“I’ve been thinking, and I have an idea about how to obscure my lack of skill,” Diana said tentatively. In a few sentences she described what she had in mind.
Madeline nodded, impressed. “An excellent idea. You may have a natural talent for this trade after all.” She stood and stretched her arms wide over her head. “I’m walking to Oxford Street to look for some plumes. Care to come with me?”
“That sounds delightful,” Diana said. “I’ll fetch my shawl.”
The rest of the day was equally uneventful, with time spent sewing, discussing the week’s menus with Edith, and listening to what Geoffrey had learned that day. But that night, after putting her son to bed, Diana once more entered the world of the demirep. Several of Madeline’s old friends shared a subscription to an opera box, paying two hundred pounds a year for the privilege of having a shop window for their charms, and Maddy had secured an invitation to join them.
As they entered the first-tier box, Diana saw heads swiveling toward them. She wore shimmering gold silk tonight, a luxurious color that made her hair darkly bright and her skin glow like a peach. The outfit was designed to be noticed, a task it accomplished very effectively. Society ladies ostentatiously turned their heads away, though some took furtive glances, studying the kind of women who lured men away from their homes.
The men were much bolder, staring or squinting through their quizzing glasses in open appraisal. As she slipped into a velvet padded chair, Diana’s attention was caught by a man seated directly across the pit in a box on the same tier. He stared with a dark intensity that reminded her of St. Aubyn, but closer study showed that he was a stranger. The man caught her looking at him and gave a slow, knowing smile. She flushed and turned away before remembering that a Cyprian should encourage such interest.
The people in her own box were a merry crew. A regular subscriber, Juliette, was there with her protector, an aging dandy who kept one hand possessively on his mistress’s bare shoulder. Juliette had a circle of regular admirers, a fact that afforded her protector great satisfaction.
Some of the men Diana had met at Harriette Wilson’s came to pay their respects, and each of them brought friends who begged an introduction and hovered until Diana could scarcely breathe. It was both flattering and alarming. She was learning how to smile and chat with several men at a time, but it was an effort, and she worried about appearing rude by accidentally ignoring someone. Young Mr. Clinton, for example, was so shy that she made a point of drawing him into the conversation.
Diana was beginning to feel faint from the heat and the crowding when a sibilant French-accented voice cut through the babble. “A flower of such perfection will wilt if not allowed air. Would you care to take a turn in the corridor,ma belle?”
Glancing up, Diana saw the man who had caught her eye across the opera house. He was darkly handsome, with hooded black eyes, and an exotic, un-English air. Except for his immaculate white shirt and gold-headed cane, his broad, powerful frame was clothed entirely in black, with an elegance just short of foppishness. Inclining her head, Diana said, “Sir, I do not know you.”
Without taking his gaze from her face, the newcomer commanded, “Ridgley, introduce us.”
Lord Ridgley, Diana’s middle-aged admirer of the night before, performed the introduction unenthusiastically. “Mrs. Diana Lindsay, the Count de Veseul.”
“Now will you walk with me, little flower?” the count asked lazily, extending his arm.
Eager to escape the crush for a few minutes, Diana rose and placed her hand on his black-clad arm. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I will be back shortly,” she said with a warm smile that included her entire court. Ridgley and the others drooped a bit at her defection, then began discussing horses, that never-failing topic of masculine interest.
Since it was between intervals, the corridors were almost empty. Diana inhaled deeply. “I am grateful for your suggestion, my lord. It is much cooler out here.”
“Do you enjoy your first visit to the opera,ma fleur?” His voice was sibilant, and for a large man, he was very light on his feet. Though wide and solid, the count gave the impression that his exquisite tailoring concealed muscle, not fat.
Diana glanced up, catching the black gaze intent on her face. “How did you know this was my first visit, my lord?”
“I attend often,” he said, directing his attention to the corridor ahead. After another dozen paces he mused, without looking at her, “You are quite the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I would surely have remembered you.”
“You do me too much honor, Monsieur le Comte.”
They reached the end of the corridor, where it curved around the outer edge of the building. No one else was in sight. Remembering Madeline’s warning about being alone with a man, Diana felt a touch of uneasiness. Though the Frenchman was attractive, something about him disturbed her. She turned, anxious to go back to other people, but Veseul blocked her retreat, effectively trapping her in a corner.
“Stay a moment,ma fleur,” he said softly, his dark eyes examining her in intimate detail. “I have a small matter of business to discuss with you.”
His broad, black-clad bulk seemed enormous as he loomed over her, and Diana suppressed a faint tremor, telling herself not to be childish. Veseul was being perfectly polite. Besides, he was hardly likely to attack her in such a public place. Though if he did, the music and conversation were so loud in the opera house that a scream might go unheard.
Concealing her unease, she smiled coolly. “I am listening, my lord. Do you have a proposition for me?” After a mere twenty-four hours as a courtesan, she had already received several such offers and could feign nonchalance.
Sliding his hand to the middle of his ebony cane, he raised the stick and, with the delicate grace of a cat playing with a mouse, caressed her face with the gold knob. The warmth of his hand was still in the metal, and the intrusive intimacy of it revolted her. She tried to withdraw from the cane, but her back was already against the wall. As she stood rigid with distaste, Veseul drew the gold knob across her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw, then ran it across her throat with just enough pressure to suggest what it would be like to have her breathing stopped.
“If you wish to win my approval, stop doing that,” she snapped. Ignoring her words, he stroked the cane across the creamy skin exposed by her low-cut gown before pressing it hard into her breast. The knob was skillfully wrought into the head of a serpent, its polished shine almost matching the golden silk of her dress. Diana gasped and shrank back, feeling more assaulted and soiled than if Veseul were mauling her with his hands. Grabbing the cane with both hands, she pushed at it with all her strength, but his wrist was as unyielding as iron.
The count’s eyes followed the path of the gold serpent as it traced a circle around her left nipple, but at her angry gesture they flickered up to meet hers. Without withdrawing the cane, he murmured, “I really must have you. What is your price?”
Revolted and furious, Diana snapped, “Accustom yourself to disappointment—it is too late for any business between us. I do not give myself to mannerless men.” She stepped sideways and tried to walk around him, but the cane shot out, hitting the wall with a sharp crack and blocking her with a breast-high barrier.
His sibilant voice heavy with menace, he said, “I have not given you leave to depart.”
Diana lifted her chin and glared at him. “I am not subject to your wishes or desires, nor ever will be. Let me pass.”
He smiled then, a lazy smile all the more chilling for its genuine amusement. “If you dislike me so much, you would be wiser to yield to me immediately. When I was introduced to you, an hour of your company would have sufficed. After just this little interchange, I will want a full night to have enough of you.”
