A Rational Arrangement, page 33
Thinking about greatcats reminded Wisteria of Lord Nikola, how he’d said he identified better with their lessened interest in hierarchy. Hadn’t he said once there was something different about their minds? I wonder what. There were obvious differences – greatcats were far, far less inclined to violence: one never heard of greatcat criminals. But she doubted that was what Lord Nikola had meant. Maybe I should ask him when he gets back. I don’t think it even need be on my forbidden list. Her heart warmed at the thought of the list and Lord Nikola asking for the first item on it. Not to mention his wondrous answer to it. I wonder if he’ll ask for the second, or if we may continue…discussing…the first. That thought heated a part rather south of her heart. Her whole body ached to feel his touch.
Desire was by no means unfamiliar to her: her craving for a lover was one of the reasons she had not abandoned her search for a husband years ago. Although, ironically, her desire to marry – to have a legitimate lover, sanctioned by the Savior and approved by family and society – was one of the factors that had prevented her from ever having had a lover. No man in Newlant would want ‘damaged goods’, or a bride of questionable virtue. Why virginity was desirable at all, much less a virtue, mystified her. Inexperience was not valued in any other endeavor in life: why this one? There were obvious advantages for children to have two parents committed to their relationship, but pregnancy could be avoided by a number of means less drastic than abstinence. In prior centuries, some dangerous diseases had been spread through sexual congress, but these days the Blessed could treat them easily and such were now both rare and trivial. It was, granted, a trifle daunting to imagine her fumblings being compared to the acts of Lord Nikola’s prior lovers. But the obvious solution there was that she needed more practice, not that he needed less.
Not that she’d had any real opportunity for practice anyway. Men that she could have been tempted by, certainly, but if they’d been interested she had not noticed, and her desire had not been strong enough before to outweigh the expectations of her family, society, and position. She understood intellectually that any liberties she allowed – never mind encouraged – would be a stain on her reputation. That men could not be trusted to protect such a secret, and that any man with whom she indulged in such behavior would think less of her for it. None of which made the slightest hint of intuitive sense, of course. Nonetheless, family, teachers, and classmates had all agreed that anything with the slightest hint of sensuality to it must be avoided outside of marriage (and possibly inside of marriage too, depending on whom she consulted). That had been enough in the past to deter her from any attempts.
But she’d never met anyone as attractive as Lord Nikola, nor anyone who had so encouraged her to be bold with him. And she had been shockingly bold, and the result had been amazing. Better than anything she had fantasized. She had longed to be touched before, but never like this, a sensation so overwhelming it eclipsed all other feelings. All she wanted was to do it again, only more, and not care about the consequences.
It would be nice if he were interested in marriage, but she found it hard to care that he was not. They were wrong about men not being trustworthy, or at least wrong as it applies to Lord Nikola. We did not do much that was so wrong and he was still taking measures to make sure that it went unnoticed. And he said he respected and admired me. That memory glowed like an ember inside her, bright and full of joy. She knew what she wanted was something everyone had told her she should not want and could not have, but it was impossible to care. I ought to talk myself out of this resolution. I am not good at secrecy. What if I blurt out the truth or something that makes the truth apparent to everyone and my whole family hates and disowns me? Well, Byron would not disown me, I think. Everyone else, then. This truly ought to be more important than satisfying my lust. No matter how intense that lust might be. Wisteria leaned against the rail, not seeing the dancers or anything else, but remembering the feel of Lord Nikola’s caress down her back.
“Miss Vasilver.” A masculine voice broke into her thoughts, and she turned to see Lord Comfrey’s handsome, broad-shouldered figure. He was not so tall as Lord Nikola – only a few inches taller than herself – but his deep-chested frame gave an impression of such power that he seemed larger, magnificent in a long scarlet jacket patterned with gold. He took her breath away; an uncomfortable reminder that Lord Nikola was not the only extraordinarily handsome man of her acquaintance. “What are you doing up here all by yourself?”
He was smiling; as was her usual default, she took the question for factual and not accusatory. “Watching the dancers.”
Lord Comfrey chuckled. “That answers the ‘what are you doing’ but not the ‘all by yourself’. Lord Nikola cannot have abandoned you so early? Or, wait – you found his company so tedious that you abandoned him?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. He was called away by an emergency, but he plans to return.” Soon, I hope.
“What sort of emergency? Is his family all right?”
“Oh, nothing to do with them, my lord. A petitioner.”
“Ah.” Lord Comfrey rested a hand against the railing next to her, but turned sideways to face her, rather than watching the dancers.
Wisteria searched her mind for useful small talk and fell back on imitation. “And you, Lord Comfrey? What are you doing up here all by yourself?”
“Why, making conversation with the most beautiful woman at the ball,” he answered. Puzzled, Wisteria looked about to see whom he meant, and Lord Comfrey laughed. “I am referring to you, Miss Vasilver. You are meant to take it as a compliment.”
“Oh.” She felt more as if he were making sport of her. No one but Byron and her mother ever called her beautiful.
“I see Miss Vasilver is not to be flattered for her exquisite looks. Am I forced to confess my wish to speak with the most intelligent woman at the ball as well?”
Now he had to be mocking her, even if calling her smart made more sense than calling her beautiful. She leaned on the railing, watching the glittering guests turn and bow below. “You’d best start looking for her, then. It’s early yet, you might have time to find her.”
He laughed again. “I daresay I already have.”
“Then perhaps you should screw up your courage and speak with her instead of me,” Wisteria said.
“Ouch.”
She stole a glance at him; he looked unhurt, although no longer smiling. She didn’t know what that signified. “Shouldn’t you be entertaining the young lady you invited to this occasion?”
He smiled again. His features did not have the stark perfection of Lord Nikola’s: nose slightly bumpy instead of straight, lips narrow, dark eyebrows low and a bit crooked, face rather triangular – but the imperfections did not detract from the overall appeal. Added to it, perhaps, making his face more interesting. She looked away quickly before she started staring, listening as he said, “Alas! The weakness of the flesh forced me to withdraw from the dance floor earlier, and when I returned – mere minutes later! – my partner had already been cruelly stolen from me. My sister even now dances with that cad Blackwell, leaving me no choice but to inflict my presence on innocent young women such as yourself. Or sulk in a corner, I suppose, but what sort of a man would I be if I did that?”
“Your sister?” I must have missed that in the introduction earlier. “What terrible plague do you have that you had to ask your sister to the Ascension Ball?” Wisteria asked without thinking.
That made Lord Comfrey laugh again. “The kind that makes one procrastinate until it’s too late to ask anyone else who is not already engaged. Fear not, I am assured it’s not contagious.”
She realized belatedly how insulting that must have sounded. “I apologize, my lord, I intended no offense – it’s just something Lord Nikola said to me earlier—”
“Ah, so Lord Nikola is the one who intended to offend me?”
“No, no, not at all, he was speaking of what other people would say if…oh, I am not going to recover from this, am I? Please forgive me, Lord Comfrey.”
“Forgiven.” Lord Comfrey smiled at her again, and gave her a slight bow. “In return, might you be so good as to tell me what I did to annoy you, that I might ask forgiveness for that?”
“Oh…” Wisteria hesitated, suspecting she had completely misread the situation. As usual. “I thought you were mocking me, my lord. With that exaggerated flattery.”
“Ah.” He leaned against the rail, watching her. “I will confess to occasional use of hyperbole, miss, although in this particular instance I do not believe I resorted to it. Certainly it was not my intent to make mock of you. Why would you think that?”
She was facing the opposite balcony, her ear to him to hear him better. Does he truly think me beautiful? She could not ask. The crystals on her dress and in her hair caught the gaslight from the chandeliers and reflected it back, scattering spots of light around her. “I am…very bad at discerning intent, my lord. I took you for serious the other day when you made sport of Mr. Edgewick, and now I am wary of making the same mistake again.”
“I see. I know I warned you not to take me seriously, Miss Vasilver, but I assure you I would not sharpen my tongue at your expense. I save my mockery for deserving men – fortunately there’s always at least one around who suits, if the mood strikes me.”
“Always?” Wisteria glanced about them; their section of the balcony was clear of other traffic for the moment.
“Indeed.”
“And who would be that man now?”
“Why, myself, of course.”
Amusement bubbled inside her. “And what have you done to deserve such abuse, my lord?”
“Oh, the list is endless, my dear. The ball would be over before I was half-done. Why, I am so well-known as a monster that entirely blameless young women must assume I approach only to demean them.”
“It may be that these young ladies are a trifle oversensitive.”
“I would never say that.” He turned to rest his hands on the railing beside her, not close enough to impinge on her personal space, but she had the sense of his presence anyway. She caught the faint musk of his cologne, pleasant but curious, like chocolate and leather.
“Think it, perhaps?” Wisteria offered, stealing a sidelong glance at him. Lord Comfrey was not merely handsome but disturbingly attractive. It seemed especially wrong of her to find him so after she’d been kissing a different man not an hour ago.
“…perhaps.” He smiled for a moment before sobering. “But no, I do believe the fault is mine alone. I am quite the monster, after all.”
“And in what way are you monster, my lord?” Does your monstrosity extend to ravishing purportedly blameless young women? May I volunteer? Accustomed as she was to having her thoughts run on inappropriate topics, this one surprised even her. Am I so much the slattern that I crave any man’s touch now? She knew nothing of Lord Comfrey’s reputation on this point, but she’d made no specific inquiries into it either, so that meant little.
“All men are monsters, Miss Vasilver. Did no one warn you?”
“Too many times to count, and I give it no credence whatsoever,” Wisteria answered at once. “It is nonsense designed to rob men of agency and lay the blame for their faults upon their sex. It not only insults men but makes a tiresome excuse, as if one’s gender robbed one of…I was not supposed to take that seriously, was I?”
“Not a bit, but please, do not let that deter you.” Lord Comfrey faced her again with a smile. “What are we robbed of?”
“…responsibility for one’s actions.”
“Ah! That sounds refreshing. I have always longed to be irresponsible.”
Wisteria was beginning to catch on to the dark-haired lord’s irreverence. “Is this where you mock yourself, my lord?”
“You have caught me at it indeed! I hope you do not intend to defend me; I should hate for you to join on the losing side.”
“Should I be part of the attack, then? I might have some ammunition from the Colbury file.”
He considered this for a moment. “All things considered, I’d prefer you didn’t. I have sufficient ammunition against myself already.”
“Am I condemned to the role of mere spectator, in that case?”
“That doesn’t seem gentlemanly, does it? Now that you mention it. Very well, I will abandon my quarrel with myself in the interests of serving the greater conversational good.” The man paused, dark eyes studying her with such exaggerated scrutiny that even she could not miss it. “That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”
“…perhaps.”
“Well-played.” Lord Comfrey turned from the rail and offered his arm. “Will you walk with me, Miss Vasilver?”
“Certainly.” She rested her hand lightly against his forearm: even through the layers of dress jacket and cloth, the hard underlying muscle was evident, thick but with no trace of fat. “Elsewise you might see fit to end your ceasefire with yourself, and I would not wish to be responsible for that.”
“So you are defending me. Cleverly done. You ought to teach my sister that trick: she’s been trying to get me to stop for years. On second thought, don’t. I cannot allow it known that I am so easily thwarted – I shall have to master some way around your gambit.” Lord Comfrey steered her to the nearest door leading to the third-floor hallway, scarlet and gold coattails flaring behind him.
“I hope you do not; I have no better ploy in my mind if you defeat this one. Where are we walking to, my lord?” Wisteria resisted the temptation to caress his arm. It took a surprising amount of effort.
“I don’t know. If you were me, which way would you expect me to go?”
“Oh.” Wisteria was not very good at guessing what other people would do. “Right, towards the grand staircase and the petitioner’s hall? For refreshments.”
“Well enough.” He turned left, strides brisk but not so quick that she could not readily keep pace.
She tilted her head at him as they walked. “Would you have done the opposite of whatever I suggested?”
“Of course.” Lord Comfrey nodded to the liveried greatcat at the end of the hall. The servant pawed open the door with a bow, and they walked through.
“Oh. Are you thwarting my prediction in retaliation for my successful defense of your character?”
“Hmm? No, not at all. I am defending myself from a few overeager acquaintances.” He glanced about the exhibit hall, then drew her to a spot to one side of the doors, half behind the display of mannequins in Abandoned World dress. He leaned against the same wall that had the doors.
Wisteria blinked at him. “Are you hiding, my lord?”
“Me? Hide? No. Not at all. Never. What reason could I possibly have to hide? Inconceivable.” He gave a sidelong glance to the closed doors. “…all right, perhaps a little.”
“I thought I was the only one who did that at balls.” She fell silent as he touched a finger to his lips. The doors swung open inwards, several feet to their right. A group of two men and a woman spilled through. They chattered merrily as they gave a quick look about the room, but the door and the exhibit combined to screen Comfrey from their glance. “We’ll catch up to him,” one of the men said, and the three continued to the next hall.
As the newcomers left, Lord Comfrey took Wisteria’s hand and led her quietly back out the doors through which they had just entered. As the liveried greatcat closed the doors behind them, the lord set her hand back in the crook of his arm and they moved at a casual stroll. “Now, what possible reason would a beautiful gentlewoman such as yourself have for hiding during an evening of such splendid entertainments?”
“I am not good with people. What reason does a handsome lord such as yourself have?”
“Possibly I am too good with people. My dear, why would you say such a thing about yourself?”
“Because it is true? How can one be too good with people?”
He smiled, watching her sidelong as he said, “What sort of reason is that? Where would we be if everyone said things only because they happened to be true?”
“In a more perfect Paradise? I daresay I might even be better with people. Is there a disadvantage to being too good?” Wisteria remembered moments too late that she ought not repeat a question if it went unanswered.
“That depends on whether or not one minds hiding from them occasionally.”
She tilted her head at him as they paced down the long, wide hall, this one adorned with enormous portraits of past rulers encased in heavy gilt frames. Most of the guests were in one of the main rooms; only a few couples were promenading along it as they were.
He must have seen something in her expression – Wisteria had no idea what – because Lord Comfrey tossed back his long black hair and laughed. Sobering, he patted her hand and said, quietly, “Lord Micheldon – the particular individual whose notice we just escaped – is a perfectly harmless, amiable man with a great fondness for fencing, an interest I happen to share. He is also a voluble man who can speak at the sort of length that makes it nigh-impossible for almost anyone else to get a word in edgewise. Now, I am not the sort of man to be silenced easily – or at all, as you may have already learnt to your dismay – so if I wish to discuss fencing or sport or indeed anything else with Lord Micheldon, he is a fine companion. However, if I wish to talk with anyone else about any other topic, I have found it simplest to avoid his attention entirely.”
