Calypso Magic

Chapter 4

Nothing annoys a man more than not being taken seriously.

PALACIO VALDÉS

"You intend to do what?" Laughter spilled from her mouth, pure and loud, until she was hiccuping and holding her stomach.

He eyed her show of hilarity, then sighed. "I would like to thrash you, but I suppose you would do your female utmost to destroy my manhood, were I to try it."

"That, cousin, would be only the beginning of what I would do to you." She hiccuped again.

"Let us strive for some maidenly decorum, Diana. You really shouldn't know a thing about my manhood or how to bring it and me, as the natural course of things, low."

"I am not stupid, Lyonel, nor was I raised with horse blinders to protect me from the natural course of things around me." She had the gall to giggle.

"No, I suppose not," he said, his eyes narrowed, "but you are most certainly fast becoming a thorn in my flesh. But then again, I suppose a thorn is natural enough."

Diana ignored that provocation for the moment, harking back to this mistress business. "Why are you so ill-looking? Surely a little amour is for your, well, entertainment. Were you outrageous to her? Did she hurt you?"

"On the contrary.'

"You beat her?"

"Don't be stupid, Diana! Your ten minutes are up. You may now take your leave."

"And you will go back upstairs to her?"

"Listen, you twit, a gentleman does not install a mistress in his home."

"She is hidden away, then."

"Not exactly. Well, just a bit. A gentleman is discreet."

"Not very if you make yourself sick with overindulgence."

He was forced to smile at that image, a very real one in this case. "Yes," he said, "I did overindulge." He caught himself in that instant, fully aware that this conversation was most improper and that he was, at least normally, a gentleman. "I want you to leave now. And remember, little Diana—"

"Little Diana? That is most inaccurate of you, Lyon."

"Oh, just leave, Diana. I am exhausted and I will not take you to Almack's this evening if I do not garner my strength."

"What shall I tell Aunt Lucia?"

"That, you silly chit, is your problem. I do recommend, however, that you do not inform her that you burst into my home with only your footman in attendance and threatened my butler that you would roust me out of my bed."

"Then what shall I say?"

"All right. Now that you have admitted that you are in need of my superior intelligence and experience—"

"Lyonel, you are drawing dangerously close to drown- ing in two inches of water."

"—I will send Kenworthy about again to inform her of the plans. Come along now."

She rose, frowning at him, and walked beside him into the ornate entrance hall. She stopped a moment and stared around her. "This place is rather overwhelming."

"What you mean to say is that it is blessed with nauseating bad taste. You will have to take that up with the spirit world. My grandfather is responsible, not I."

"And now, of course, you have no time to redecorate." She chuckled, unaware that Jamison was standing stiffly in the shadow of a very large, dead-white and naked Greek statue, eyes agog and ears at attention. "I trust you will be in a better humor by this evening?"

"It will tax me, but I shall try." He lowered his voice.

"And, Diana, do remember that when I decide to beat you, you will be beaten, and most thoroughly."

"When? How certain you are of your own strength. I look forward to your howls of pain."

"That is ridiculous. Jamison!" He cursed again, and Diana, curse her, laughed. "Get thee gone. Now."

"More Shakespeare." She leaned closer and said in a stage whisper, "Surely you must now admit to the rake part."

"Yes, most thoroughly," he said through his teeth. He nodded to the now-present Titwiller, and the butler opened the door.

"Until tonight, Miss Savarol."

"I look forward to it with great interest, my lord."

"Impertinent chit," he said under his breath, and made his way back upstairs to bed.

Almack's on King Street, was a disappointment to Diana. She looked around, sighed even with her feet happily encased in new, larger slippers, and prepared to be bored. The place was drafty as a barn, the refreshments, she quickly noted, niggardly, but the company, the glitter of jewels, the sound of the orchestra playing a country dance... She rather hoped that Charlotte would be here. At least it would enliven the evening when she wasn't dancing. Lyonel, in the requisite evening garb of black knee breeches, looked lovely, at least that is what Diana thought, forcing herself to utter objectivity. Odd how the black evening clothes made his blue eyes all the more vivid.

Diana wasn't aware of the difference in the company when they entered, but both Lucia and Lyonel were. He knew that he must threaten Charlotte and make it believable. He did not doubt his ability to muzzle her, and he told Lucia as much.

"I don't know," Lucia said after a moment, thankful that Diana's attention was elsewhere. "Why not let her continue? No one is prepared to believe her, I think. If there is a shift in the wind, you could always turn your guns on Dancy. Poor man, even though he isn't a gentleman, he—"

"No, he isn't. I will think about it, Lucia. But stop it will. Diana should enjoy herself... for the remaining weeks she's here in England."

Lucia frowned a bit at that. She stoutly refused to let her burgeoning plans fade into oblivion, particularly after Diana had taken herself to Lyon's town house. She'd said nothing to Diana, but of course, Didier had pried it out of Jamison and dutifully reported all to her. Diana, she thought proudly, was no faintheart. She only hoped that her niece, of sorts, would eventually come around and decide that she wanted her cousin, of sorts. As for Lyonel, she believed he would succumb eventually if forced to be in Diana's company long enough. Lucia would have succumbed to apoplexy before she admitted to either of the two young people that she was delighted with Charlotte's performance. Otherwise, Lyonel might just as well have ignored Diana and gone his own way, stupid man.

Lyonel, with gentlemanly aplomb, took Diana's arm and led her to the four Almack's patronesses who held court that particular Wednesday evening. Diana was pronounced a sweet girl within Lyonel's hearing. He leaned his head down and said to her, "How much will you pay me not to tell the Countess Lieven the truth about you? Sweet, ha!"

But Diana wasn't to be drawn at that moment, for she'd spotted Charlotte in close knotty conversation with some of her cronies. She squared her shoulders, inadvertently increasing her bosom, much to Lyonel's interest. "I think," she said, her eyes turning green as the moss on an Irish stone, "that dear Charlotte is up to her old tricks again. I dislike being the subject of too many sentences." Then, to Lyonel's surprise, she added, "I do not have too much powder on my face this evening, do I?"

He gave her face due consideration. Her arched brows and absurdly long lashes were a shade or two darker than her rich blondish hair, her nose was thin and neither too long nor too short, and her full lips were now slightly parted as she awaited his opinion.

"You will do," he said abruptly, his own lips tightening. "A waltz. Come, you have all the august permission needed. Remind me to teach you some of the other dances."

"That is too much hopping about for me," Diana said.

"You afraid that you will pop out of that gown?"

"Your memory is most tenacious."

"And your bosom, my dear Diana, is most attracting."

"Worthy of your exalted attention? Even now that you've got a little amour?"

"She, I venture to say, is even more well-endowed than you are, but no matter. I shall simply make do with what is available."

She called him a name, and he threw back his head and laughed deeply. Heads turned toward them, Charlotte's in particular.

Lyonel took her in his arms and whirled her into the middle of the ballroom. "I've never been called that by a lady before," he said after he'd guided her expertly past an older couple.

"I am not questioning your antecedents, merely commenting on your character."

Lyonel realized with a start that he was enjoying himself immensely. The misery he'd lived with for the past months had magically disappeared. The betrayal was still there, making him wary, making him question any and all motives of the so-called weaker s*x, but Diana... impertinent, burly-mouthed girl... He firmly tucked away further considerations and whirled her about in a large circle that made her breathless with excitement.

"I love that!"

"As I said before, you are a natural dancer."

"Oh, heavens, there is dear Charlotte, glaring at me. I do not understand it, Lyonel. Why should she so dislike me? Is it that she is still in love with you? Is she jealous?"

"Diana, I don't wish to speak of Charlotte or of my unfortunate, very brief engagement to that particular lady."

"I wish you would just tell me. You know I shall find out what—"

"Keep your tongue behind your teeth or your beating just might take place sooner than you expect."

To draw him, she said in what she thought an intrigued tone, "Ah, there is Monsieur DuPres. He is giving me the most... thorough inspection. I think I shall dance with him. Do you think he will try to seduce me?"

Lyonel didn't change expression. He was a very experienced old hand at verbal fencing. Usually, the fencing had been with his gentleman friends, not ladies, who tended to agree with him with nauseating regularity. It was most intriguing. "I shall take you to him when the waltz is ended. Perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me of his technique?"

"You are most provoking."

"True. Now, one more big... ouch! Diana, take care with my feet and your heels."

"Sorry."

"The devil you're sorry!"

He whirled her around so quickly that she had to cling to him to keep her balance. Again, that very discomfiting feeling assailed her, deep in her stomach, and she stared up at him, her hand tightening unconsciously on his shoulder. He would have sworn an oath on his favorite stallion's head that he would be immune, but he wasn't. Making love to Lois—Lord, he'd lost count—should have rendered him as uninterested as cold ashes in a summer grate, but here he was becoming as quickly aroused as a randy goat. He quickly pulled away from her, his mouth tight. He would hand her over to DuPres and damn the consequences.

But he didn't, of course. He steered her, eyes straight ahead, back to Lucia, who was surrounded by four gentlemen waiting for Diana to alight in their vicinity.

Lucia was congratulating herself on her brilliant strategy. She'd been the pleased recipient of several observations by other ladies, telling her that Lady Danvers' malicious gossip was all of a piece. "If she is not careful," Lady Ombersely had pronounced, "she will find herself outré. I, myself, will cut her!" Of course, Lucia had no intention of so informing dear Lyonel of the true state of affairs.

His look was a cool stare as he handed Diana over to the nearly drooling Sir Mortimer Dunlevy, the vacuous sod.

"I am going to the card room," Lyonel said, unwillingly following Diana with his eyes as she smiled up at the said. "If I am not mistaken, Dancy will be endeavoring to lose his damned shirt. He believes himself the master of piquet. Indeed, I just might trounce him myself, then tell him in no uncertain terms—"

"No!" Lyonel bent a sapient eye on Lucia.

"Why the devil not?"

"I told you, my boy, that I should like to leave things just as they are. I wish to wait and see which way the wind is blowing."

"Unfortunately, my dearest Aunt, you are not making a whit of sense. I shall do what I think is appropriate." He raised a hand when he saw she would protest further. "I won't say a word until I deem it necessary, however."

Lucia had to be content with that. She watched him stride across the ballroom floor, stopping to chat with friends, nod to acquaintances. She saw young ladies' eyes follow him with wistful hope as well as older ladies with not so wistful looks in their eyes. Her heart no longer ached for him. Diana was fast bringing him back to life and perspective.

Unfortunately, Lyonel was still in the card room when Monsieur DuPres solicited Diana's hand in a waltz. Before she replied, she found herself looking over the group of people, searching for Lyonel. He wasn't there. She tossed her head, smiled at Etienne DuPres, and graciously gave him her hand. If Lyonel returned—and she prayed he would—he would have something to chew over.

Because she was continually looking for Lyonel, she merely nodded and agreed when Monsieur DuPres spoke. He, however, was most pleased and completely unaware of her mental defection. He was a bit surprised when she kept agreeing with him on his compliments to her, but all considered, it was an excellent sign. Lady Danvers had not led him astray. With years of smooth practice, he waltzed her toward the corner of the ballroom and drew her to a halt behind a large potted fern. A pity, he thought, that there was no balcony here at this dreary place.

Diana came to her senses when her feet stopped moving.

"Why are we stopping, monsieur? The music has not come to an end as yet."

He murmured something in seductive French and glided his fingertip over her cheek and down her throat. "So soft, so pliant," he continued in French, wondering now if the chit was so uneducated not to understand his beautifully turned French phrases.

Diana merely looked at him, a slight frown puckering her forehead. "Soft and pliant? That sounds like some sort of tropical flower."

"Ah, yes, pretty little dove, and your scent, so fragrant, So—so séduisante—"

"Sweaty?"

"No!" He muttered something in French again and

Diana guessed with stunning accuracy that it was no compliment.

He splayed his hands in front of her, his fingertips but inches from her bosom. Diana took a step back only to feel the fern tickling her shoulder blades.

"You are ripe for the plucking, are you not, ma petite?"

"No," she said. "No, I am not ripe for anything except perhaps for a glass of that very bland punch."

DuPres frowned, then persevered. "Your body is ripe, for me. I will give you such pleasure, such—"

"Bosh. Excuse me, monsieur. I find you excessively tedious. I wish to return to my aunt." Thus annihilated, Monsieur DuPres, his face alarmingly red, had no choice but to escort the ridiculous girl back to her relative. His next stop was Lady Danvers. He had a few choice words to say to her, and since her French was excellent, he could unburden himself with potent accuracy.

"Why did you dance with that man?" Lucia demanded as Diana fanned herself vigorously with Her hand.

"To spite Lyonel, but he wasn't even here. He is most provoking, Aunt." Lucia smiled. She wondered what she would do if Diana weren't so appallingly honest. "Yes, he is."

Lyonel became more provoking as the night wore on. He did not return from the card room until the early hours of the morning to escort the ladies home. He said nothing, seemingly unaware of Diana's snit, until they reached Lucia's town house. After handing Lucia down, he merely looked at Diana and said, "I trust I do not have to strain my back? Your slippers are still on your feet?"

"They are too large and fell off."

"That is an impossibility. A girl of your size... Come along, Diana. I wish to seek out my bed without having a headache or an upset stomach."

"Still recovering from your bout of amour?"

"No," he said, his eyes glittering at her nasty tone, "I intend fully to continue with my bouting, just as soon as I've rid myself of you."

She again questioned his antecedents, adding a colorful description of his obvious relation to the braying cousin of a horse.

He laughed and whispered close to her ear, "Jealous, Miss Savarol?"

"Monsieur DuPres did say I was ripe for the plucking," she said. "That was when he took me behind a big fern." His eyes narrowed, his lips thinned, and Diana, striving to look as demure as a vicar's youngest daughter, kept her own eyes down so he wouldn't see the drawing laughter in them.

"You disobeyed me."

"Oh, I am too fatigued," she said, yawning.

"I am adding that to my list. Your bottom will feel the flat of my hand." His fingers tingling alarmingly from his own image, he strode off, not looking back at her.

It was difficult, but Lyonel managed it. He didn't leave Lois until the following morning, exhausted and rolled in a sleeping ball in the rumpled bed. But there was a smile on her face, he noted, quite pleased with himself.

At least with this bout of amour, he had given her pleasure, something he prided himself on. He was an excellent lover and found that a woman's moans and groans added to his own passion. The only fly in the ointment was the flitting image of Diana's face in his mind's eye as he caressed Lois' delightful breasts. He found himself wondering as he finally fell into his own bed if Diana would moan and groan, or even perhaps scream when he pleasured her.

Stupid fool.

She would probably yell at him... Yes, a rutting pig, that's what she would call him. She would probably slap away his hands when he would try to caress her, be disgusted at the thought of his tongue coursing over every inch of her body...

At least he was too tired, far too long gone from his bouts of amour to become aroused at the thought of thrashing her bare bottom with his bare hand.

Diana, innocent of bouts of anything remotely s****l, knew only that she felt more alive when Lyonel was with her. She realized, somewhat surprised, that neither of them knew much about the other. They couldn't seem to stop fighting long enough to just talk.

Talk, she decided, drifting into the sleep of the unawakened, was boring. Insults were more fun. And Lyonel was so baitable. She felt only a slight twinge of homesickness as she drifted into sleep.

"You might at least pretend to like it!"

Charlotte dutifully brought her hands down to stroke her hushand's back. "Lord knows you used to beg for it! Are you already planning to cuckold me, as you did Lyonel?" That brought her out of her plotting fog. She stiffened feeling him probe between her thighs.

She started to say something, for she was furious at his carping, but he plunged into her at that moment, saying in a hoarse, angry voice, "You will bear me an heir before you take a lover, damn you!"

"Yes," she said just as he was on the point of spilling into her. "Yes, I will have your heir, then you will be out of my bed!"

He groaned, hating himself for being the biggest fool alive.

She waited until he was through and rolled off her. "I think, Dancy, that dear Lyonel will be my first lover. He is so marvelously large and well-formed, do you not think so? And his beautiful mouth and hands..."

"Lyonel would never come within a foot of you, Charlotte." He was tired, too weary of the farcical marriage even to be drawn. He had lost a man he considered a friend, and all for a woman who hadn't been real. God, that he could have been such a fool.

"We will see," she said, and yawned in his face.

"You are a bore, my dear wife. I fancy I will visit the theater tomorrow evening. I saw a lovely young thing there a week ago. She, I think, will be most accommodating."

"If you are thinking of that voluptuous sweet, Lois Braden, you can forget her."

He was thinking about the stunning Lois, and his wife's knowledge of her momentarily left him speechless. "How the devil do you know her and her name, for God's sake?"

"Men, my dear Dancy, are so naïve. It hurts me so to tell you that she is also now under Lyonel's protection."

Dancy sucked in his breath, but there was no anger against Lyon.

"Perhaps," he said, "Lois has a sister."

"They are all sisters of a sort, are they not? Cheap little harlots who—"

He laughed. "You are truly priceless, you know that, Charlotte?"

"Shut up, you pig."

"I just lost five hundred pounds this evening. You might consider a lover who would pay for your services.

Help defray the cost of all your gowns and the like."

Charlotte, her tongue leaden in her mouth, at least for the moment, slid out of bed and grabbed her dressing gown.

"Why bother, my dear? I have already seen everything you have to offer."

"I would say the same of you, Dancy. Would be that I had seen you more clearly before I consented to bed with you."

"You have no idea how much in accord with you I am on that!"