Page 25 of Dare to be Wicked

“Oh, but Eliza would never…!” Lottie exclaimed.

“No, but he doesn’t know that, does he? He’ll think she’s the same as every cut-glass beauty of the nobility. You know how some would react if a man like that even dared meet their eyes, the precious darlings.”

Lottie snorted, knowing exactly what she meant. They’d been lucky indeed with their parents. Although her father was a duke, and very aware of the respect due his title, he was neither pompous nor priggish and, if he ever acted the least bit high in the instep, their far more prosaic mama brought him down to earth with a bump. She had never allowed her children airs and graces, and detested snobbery.

Indeed, Aunt Helena had married a self-made man who had been born in the workhouse. The family knew Papa had not been pleased about the match and tried to break them apart, but when it became clear Helena and Gabriel Knight were truly in love, he’d relented. Mr Knight was not considered good ton, but he was so wealthy no one could ignore him. So, whilst their parents would never encourage the man, and would certainly not look upon a match between one of their daughters with a man like Demarteau with any enthusiasm, they would not treat him with anything less than respect and courtesy. Vivien was correct all the same: Mr Demarteau did not know that.

“Come on, let’s catch them up,” Vivien said. She turned to look over her shoulder, discovering her brother dawdling some distance back, his head tipped back to enjoy the sun. “Ash, you slug, come along or we shall leave you behind.”

Ash sighed and gathered his reins, and soon they were all galloping across the fields, and Lottie’s spirit’s lifted. The sun was shining, the countryside ablaze with colour, and she was with her friends. She must enjoy this and pray she would do nothing to cause a rift between them all.

Cassius caught up with his friends just as they settled down to their picnic. Once he’d washed and shaved, his headache had abated enough to ride out after them. They sat in the shade of a copse of trees beside the moat that surrounded the magnificent Bodiam Castle. Swallows dipped low over the water, while birdsong and the distant whickering of the horses made a restful backdrop as he sat down on the blanket beside Ash and Vivien, as far from Lottie as he could get. The temptation to watch her was hard to resist, though, especially as the picture she made had him longing to paint her. Her copious riding skirts were arranged in swathes of pink, and the military style frogging in dark green emphasised her trim waist and the swell of her breasts. Her ride here had been enough to dislodge some of her hairpins, and the neat arrangement was somewhat dishevelled, thick golden curls tumbling to her shoulders. When combined with the flush of colour from the warm afternoon, it gave her the appearance of having been disarranged in a wild embrace. Cassius felt his mouth grow dry.

The sound of Eliza’s laughter caught his attention, and he forced his gaze away, instead observing his friend with Louis César. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the two of them, and the fact that Louis was obviously flirting with her. Not that he could begrudge either of them. Louis did not know of his understanding with Eliza, and he had been so obviously avoiding her he could hardly blame her for not rebuffing a man like the handsome and wealthy Comte de Villen. Louis César was a friend, and someone he respected and liked, but Cassius had heard rumours that the brothers were dangerous. He had always dismissed such stories, having seen nothing in their manner to give him cause for alarm. Louis was beautiful and bound to be the cause of resentment and therefore gossip. Both he and Demarteau were older than the rest of their group, though, with Nic in his early thirties, and they carried a world-weary air of men who had seen and done everything there was. Could he trust Louis to be the husband Eliza deserved? His reputation would suggest not, but Cassius was hardly in a position to warn Eliza off. He must speak with her today, no matter what. His attention turned back to the conversation.

“But how does anyone go about having a love affair in England?” Louis César complained, his expression one of bewilderment. “It is impossible to be alone with a young lady for even a moment. They are constantly chaperoned, and never from beneath the eyes of their diligent mamas. It is most vexing.”

Vivien laughed at his consternation, though her scathing tone indicated she did not disagree in the least. “Indeed, it is not like in our parents’ day, which I am told they railed against hard enough. The rules of proper conduct have become ridiculously rigorous. If the thing is done correctly, one must be a perfect young lady and marry a man without ever having a private conversation with him, let alone stealing a kiss—my word, no! —for only a wicked woman would think of doing such a shameless thing. If you are lucky, you might touch her hand when you help her from her carriage, which is quite enough to make the poor creature swoon.”

Her brother gave a low chuckle and shook his head. “But, then, comte, you have the rare good fortune that the duchess is a revolutionary.”

Vivien laughed at her brother and nodded.

“Our scandalous Mama too and all the Peculiar Ladies, Ash, let us be fair,” she said, plucking a grape from the bunch she held and popping it in her mouth.

“Mon Dieu,” Louis César replied with every expression of alarm as his hand went to his throat. “Should I fear that I will lose my head?”

“Of course,” Lottie replied, sharing a glance with Vivien that Cassius could not read. “Everyone loses their heads over Eliza.”

“Not forgetting the incomparable Miss Anson and your lovely self, bien sûr,” the comte added, with such a charming smile that Cassius felt just a little less friendly towards him.

“Oh no,” Lottie said with a laugh. “Not me! I’m far too uncomfortable a character for polite society. I’m too outspoken and ruffle everyone’s feathers by saying or doing the wrong thing. Mama fears I am a scandal waiting to happen. Eliza, by comparison, is far cleverer, and makes them believe she’s a sweet little dimwit so they’re not afraid of her, and thus she gets away with murder.”

“Lottie!” Eliza exclaimed in amused outrage. “You make me sound positively Machiavellian.”

Lottie frowned and shook her head. “Not at all. It is what clever women are reduced to: pretending ignorance so that we do not alarm society. I would do it too if I were able, but I do not have half your brain, and you know my wretched mouth always runs away with me. You have the patience of a saint, Eliza, and well you know it.”

“Keep chattering such nonsense about me and I shall prove you wrong, wretch,” Eliza said, stealing a grape from the bunch Vivien held and lancing it at her sister.

Lottie laughed as it bounced off her nose. “Oh, I say. Good shot, Eliza.”

“Is it truly an act?”

Everyone stilled and the convivial atmosphere dissipated as Mr Demarteau spoke, for until now he’d been silent. His voice was deep, his French accent touching the words and softening them, though his tone was anything but soft. The fact that he had directly addressed Eliza held everyone spellbound.

“I beg your pardon?” Eliza replied, stiffening, her demeanour at once several degrees cooler.

Demarteau’s eyes glinted with something dark and fierce and he leaned towards Eliza as he spoke, his voice lowering. “The appearance of a perfect English lady with pretty manners and a sweet temperament. Is it truly who you are, or is it an act as your sister implies?”

“That is not at all what I meant,” Lottie said, her colour rising at the implication she had revealed her sister was deceitful when she was only doing what all women must to survive society’s strictures.

“I believe Mr Demarteau knows that, Lottie, dear,” Eliza said with a tight smile. “He only wishes to poke me with a stick and see if I bite.”

“And will you?”

There was an intensity to the demand that Cassius did not like.

“Nic,” he said, his tone sharp. “I have told you what manner of woman Lady Elizabeth is, and that she is my dearest friend. I do not believe you need any further explanation than the proof of what is in front of you.”