Room, if you please. We have a small entertainment arranged for you, a brief entr’acte
that will set the mood for the rest of the evening.”
The Egyptian Room was aptly named. The walls were draped with red-and-gold-striped
silk, gathered in the center of the ceiling to transform the room into a pharaoh’s
tent complete with nodding palm trees in brass pots. All the paintings on the walls
were of Egyptian themes, mysterious pyramids and deities with the heads of animals,
and the oversize mantel was supported by a pair of bare-breasted stone sphinxes. Rich
carpets were strewn across the floor, and ornate gold benches, covered with pillows,
replaced ordinary chairs. Tall torchères gave only a shadowy light to the room, and
the heady, musky sweetness of incense contributed to the exotic atmosphere.
With the formal seating from dinner over, I looked for Lord Savage, but to my disappointment,
he was nowhere to be seen. Across the room, the baron beckoned brusquely, as much
as ordering me to join him. Pointedly I turned away and ignored him, not caring if
saving myself meant wounding his pride.
“Sit by me, Mrs. Hart,” the viscountess said, patting the cushioned bench beside her,
and I happily obliged.
“What is the nature of the entr’acte, my lady?” I asked, imagining the usual kind
of after-dinner entertainment: a singer from the opera, or perhaps a violinist. “From
what others were saying around me at dinner, I gather your entertainments are much
applauded.”
Lady Carleigh smiled, preening a bit at the praise.
“My friends are most generous,” she said. “I always strive for originality, you see,
as a wise hostess should. I promised you’d never be bored at Wrenton, and I am a woman
of my word.”
“Mrs. Hart will not be bored tonight, Lady Carleigh,” Lord Savage said, suddenly appearing
behind us with the quiet stealth of a large, predatory cat. “I believe she will find
your entertainment particularly enthralling, considering her predilections.”
Without any invitation, he took the last place on the bench beside me. There was sufficient
room, even for a man as large as the earl, but he still contrived to sit so close
as to press his thigh against mine. He did it carelessly, as if by accident, and took
no outward notice of how our thighs touched.
Yet, I was acutely aware of him there, the hard, lean muscles pressed against my softer
flesh, the inky black of his evening trousers in sharp contrast to the luminous, blush-colored
silk of my gown. I was sure I could feel his warmth, his energy, even through the
layers of our clothes, and I almost longed for the older fashions that would have
insulated me more completely beneath layers of wire hoops and lace petticoats.
I almost wished it, but not quite. Nor did I draw away from him, either. Instead I
let him press his leg into mine, a gentle, insistent pressure that hinted at the other
intrusions he would like to make in to my body.
I slowly opened my fan, hoping he’d take no notice of how my fingers trembled.
“I did not realize, Lord Savage,” I said, “that we’d become sufficiently familiar
for you to identify my predilections.”
“Sufficient for one or two observations,” he said easily, resting his elbow on the
bench’s arm as he turned to face me. “I know that you find it acceptable to jab your
fan into a gentleman’s arm.”
I frowned, tempted to do it again.
“I did not jab it, my lord,” I protested. “I merely tapped it upon your sleeve to draw your attention,
in a manner that is entirely polite and proper.”
He smiled, but a chilly smile, with no humor to it, as he glanced briefly at the small
band of turbaned musicians settling in the corner of the room.
“Perhaps in New York, such bravado is considered polite,” he said, “but in this country,
gentlemen do not appreciated a lady who chooses to wield her fan like a bludgeon.”
“You
that will set the mood for the rest of the evening.”
The Egyptian Room was aptly named. The walls were draped with red-and-gold-striped
silk, gathered in the center of the ceiling to transform the room into a pharaoh’s
tent complete with nodding palm trees in brass pots. All the paintings on the walls
were of Egyptian themes, mysterious pyramids and deities with the heads of animals,
and the oversize mantel was supported by a pair of bare-breasted stone sphinxes. Rich
carpets were strewn across the floor, and ornate gold benches, covered with pillows,
replaced ordinary chairs. Tall torchères gave only a shadowy light to the room, and
the heady, musky sweetness of incense contributed to the exotic atmosphere.
With the formal seating from dinner over, I looked for Lord Savage, but to my disappointment,
he was nowhere to be seen. Across the room, the baron beckoned brusquely, as much
as ordering me to join him. Pointedly I turned away and ignored him, not caring if
saving myself meant wounding his pride.
“Sit by me, Mrs. Hart,” the viscountess said, patting the cushioned bench beside her,
and I happily obliged.
“What is the nature of the entr’acte, my lady?” I asked, imagining the usual kind
of after-dinner entertainment: a singer from the opera, or perhaps a violinist. “From
what others were saying around me at dinner, I gather your entertainments are much
applauded.”
Lady Carleigh smiled, preening a bit at the praise.
“My friends are most generous,” she said. “I always strive for originality, you see,
as a wise hostess should. I promised you’d never be bored at Wrenton, and I am a woman
of my word.”
“Mrs. Hart will not be bored tonight, Lady Carleigh,” Lord Savage said, suddenly appearing
behind us with the quiet stealth of a large, predatory cat. “I believe she will find
your entertainment particularly enthralling, considering her predilections.”
Without any invitation, he took the last place on the bench beside me. There was sufficient
room, even for a man as large as the earl, but he still contrived to sit so close
as to press his thigh against mine. He did it carelessly, as if by accident, and took
no outward notice of how our thighs touched.
Yet, I was acutely aware of him there, the hard, lean muscles pressed against my softer
flesh, the inky black of his evening trousers in sharp contrast to the luminous, blush-colored
silk of my gown. I was sure I could feel his warmth, his energy, even through the
layers of our clothes, and I almost longed for the older fashions that would have
insulated me more completely beneath layers of wire hoops and lace petticoats.
I almost wished it, but not quite. Nor did I draw away from him, either. Instead I
let him press his leg into mine, a gentle, insistent pressure that hinted at the other
intrusions he would like to make in to my body.
I slowly opened my fan, hoping he’d take no notice of how my fingers trembled.
“I did not realize, Lord Savage,” I said, “that we’d become sufficiently familiar
for you to identify my predilections.”
“Sufficient for one or two observations,” he said easily, resting his elbow on the
bench’s arm as he turned to face me. “I know that you find it acceptable to jab your
fan into a gentleman’s arm.”
I frowned, tempted to do it again.
“I did not jab it, my lord,” I protested. “I merely tapped it upon your sleeve to draw your attention,
in a manner that is entirely polite and proper.”
He smiled, but a chilly smile, with no humor to it, as he glanced briefly at the small
band of turbaned musicians settling in the corner of the room.
“Perhaps in New York, such bravado is considered polite,” he said, “but in this country,
gentlemen do not appreciated a lady who chooses to wield her fan like a bludgeon.”
“You
Similar Books
