Diana hesitated. “What will the men present expect?”
“You won’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Madeline assured her, “though it might be better to leave before it gets too late, since there are always those who drink too much. Will you come? I do want to go, but not alone, and I doubt Edith could be persuaded.”
“If you want to, of course I’ll go with you,” Diana said. Absorbed in her thoughts of Gervase, she hadn’t considered how dull Maddy’s life was. Getting out would be better than staying home and brooding for still another evening.
* * *
The Argyle Rooms were very splendid and, most of the time, very respectable. Tonight, however, decent women kept their distance to avoid contamination; also, perhaps, to avoid the horrid possibility of seeing their own fathers, husbands, or sons join the Fashionable Impures, “a company more fair than honest.”
Madeline was lovely in a bronze-colored dress cut modestly in deference to her years. In a mood to be admired, Diana wore a blue silk gown, which she thought rather dashing, but which was positively prudish in this company, where the most daring exposed their breasts completely.
There were many young bachelors since they were the Cyprians’ best customers; men were not expected to live without sex until they wed. The women were uniformly attractive, and far more flamboyant than respectable ladies. The dancing was also far more intimate, and some of the activities in corners caused Diana to turn her eyes quickly away.
But Maddy was right: it was good to be among people. Concern for Gervase was a weight on her heart, but the music was gay, the dancing lively, and high spirits abounded. She and Madeline quickly attracted a group of admirers, several of whom she had met on her previous excursions into the world of the demireps. Naturally Harriette Wilson herself was present, and gales of appreciative laughter came from the circle around her.
Diana relaxed, chatting and listening and even dancing with some of the shyer young men, who seemed unlikely to be too demanding. Seeing that her protégée was doing well, Madeline wandered off in midevening to talk with old friends.
The night was well advanced when Diana found a quiet corner by the musicians’ platform to catch her breath and watch the dancing. After a few minutes, a group of young men stopped nearby. From their rowdiness it was obvious that they had been drinking heavily, and Diana edged away, not wanting to catch the young bucks’ attention.
As she did, she noticed an elegant young man with light brown hair several feet in front of her. He seemed familiar, and after a moment she recognized him as Francis Brandelin, Gervase’s cousin, whom she had met briefly the same evening she had met the viscount. Like her, he was watching the dancers and minding his own business.
One of the group of drunken revelers said in a voice pitched to carry over the music, “Look! Who would believe that Brandelin would be here? From what I remember of Eton, I wouldn’t have thought women were his preference.”
A coarse burst of laughter greeted the remark, and Diana saw Francis Brandelin’s lips tighten to a thin line as his face paled. Another drunken voice said, “But he’s such a pretty fellow, maybe he wants to rival our Harriette.”
Diana caught her breath at the cruelty of it. What they implied was the most vicious of slanders, an allegation of a crime punishable by death. Their target looked stricken and unsure, as if torn between confronting his accusers, ignoring them, or walking away.
Moved by pure impulse, Diana came forward from her corner to stand in front of Gervase’s cousin. Laying a hand on his arm, she said in a throaty, seductive voice, “Francis, darling, I’m so glad you came. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
He stared at her, his expression strained and confused. As the jeers from the neighboring group died away, she linked her hands around his neck and said reproachfully, “You’ve been neglecting me, darling. It’s been three days.” She sighed, then added huskily, “That last time wassucha night.”
Standing on tiptoe, she pressed a light kiss on his lips, saying softly as she drew back, “Don’t look so surprised. Smile at me as if you mean it, then we can walk away from them.”
Understanding flickered in his eyes and he smiled down at her and offered his arm. “It has been much too long,” he said clearly. “I trust you saved tonight for me?”
She cuddled close, looking as provocative as she knew how. “Of course, darling. Tonight, and any other night you wish.”
Leaving dead silence behind, they walked away. When they had circled halfway around the room and were out of sight of the group that had been baiting him, Francis drew her into a vacant alcove and examined her carefully, his expression puzzled. “You’re Diana Lindsay, aren’t you? The Fair Luna who appeared once and has hidden her face since.”
“Yes.” Diana released his arm. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”
“On the contrary, you helped me out of an unpleasant situation. Why?”
Diana glanced at him; then her eyes slid away as she sat on the small sofa. It was easier to act than to explain. “I guess I didn’t like the odds. Six of them and only one of you.”
His voice edged with bitterness, he said, “Would you aid me if what they said was true, if I was guilty of abominations?”
Startled, she raised her eyes to his. Madeline had once explained in a matter-of-fact way how some men preferred their own kind and were greatly reviled for it. It seemed bizarre to Diana, something entirely outside her experience, and she had no idea how to respond. But as she studied Francis Brandelin, she could feel the anguish in him. “A woman in my trade is hardly qualified to speak of abominations. I prefer to live and let live.”
His face eased and he sat down next to her. “Then you are very unusual.” Francis’s gaze was appraising. “That time you appeared at Harriette’s, my cousin St. Aubyn reacted to you like . . .” He paused, searching for a suitable simile. “. . . like Galahad seeing the Holy Grail. I asked once if he was . . . seeing you, and he justlookedat me, then changed the subject.”
His voice held a questioning note and Diana almost laughed aloud. She knew all about how Gervase couldlook,and it was comforting to know that he was the same with his nearest relative as he was with her. Shaking her head, she said, “Would you expect me to be less discreet than he?”
“I suppose not,” he said with regret. “I hoped that he had made some arrangement with you. He works too hard. I’d like to think he found time for some enjoyment.”
“You and your cousin are close?”
He shrugged expressively. “I suppose I’m as close as anyone. He was the nearest thing I had to a brother. When I started at Eton, he kept the other boys from bullying me too much. After my father died, he was one of my guardians until I came of age, though he was in India much of the time.”
