As they paused in the doorway to Harriette’s salon, Diana suddenly froze with panic. For months she had worked toward this goal, questioning Madeline, trying to absorb the sometimes shocking answers. She had acquainted herself with her body, done strange exercises to strengthen internal muscles, and learned how to throw a knife for self-defense. But even though she had been a dedicated student, the goal had seemed distant, dreamlike.
Now reality was upon her. Until this moment she could have turned back at any time to safe respectability. But once she set foot in this room, a fallen woman among other fallen women, the die was cast; she would be a whore, even if she never took a penny from a man. For an instant she considered flight; Madeline would take her away and she could abandon her insane ambition.
Diana’s fearful pause was as effective as a planned grand entrance. Men were turning to look at her, their expressions running the gamut from simple admiration to naked lust. There must have been at least twenty men staring at her, all of them richer, stronger, and more powerful than she, and Diana was terrified to immobility.
Madeline touched her elbow, silently offering support, and Diana’s fears ebbed. Her breath eased out, her heart returned to its normal rhythm. Her entrance into this room might brand her a prostitute, but no man could have her without her consent. Lifting her chin, Diana entered the salon, Madeline half a step behind her.
Within seconds men were approaching, eager smiles on their faces as they vied to introduce themselves. The voices jumbled together: “I’m Clinton . . .” “Ridgley, ma’am. Very much at your service . . .” “Major Connaught, m’dear. May I get you a glass of champagne?”
As she looked into their admiring faces, the evening suddenly seemed so simple, so enjoyable, that she could not imagine why she had been frightened. With a peal of delighted laughter she offered her hand to the nearest one, a short redheaded fellow with bushy side whiskers. “Good evening, gentlemen, I am Mrs. Diana Lindsay, and I would very much enjoy a glass of champagne.”
The redhead reverently kissed her hand while a balding gentleman rushed off for champagne. The third man, dark, poetic-looking, and very young, simply stared at her, his mouth slightly open. They really did think she was beautiful, and for the first time in her life Diana felt the power of her own beauty.
The next hour or so passed in a blur. She and Maddy sat by the wall, surrounded by men vying for her attention. She needed to say very little, and every word she did utter was greeted as a brilliant witticism. It was delightful and she felt as bubbly as the champagne, but she was in no danger of forgetting what kind of gathering this was. Across the room, a dark woman and a man in an army uniform were engaged in such astonishingly intimate caresses that Diana was hard-pressed not to stare.
Seeing the direction of her gaze, Madeline whispered that the dark woman was one of Harriette’s sisters. The Little Fellow was merely the most successful of a notorious clan.
The couple slipped out together. Half an hour later they returned separately, the woman looking well used but pleased with herself. Diana forcefully turned her thoughts from what had happened. If and when she went with a man, it would be as a result of more than fifteen minutes’ acquaintance.
“My dear Mrs. Lindsay . . .” The voice in her ear was gruff and a little hesitant, and she turned to look up into the face of the balding man who had stayed very close since she arrived. He was Ridgley, she recalled.
She smiled with slow promise, the way Madeline had taught her. “Yes, Mr. Ridgley?”
He smiled back with fatuous delight. Incredible that her mere existence inspired such a response. After a long, dazzled moment, he said, “Lord Ridgley, actually.” Clearing his throat, he added hopefully, “Are you looking for a protector, my dear girl?”
She studied him thoughtfully. He was middle-aged and stout, not repulsive, but no Adonis. Still, he had kind eyes. When the time came to take a lover, she could do worse, but Diana was a long way from making that decision. She laid a light hand on his arm. “Perhaps I shall be soon.”
Ridgley swallowed hard. “When you do . . . pray think of me.”
The poor man looked as if he were about to melt, so Diana smiled again. “Would you be so kind as to get me another glass of champagne?”
He hastened off, eager to please her. At the same time, a gypsy fiddle and a roar of encouraging voices sounded at the far end of the salon. A buxom black-haired beauty leapt onto a table and began to dance, her skirt swishing around her legs and her breasts threatening to burst from their restraints at any moment. A young man who wished to join her on the table was being held back by his friends, who were far more interested in watching the woman than a would-be partner.
During the moments when general attention was fixed on the dancing, Madeline leaned over and whispered, “You are doing splendidly, my dear. You could have your choice of any of these men. Did Lord Ridgley offer you a carte blanche?” At Diana’s nod, Madeline continued. “You could do much worse. He’s a pleasant man. Very generous.”
Her eyes widening, Diana asked, “Was he one of your protectors when you lived in London?”
“Let me just say that we are not unacquainted.” Maddy opened her fan and fluttered it as she chuckled. “You seem to be enjoying the worshipful attention.”
“Is that wrong?” Diana said defensively.
“No, but remember that this is only one small part of the game of hearts. Those men don’t just admire you; most of them want to bed you, and your presence here gives them every reason to assume you are beddable,” Madeline warned. “Be careful. Don’t let yourself be alone with any of them unless you are sure that is what you want. Most of these men would not force you, but they will certainly do their utmost to seduce you.”
Diana smiled. “I shan’t make a proper courtesan if I am too prim to run that risk.”
A small line appeared between Madeline’s brows. Her friend still doubted the wisdom of this course, but Maddy knew better than to discuss it further. She stood and said, “Will you be all right if I leave you for a while? I want to talk to an old friend who just arrived.”
“I’ll be fine, Maddy.” Diana gave a reassuring smile. “Truly, I’m a big girl now, well trained by you to deal with all these mysterious male creatures.”
After Madeline left, Diana spent a moment scanning the room. There must be thirty or so men present, and perhaps a dozen women. The crowd around her had eddied between three and a dozen, and four men were staying close in spite of the gypsy dancer’s lures. Lord Ridgley brought her the glass of champagne, murmured a fulsome compliment, then subsided into a nearby chair, content to admire her.
Now her attention was claimed by the young Byronic-looking Mr. Clinton. Turning his back on the dancer, he gazed at Diana in a manner much akin to a puppy’s. He had said almost nothing to her, but now he managed to stammer out, “You are a . . . agoddess.”
Laughing, she replied, “Quite right, Diana was a goddess, of the hunt and of the moon.”
His reply was ardent. “You are justly named, for you have captured my heart. I shall call you the Fair Luna.”
Diana was absurdly reminded of Geoffrey by Clinton’s youthfulness. Despite his handsome face, she felt more like feeding him gingerbread than taking him as a lover. As she sought a reply that would kindly acknowledge his worship without encouraging him further, she felt a prickly sense of unease.
