Susan Schonberg - The Phoenix Of Love

“I’m so lonely without you, my love,” she murmured against his lips, her voice husky with passion. “All those long nights without you, when we must pretend indifference to the rest of the world. And so—” she kissed him more deeply before continuing “—I’ve been thinking…why don’t we make our liaison one of a more permanent nature?”

Beatrice was so absorbed with her own desire, it took her a moment to notice that the marquis had sat back in his chair, distancing himself from her. Piqued when she no longer felt his touch after a while, she opened her eyes. The space above her was empty.

In confusion, she turned around on her stool to look at him. Traverston’s cold expression took her by surprise. Reflexively she grasped the transparent material of her negligee more closely around her neck for protection.

The marquis waited a moment before answering her question, his smile tolerantly amused. “You shouldn’t think, Beatrice, it’s not a chore that you’re accustomed to.”

She pouted her lips more fully. “You don’t have to be rude, Trav,” she sulked. “I don’t see that it’s such a bad idea.”

He laughed outright then. Her ire rose as she realized he found the thought genuinely comical.

“Do you know why we will never marry, Beatrice?” he asked her. Then he immediately answered his own question. “No, you wouldn’t. You don’t see the things you don’t want to, love, and that’s why you’ve completely missed your target this time.”

“What do you mean?” She had a slightly desperate edge to her voice, and Traverston understood that she was just beginning to realize that she was not going to win this particular battle.

“We’re lovers, my dear. That’s all. Nothing more. And in about—” he glanced at his pocket watch “—five minutes, we won’t even be that anymore.” He stood up and brusquely dug through his coat to find the long slender box he was seeking.

When he had located it, he brought the gray velvet case over to her where she sat before the mirror, and held it out to her. “Here. This is it.”

Tentatively she took it from him, her expression confused. “I don’t understand, Trav. Haven’t you enjoyed my company these last six months?”

“Immensely, my dear. But it’s time I moved along.”

She opened the box and glanced briefly at the stunning diamond bracelet that lay glittering on its soft bed of velvet. Then her wide, staring eyes locked with his again. “But why leave if you like us being together? I don’t understand.”

Traverston realized she was genuinely upset when the diamonds failed to hold her interest for more than a few seconds. He sighed and pulled over the chair he had recently vacated. As he seated himself, he explained. “It’s very simple, really. Let me see if I can put it plainly for you.” His mouth quirked up at the corner. “You’re too predictable.”

The lady was indignant. “I don’t know what you mean.” Immediately Beatrice cursed herself. She hadn’t meant to sound so shrewish.

Traverston laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

“Come, come, Beatrice,” he mocked. “What did you expect me to do? Fall down at your pretty little dimpled feet and beg you to be my bride?” He laughed again, shaking his head. “Surely you know me better than that by now.”

Beatrice looked vexed. “You don’t have to make it sound like such a ridiculous idea,” she said tartly. “After all, you must have an heir one day, and then who are you going to marry?” She sneered. “Some little missish girl out of the schoolroom?” She laughed a sound almost as unpleasant as the marquis’s. “No, you are right, Trav,” she agreed. “I do know you. You’d never marry some milk-faced puling little brat.”

In the span of a heartbeat, her manner changed. Once again she was soft and seductive. She stood up and melted into Traverston’s arms as if she had every right to be there.

Lowering her eyelashes, she looked up at him through their silken length, the action making her appear more felinelike than ever. “But you could marry me. I’m a countess, and eminently respectable. I even have a small fortune of my own…not that you would need it.” Her voice grew softer. “Wouldn’t you like to be married to me, Trav?” she purred, her hands stroking his body. “Don’t you like it when we’re together?”

Abruptly he stood up, inadvertently dumping the countess on the floor. He stalked away a few paces before he snapped around to face her again. The lines and planes of his face were harsh, and his expression was one of contempt.

“Do you know, Beatrice? I find that I grow more tired of you every day. That’s why you got the bracelet instead of a ring.” He laughed when he saw her expression. “Oh, please. Don’t play the wounded lover with me.” Abruptly he moved to where he had dropped his coat and pulled it on, his movements hard and rigid with anger. “You know the rules of the game as well as I do, and I’ve let you step around them once too often.”

She gasped in outrage, but he cut her off before she could make a reply. “This liaison has gone on far too long.” He smiled coldly at her. “It’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance, my dear.”

As she struggled to get up off the floor and retain her dignity, he let out his final parting shot as he was opening the door. “Oh, and Beatrice,” Traverston added almost as an afterthought, “I’m already married.”

The door slammed shut on her outburst.

It should have been a magical scene. It was not.

The green-marble and gold ballroom was filled to capacity with the wealthy and the beautiful, but the sight filled the marquis with disgust. The hot, airless ballroom was permeated with the sweet pungent odor of exotic perfumes overlaid with the acrid smell of unwashed bodies. The combination made Traverston wish that he had gone anywhere but to this gathering tonight. Still, for some reason he could not name even to himself, he stayed.

He lounged negligently against a fluted Corinthian column and casually watched the crowd through narrowed eyes. In silence, he cursed the misguided sentiment that led him to accept the invitation to this particular ball. If only Beatrice hadn’t chosen last night to spring her little surprise on him, he might have been at the opera tonight with her instead.

But no, he corrected himself. Regardless of what her intentions had been, he would have had done with her yesterday. To think otherwise was plain and simple folly.

He grunted in disgust. He must be getting old to be thinking such maudlin thoughts. Absently he retrained his wandering mind onto the whirling couples below him.

Traverston did not normally attend social functions of the ton. This came as a great relief to most of the hostesses of the upper ten thousand. As a wealthy bachelor with an important title, the marquis’s presence in London could hardly be ignored, so the ladies sent him their engraved invitations edged with gold. But they usually prayed fervently that he would not come. On one thing the gossipmongers were all in agreement: the Marquis of Traverston was a most disturbing man.

Usually it was in Traverston’s best interests to oblige the dragonesses that dictated the whims and fancies of society. He didn’t, after all, think much of their frivolous parties and gay gatherings. But tonight, he hadn’t been in the mood to oblige them. In fact, he had gone out of his way to get the vicious rumor mill started tonight. Already he had ruined one gentleman’s reputation over cards, and if he had anything to say about it, he would terrorize the sweet young debutantes later this evening just for fun.

“What? Lord Traverston?” A jovial voice bombarded his eardrum, disturbing his solitary reverie. “Bit of a surprise to find you here, old chap.”