In the Arms of a Marquess(47)

“I am pleased you are enjoying yourself, my lady.” He pulled his big black horse back and favored the countess with a smile that turned Tavy’s heart inside out. It did not seem to matter to that faulty organ that he had kissed another man’s wife the night before, or another man’s betrothed the day before that, no matter how much either lady had encouraged him. And Tavy had no doubt Priscilla Nathans welcomed his embraces as much as she did.

A megrim settled into the back of her skull and commenced creeping its way forward beneath her eyebrows. Her contrary gaze flickered to him and she bent her head to hide it beneath the brim of her hat, allowing herself to stare at him astride his muscular mount. Man and beast made a beautiful pair, just as the first time she had ever seen him.

“My lord,” Lady Gosworth said, “my husband does all his business in East Indian trade, and he has been there twice, yet he refuses to tell me a jot about the place. He says he does not have a knack for telling travel stories. I would be so pleased to hear something of it from you if you would oblige us.”

“It has been some time since I last visited there, ma’am. You might ask Miss Pierce, however. She only recently returned to England after quite a lengthy sojourn in the East Indies.” His tone did not mock or tease. He sounded perfectly sincere. Tavy’s throat dried up like the Arabian desert.

“How silly of me,” Lady Gosworth exclaimed. “You are such a lovely girl, I had forgotten you spent so much time there.” Her look grew avid. “They say you have a pet monkey.”

Tavy nodded. “I do.”

“How on earth did you come by him?”

“I found him in the market. He was a runt, brought from America,” trapped in a horrid cage, half-starved and bleeding from unmentionable places. At sight of him, Tavy had nearly swooned, then rang a peel over the vendor’s head and took the tiny urchin home. She left him uncaged, but he had never left her.

“I daresay he is quite like my pug,” Lady Gosworth cooed. “A veritable darling.”

“I daresay,” Ben murmured.

Tavy’s gaze shot to him. Her breath failed. His eyes shone with shared amusement.

“Precisely like your pug, my lady,” she managed. “I have no doubt.”

“Whatever did you name him?” the countess asked.

She chewed upon her thumbnail through the tip of her glove. “He is called Lal,” she mumbled.

Ben’s gaze shifted. Warmth spread deep through Tavy’s middle. She should not allow it, but her body would not listen to her rational will.

“Lal.” Lady Gosworth said thoughtfully. “I don’t believe I have ever heard that name. It must be Hindustani.”

“Sanskrit, actually.”

“Whatever does it mean?”

Tavy’s eyes apparently had a will of their own as well. “Oh, nothing of note,” she replied, captive in his gaze. “D-Dear one,” she lied, as always only when he inspired it. She had named Lal because of what still simmered in her memory, her very blood, after years. And somehow knowing that the monkey spent time each day in his house had comforted her.

For far too long she had allowed herself to be a fool.

Desire. Lal meant desire.

He must know it. His mouth curved up at one side, the crease appearing in his cheek that had once devastated Tavy. It still did. Her heart beat furiously. How could he smile at her now as though he had not been cruel only two days ago? As though he had not made love to Priscilla Nathans the previous night?

But Tavy’s nature tended toward happiness—or it had years ago, before she tried to deny it. And precisely that look on his handsome face had always encouraged her. Her resolutions of the previous night in her bedchamber wavered. She smiled. His black eyes sparkled in the slanting afternoon sunlight.

Lady Nathans spoke, and Tavy’s nascent, unwise pleasure abruptly died.

“You have given your horse a foreign name as well, haven’t you, Lord Doreé?” She gestured toward the animal.

“She is Kali,” he said simply. “The black one.”

“Oh dear, my lord.” Lady Gosworth giggled. “It seems you were not any more imaginative than Miss Pierce in choosing names.”

Tavy glanced aside. “To the Hindus, my lady, Kali is a fierce, destructive goddess. Most often she is depicted with four arms, brandishing a sword and a severed head.”

Lady Gosworth paled. “Good gracious.”

“Is that what you think of women, my lord?” Lady Nathans asked silkily. “That they are destructive?”

“No, indeed,” he replied without inflection, but he looked at Tavy.

She did not hold her tongue as she knew she ought. “Fierce, then?”

“If only it were so,” he said quietly. “It might be easier then.”

She knew they were watched. She could practically feel Lady Nathans’s gaze upon them, and Lady Gosworth’s curiosity. But she couldn’t care. For a moment, a flicker of time, Tavy was lost and she had no wish to be found. Not just yet.

In truth, never.

“Doreé,” Lord Styles called over. “Let’s have a go at the river road, shall we? I challenged Crispin to it earlier and he is game.”

Ben pressed his mount forward toward the baron.

“Must you?” Constance said. “That road is full of holes. You will lame a horse.”