Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance (18 page)

“La! Roxton, she’s as devoted as one of your
wretched dogs. You must give her a diamond collar. Is it not
amusing, Lucian?”

Lord Vallentine looked uncomfortable and
tugged at the lace of his cravat. “She’s just high-spirited, Estée.
There’s no harm in her.”

“No, not in
her
,” she flung over a
bare shoulder as she swept to the door. She would have gone out but
for the quiet command from her brother that she remain and Lord
Vallentine and the servants leave them. The tone of the Duke’s soft
voice caused her to go weak at the knees but she was determined to
put a brave face on it. She turned to look at him, chin tilted in
defiance.

“Your behavior of late offends me. It will
stop,” he said coldly. “If we are to go on tolerably together you
will do me the courtesy of acting the well-bred hostess you were
brought up to be.” He ignored her expression of shocked outrage,
inspecting the well-manicured nails on one long white hand. “I am
surprised and somewhat offended that my own sister does not know me
well enough to realize that within the walls of my own home my
morals are unquestioningly sound. But I will spell it out for you
if it will make you feel less anxious for the girl’s well-being: I
have not the slightest intention of seducing Antonia. She is a
guest in my house and she is our cousin, however distant the
connection. Your flagrant disloyalty disappoints me, but I realize
it is prompted by your concern for Antonia’s well-being, and an
unreasonable and stupid jealous spite.” When Estée gasped and
opened her mouth to argue with him he added with a crooked smile,
“Save your dramatics for Vallentine, my dear. He has more
patience.” He collected his snuffbox from the table and pocketed
it. “You may offer my apologies to the delectable Thérèse. Tell her
whatever you wish; the truth if it suits your purpose.”

Madame’s only response was to flounce out of
the room and slam the door. Meeting Antonia on the stair she could
not help but be curt. She told her to straighten a bow on her
bodice and brush the hair from her face, and not to run down the
stairs like a hoyden. Antonia was too happy to take offence and
quickly made amends for her appearance then skipped off to the
library. Madame watched her go with a heavy frown and picking up a
handful of her petticoats stomped off to her boudoir.

“I do not think Madame will enjoy the
Comédie Française
if Vallentine cannot coax her into a
better mood,” Antonia confided to the Duke. She put aside her
letters on the writing desk and sat down on the sofa beside him
where a backgammon board was set up for play. The tan and white
whippet trotted up and demanded she rub its throat. “I am glad you
ordered coffee,” she said as she watched Duvalier arrange coffee
dishes, plates of sweetmeats and silver service on a low table he
positioned before them. “I must confess to needing a dish after the
brandy. You—you do not mind me saying so—about the brandy?”

The Duke cast his dice and landed a six.

“It is my opening,” he said. “Your quatre
cannot beat my six. I would mind if you did not tell me the
truth.”

She rolled the points trois and ace and made
the combination.

“You did not have to stay at home with me
if-if you wanted to attend the
Comédie
and Madame
Duras-Valfons’s soirée.”

He looked up from contemplating the state of
play through his quizzing-glass. The hesitancy in her eyes made him
smile. “I stay at home because I want to,
mignonne
. Now
drink your coffee and concentrate on the game, or you will surely
lose.”

They played in silence a long time until at
the end of the fifth game Antonia scooped up her dice and examined
them critically. “You have won a third game,” she said not
unhappily. “Why can I not throw my combinations, Monseigneur?”

“The luck is not with you,” he replied. “You
try too hard to win. If you thought more about the game and less on
defeating me your luck would turn. Come, show me your letter and we
will sit closer the fire where it is warmer.” He shifted to his
favorite chair and Antonia was content to curl herself up on the
upholstered stool at his feet. “You shouldn’t feed them
sweetmeats,” he said, watching her give Grey a second morsel of
cake. “You spoil them.”

“They enjoy being spoiled. Will Maria
understand my letter do you think?” she asked when he had come to
the end of the second page of script.

“It is a well-written letter, my dear. You
had a good teacher methinks.”

“Thank you. I had a tutor until Papa’s
death. But Grandfather would not allow me to continue on with my
studies. He said it was wrong that I should be taught boy’s
lessons. He took my books away. He was a great fool to do such a
thing. I cannot unlearn what I already know!”

“Your father was quite the eccentric,
petite
,” said Roxton seriously, though the corners of his
mouth twitched at her tone of studied thoughtfulness. “It was
because he was an eccentric and learned physician that he permitted
you a tutor. He had no son. Though I wonder if that would have made
a difference to your upbringing? I think not. Young ladies of your
birth are not indulged in lessons on History and Classics and the
study of languages.”

“These young ladies, they must be very dull
creatures then.”

“Listen, Antonia,” he said. When she shifted
to look at him he tried to appear very grave. “Young ladies are
taught to dance and to make polite conversation, and to work at
their needlepoint. They learn the clavichord, a little history, and
how to dabble in watercolours. They don’t speak their mind unless
requested, and they never answer back. It is not polite. Do you
understand?”

Antonia shook her head.

“I am sorry, M’sieur le Duc,” she said.
“This way of life you describe, it is inconceivable to me. I would
be bored if I was not permitted to read whatever I wanted and so
was unable to learn new things. Girls of the bourgeoisie are taught
differently. I know because Papa he told me so. He said the parents
of such girls are more enlightened than their betters. So it is no
small wonder to me why noblemen are attracted to the salons of such
women when all they can discuss with their wives is polite
conversation and watercolours!”

When she realized he was quietly laughing
she blushed and looked away to the fire. “I—You must think me
equally as foolish. I—I know conversation and relief from boredom
are not the primary reason noblemen seek out the company of such
women.”

The Duke forced her to look at him, a finger
under her chin. “I was not laughing because I thought you foolish.
I was laughing because I agree with you and you put the case so
well.”

“Oh? Do you—Do you think it important I know
these silly accomplishments?”

“Let me explain it to you this way,” he said
patiently. “Your grandfather is concerned lest you appear too
different from other young ladies of your station. Females who
profess to know subjects that are exclusively a male’s domain are
not viewed very favorably by our society. It is one thing to
be
Lady Mary Wortley Montague but quite another to simply
have her reputation. The English are more tolerant of such
eccentricities than their French cousins. In France it is all very
well for those of the bourgeoisie to educate their daughters in the
new manner; they are not likely to marry into our circle. It is a
different proposition for a girl of your birth.”

“But Papa disgraced himself with the court.
And Maman ran away with him and so disgraced herself too. And I do
not care about the court or what is thought of me by this society
to which I supposedly belong. I have never contemplated marriage
and I do not want to think about it. It would be horrid to be
forced into a marriage I do not want in the least! Madame says
Étienne will make me a good husband, that he is of a fine noble
family, but—but I do not love him. If you hand me over to the Comte
de Salvan,” she said in a rush, “I will run away!”

“Do you truly believe I will hand you over
to Salvan?” he asked, stroking her flushed cheek.

She hung her head, hair hiding her face
because she felt the heat in her cheek at his touch. “A month ago
you did not care what happened to me. You never answered my
letters, or looked my way at Court when I tried to catch your
eye—”

“Too many females try to catch my eye,” he
said flippantly with a sigh of resignation.

“Those females are as stupid as they are
superficial!” Antonia retorted and immediately recanted for
speaking her mind. “I am sorry, Monseigneur. I understand that a
gentleman’s feelings do not have to be
engaged
to bed one of
these silly females.”

He made her look up at him. “Do not discount
your own sex in that equation, Antonia,” he said seriously, looking
into her clear green eyes. “At Versailles, what is good for the
rooster is just as good for the hens.”

“To make love without engaging one’s
feelings is incomprehensible to me,” Antonia stated, her gaze never
wavering from his handsome face. “I could not. That is why I will
not marry the Vicomte d’Ambert or any other man my grandfather
tries to force on me, whatever Madame says to the contrary.”

Roxton looked away from her, suddenly
uncomfortable, thinking the run of conversation inappropriate
between a nobleman of his years and this girl who was now in his
care. “My sister’s intentions are good but she is quite stupid.
Five minutes in your company should’ve told her that you are strong
willed enough to know your own mind. And thus I owe you an
apology…” He turned his emerald ring into the path of the firelight
and finally met Antonia’s gaze. “I should have treated your
predicament at Court seriously and granted you five minutes of my
time to plead your case. As it is you forced my hand, did you
not?”

Antonia’s eyes sparked and she could not
help a small smile of triumph. “Yes, Monseigneur. Was I not
clever?”

But Antonia was thrown totally off balance
when the Duke caught up her wrists and stuck his face in hers.

“No, it was not clever! It was a great piece
of stupidity to dress as a whore at a public masquerade. You talk
of not making love without first engaging your feelings, but that
night you, a naïve girl who doesn’t know the first thing about
being bedded, were in grave danger of being raped. Idiot child! And
where did your scheming get you? Shot on the Versailles road!” He
let go of her and sat back, annoyed with himself for allowing
Antonia to get under his guard, a circumstance that had occurred on
one too many occasions with her. “You will not force my hand again,
Antonia, do you hear?”

“Yes, Monseigneur,” she answered demurely, a
curious glance at the impressions left on her wrists by the
pressure of his long fingers.

He shifted his muscular legs to make her
more comfortable on the footstool and abruptly changed the topic, a
tweak of her curls as he returned her letter to her. “You give
Maria the wrong impression,
mignonne
. By your account she
will think I single-handedly took on and killed the entire
fraternity of highwaymen.”

This made Antonia chuckle. “Oh, but you were
very brave! And I did not tell her an untruth when I said the odds
were against you from the start. And do not forget there was one of
their number hiding in the forest close by. He was a coward because
he did not show himself and he meant to shoot you. Instead he hit
me, which was a good thing because it would have struck you, this
bullet, closer the heart. When I think of where we were standing
and the angle of—”

“You have spent a good deal of time
reconstructing the—er—crime.”

“What else is there to do tucked up in bed
for a month?”

He frowned. “Will you show me the scar?”

She wondered what she had said to make him
angry again so quickly and quietly pulled her sleeve off her
injured shoulder and brushed aside the hair that fell forward
across her breasts. The wound was not a pretty sight. The flesh was
puckered and livid, and still very tender to the touch. He leaned
forward to inspect the disfigurement, one hand placed gently on her
good shoulder and the long cool fingers of the other barely
touching the flesh near the healing wound. Yet when deep colored
blotches of embarrassment appeared at her throat he sat back and
told her to cover herself.

“In time it will fade,” he said gently.
“There is a stiffness in your arm still?”

“A little, but less each day,” she answered
and covered the damaged shoulder with a quantity of hair.

“Does this blemish bother you?”

“It would be a lie if I said no. Only when
people stare do I think about it. I caught one of the
chambermaids—a silly wench—staring when Gabrielle was dressing me,
and it made me feel very ugly. I could see she thought it hideous.”
She glanced up at him. “Do you find it hideous and ugly?”

The frown instantly disappeared and his
black eyes smiled into hers. “Not in the least,
mignonne
,”
he said gently. “It is but a tiny battle scar.”

She put her hands on his crossed knees. “I
worry that the bullet it was meant for you. It is a silly worry,
but it won’t go away. Promise me you will be careful. Promise you
will take care.”

Her earnest entreaty surprised him and he
brushed it aside. “My dear girl, I have done an excellent job of
looking after myself all these years—”

“
Promise me
, Monseigneur!”

“—that a promise to you is unlikely to
change matters one way or the other,” he finished flippantly. Yet
as soon as he had said this he realized he had hurt her feelings.
“Very well,” he said, and playfully chided her under the chin. “I
will make you a promise. I will promise to take care, though I am
yet to discover the identity of our friend in the forest. Did you
happen to see anyone per chance?”