the next two hands Dufferin recouped a sizable sum and the spectators murmured amongst themselves at his luck.

"There now, that's more like it," Lord Dufferin bluffly exclaimed, beaming, mopping his brow with his handkerchief, gathering his markers with his free hand. "Needed Lady Luck back on my side and damned if she didn't appear. Although"—
h
e winked at Beau so decisively the gesture couldn't be mistaken this tim
e
—"I wouldn't mind if that
cousin
Miss Blythe was at my side either, my boy. Something havey-cavey there about cousins, eh, Rochefort," he added with a chuckle. "But then we all must have our amusements, mustn't we."

A score of indrawn breaths resonated in the sudden hush that descended around the table.

"I beg your pardon," Beau coolly said, his gaze chill.

"The lady at the York Hotel, old boy," Lord Dufferin retorted, blundering on. "I saw you wit
h
Miss Blythe not two days ago."

Beau gently set his cards down, his hands resting lightly over them, his temper shielded behind his shuttered gaze. "You must be mistaken."