Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(11)

What a very odd thought to have about an admitted rake!

Hero blinked and realized that Mandeville was offering his arm. “My dear?”

She smiled, dropping a curtsy for Reading before taking her fiancé’s arm.

Reading swept into a bow so extravagant it verged on mocking. “My congratulations to you, Thomas, on your engagement. Lady Hero.”

He nodded rather more curtly to her and then turned to disappear into the crowd.

Hero let out a breath she did not know she was holding.

“I hope he wasn’t too trying,” Mandeville murmured as he led her toward the dance floor.

“Not at all,” she said, nodding to a passing matron.

She felt more than saw his sharp look. “Some ladies find him very enticing.” His tone was so neutral it might as well have been a warning shout.

“I’m sure they do,” she said gently. “The hint of danger and that wicked grin no doubt have many a feminine breast aflutter. But I’ve always found a man who knows his responsibilities and keeps them far more attractive than one who spends his life playing.”

The arm beneath her hand relaxed fractionally. “Thank you, my dear.”

“For what?”

“For seeing so clearly what others do not,” he said. “Now, would you care to dance with your betrothed?”

She smiled up at him, liking how the lines about his brown eyes crinkled when he looked at her. “I’d be delighted.”

They danced a minuet and a country dance, and then Hero professed herself in need of refreshment. Mandeville led her to several chairs arranged by the side of the room and found her a seat before going in search of punch.

Hero watched him thread his way through the crowd, admiring his wide shoulders and firm stride. As always, he was stopped every few feet by well-wishers and those who merely wanted to be seen talking to the Marquess of Mandeville. She sighed, content. Really, Maximus had made the perfect choice of husband for her.

“There you are!”

Bathilda Picklewood—or, as she was better known in the Batten household, Cousin Bathilda—settled her substantial frame into a chair next to Hero. A distant relation on her mother’s side, Cousin Bathilda had raised Hero and her younger sister, Phoebe, ever since the death of their parents. Cousin Bathilda’s white hair was crimped into tiny curls about her forehead and was topped by a lacy triangular cap. She wore her favorite plum color, and her magnificent bosom was framed by white lace and black ribbons. From the crook of her arm peered a small black, brown, and white face. Mignon, Cousin Bathilda’s tiny, elderly spaniel, accompanied her wherever she went.

“My dear, I must talk to you!”

Since Cousin Bathilda nearly always spoke in exclamations, Hero merely raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“You mustn’t dance with Lord Griffin Reading ever again!” Cousin Bathilda said with as much urgency as if she were importing state secrets. Mignon barked once as if to emphasize her mistress’s words.

“Why not?”

“Because he and Lord Mandeville loathe each other.”

“Hmm,” Hero murmured, absently scratching Mignon behind her silky ears. “I had noticed a certain strain between them, but I don’t know if I would go so far as to call it loathing. Perhaps a general dislike…”

“It’s much, much worse than dislike, my dear! Don’t you understand?” Cousin Bathilda lowered her voice to a whisper. “Lord Griffin seduced Mandeville’s first wife!”

Chapter Three

Far below the queen’s balcony lay the royal stables. There, the little brown bird would come to roost at night after it had tired of flying. Early every morning, the stable master personally groomed the queen’s favorite mare. As he curried the horse’s chestnut coat, the little bird would sing above him in the stable rafters. And sometimes if the stable master listened hard enough, the bird seemed to be singing these words:

“High, high on the castle walls

A sweet lady weeps alone at night.

Oh, will no one comfort her?…”

—from Queen Ravenhair

It was times like this that being an unmarried lady was particularly galling, Hero thought later that night as she and Cousin Bathilda rode home in the carriage.

“Why couldn’t anyone have told me about the scandal involving Mandeville’s first wife?” she demanded.

“It wasn’t a proper topic of conversation for a maiden.” Cousin Bathilda waved a vague arm, nearly clipping Mignon’s nose where it peeked out from her lap. “Seduction and affairs and all that. Besides, how was I to know that you’d go off and dance with the man as soon as you met him?”

“He asked me in front of Maximus,” Hero said for the third or possibly the fourth time. “Mandeville gave his permission!”

“Couldn’t very well have done otherwise, could he?” Cousin Bathilda replied with irritating logic. “Well, what’s done is done. You’ll just have to be more careful in the future.”

“But why?” Hero asked rebelliously. “You don’t seriously think I’d let myself be seduced by a rake, do you?”

“Of course not!” Cousin Bathilda sounded scandalized at the mere notion. “But everyone will be watching you closely when the man is anywhere near you.”