Diane Gaston - Regency Improprieties

He had no difficulty agreeing with that.

‘And no gifts, if you please.’

That was unexpected, but easily done.

‘And you must be present.’

He gave her a surprised glance. ‘I?’

‘Yes, and it would not look very well if I were the only woman with two gentlemen, so I would like Katy Green to come as well.’

He nearly winced. ‘Miss Green?’

She looked up at him through her thick lashes. ‘I do not want to be alone.’

‘I will arrange it,’ he said in a resigned tone. He’d not imagined being forced to watch Tanner charm her.

She gave him a brave but false smile. ‘Good. That is settled. No need to talk of it further.’

She drummed her fingers on the long wooden box that rested on a table in the corner of the room where they stood. ‘Let me show you something,’ she said suddenly.

He raised his brows.

She smiled with mischief. ‘Watch.’ She opened up the box to reveal a small pianoforte. ‘Isn’t it a treat?’

He laughed. ‘Yes, a surprise as well.’

She ran her fingers lightly over the keys. ‘It belonged to my mother. To take with her when she travelled in those days she was singing. It is in fine sound, too. Listen.’

She pulled up a small stool and rested her fingers on the keys, playing random chords until she began a tune he recognised only too well, though he had not heard it for over a decade: ‘Shule Agra.’ She sang:

His hair was black, his eye was blue

His arm was stout, his word was true

I wish in my heart, I was with you …

He’d sung the song of a sweetheart slain for the Jacobite cause with the rest of his family at his mother’s pianoforte. When Rose came to the chorus, Flynn could not help but join her.

‘Shule, shule, shule agra …’

He closed his eyes and let the sound of their melding voices float around him and seep into his skin, sending him back to Ballynahinch, to home and family.

‘Go thee, thu Mavourneen slaun,’ they sang, holding the last note for several extra beats.

She rose and turned to him and their gazes held. ‘Beautiful,’ he said, bewitched.

Without thinking, he brushed his fingers across her cheek. Her eyes darkened and she leaned closer to him. His nostrils gratefully inhaled her sweet clean scent, like the flowers in his mother’s garden. She tilted her face to him, so close he could feel her breath against his skin.

He lowered his head slowly, wanting for just one brief moment to find home again in her lips. She remained perfectly still, waiting. His lips came closer, so close their breath mingled. A half-inch more and he would taste her—

Voices sounded in the hallway, someone entering one of the other rooms, but enough to jar him from his reverie.

He dropped his hand and stepped away.

‘Flynn?’ she whispered. Her eyes reflected his own wrenching need.

‘This is madness,’ he rasped. Madness for him to covet the woman his powerful employer laid claim to.

She tried to come closer, but he held up his hand. ‘I must go.’

She blocked his way to the door. ‘Why is it madness, Flynn?’

He had no choice but to touch her. He put his hands on her arms and eased her aside so he could collect his hat and gloves.

She stepped closer again. ‘Why is it madness?’ She scooped up the calling cards that had been piled next to his gloves. ‘It is what Tannerton and Greythorne and all these gentlemen want, is it not?’ She let the cards cascade from her fingers. ‘Why can it not be between you and me?’

‘Because of my employer, Rose.’ He pulled on his gloves. ‘It would be the ruin of my future. Yours as well. Do you not see that?’

‘But he need never know,’ she countered.

‘ I would know. After all he has done for me, I would not repay him so.’ Did she think he could make love to her one day and face Tanner the next?

He opened the door, but turned back to her. ‘You are indeed like your friend Katy, are you not? Do not tease me further with talk of needing time. I will not believe you.’ He started through the door but swung around again, leaning close to her face, as close as when he almost kissed her. ‘You are just what you seem, Rose. A fancy piece.’

Her lips parted in surprise, but they remained as enticing as before. With a growl of frustration, he wrenched himself away and hurried down the staircase.

Rose leaned against the doorframe, arms wrapped around herself. She squeezed her eyes shut. His words stung, but she knew he’d been correct. She’d behaved badly. Wantonly.

She re-entered the room, shutting the door behind her and hurrying to the window. She watched him leave the building, his pace as quick as if pursued by lions.

Leaning her forehead against the cool glass, she sang, ‘I wish in my heart, I was with you …’

Vauxhall was not nearly as pleasant this night without Rose O’Keefe singing. Greythorne grimaced as Charles Dignum began. He stalked out of the Grove and strolled towards the Transparency. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed one of Vauxhall’s many delights—a woman with flaming red hair, laughing on the arm of that fool Sir Reginald, pulling him through the crowd.

He sucked in a breath. That laughter gave him a twinge.

He blew out the breath and walked on, scanning the crowd. He wanted a woman. Needed a woman. It had been a long time since he’d invited a woman into his den of pleasure. What harm to pluck another flower while he waited to win the elusive Rose from that—that— Corinthian Tannerton?

Blood surged through his veins. He’d win Rose O’Keefe and show her his special set of delights, and once under his control, she would forget all about Tannerton’s pursuit.

Greythorne wiped his face, grateful to the Diamond, Amanda, who had spurned him and lost the opportunity to experience his special talents. Because of the Diamond, he’d pushed himself to dare new delights. New heights. Nearer and nearer the brink.

He’d also had to take more care. There were some who knew his brand of pleasure, and he dared not risk more exposure. He rubbed his hands together. The more secretive he became, the more daring as well. There were no limits in anonymity.

He grinned, imagining this girl’s laughter fading, her eyes widening, mouth opening, cries ringing against the walls of his special room.

He donned the mask he kept in his pocket, the mask that protected him, the mask that freed him. The red-haired woman might be occupied this night, but there were other blooms to be plucked.

And Greythorne loved to cut flowers.

The message from Flynn arrived for Rose the following afternoon, delivered into her father’s hands. ‘Mary Rose, it is from that marquess’s fellow,’ he said.

Letty, interrupted from admiring how the emerald ring sparkled on her pudgy hand, ran to his side. ‘Well, what is it? What does he say?’

Letty snatched the letter from her father and walked over to read it by the light from the window. ‘He wants to meet her! Two days hence.’ She dropped the letter on the table. ‘Did I not say it would be so?’

Rose picked up the paper, reading that the selected meeting place was King’s Theatre, to see a performance of Don Giovanni. She pressed the paper against her beating heart. Flynn was giving her King’s Theatre. A real opera, too, with performers singing out the whole story. It was almost exciting enough to forget that he’d pushed her away, accusing her of acting like a harlot. Or that she must meet the man who wanted her to be his harlot.

Letty snatched the paper from Rose’s hand. ‘Let me read it again.’ Her lips moved as she went over the words. She handed it back to Rose. ‘He is saying that Miss Green must come with you.’