“I know that look.”
Constance slid her gaze to Marguerite before she forced herself to set down her fan and pick up her teacup. She had been invited over for this intimate chat, and right away the countess had picked up the signal that something was wrong. Blast the woman for seeing more than Constance wanted to reveal.
Nevertheless, she tried to attempt ignorance as she murmured, “And what is that?”
“You have a new lover, don’t you?” Lady Blessington looked her up and down, and Constance wondered if she might be wearing a sign that proclaimed her current, lust filled status.
“Actually, no,” Constance returned evenly. And while it might not be perfectly true, as she had yet to lay with Devin, she remained firm on that vow that she never would. But after today and the way he’d managed to coerce her into something so shocking, and in broad daylight in an alley next to a busy street, she wondered if that personal promise might soon be broken.
“But something has occurred. There’s no disguising that look of satisfaction on a woman’s face,” Marguerite noted, but then she gave a little moue of disappointment. “It’s your choice to keep things secret with your ‘cousin,’ of course, but I thought we were friends who shared a confidence. Tsk, tsk, Mrs. Hartford.”
Instead of getting into an argument that might cause Lady Blessington to withdraw her friendship, Constance changed the subject. “Have you ever heard of a metamorphosis ball?”
Her companion laughed. “What a change in topic! But you do know how to divert my attention.” She thought a moment. “Do you mean the gender bending events held by Empress Elizabeth of Russia, and her niece-in-law, Catherine the Great? Naturally, everyone has heard about them.”
“Do you think you might be persuaded to host one?” Constance asked.
“Here?” At first the lady seemed reticent as she glanced about the expanse of the parlor, which wasn’t entirely modest in furnishings or riches by any means, but then she slowly appeared to warm to the idea. Constance could almost see the wheels beginning to churn inside her mind. “It would definitely be the most talked about event of the season and would certainly get me noticed among the circles of the upper echelon,” she mulled aloud. “But do you think William might disapprove of his subjects coming to such a scandalous affair? He doesn’t appear to be as brash as Prinny was, although I could definitely picture his predecessor coming to the ball dressed in an extravagant gown.”
Constance had known Prinny when she’d previously been in London and it was true he had been prone to certain, outlandish behavior. In truth, he quite reveled in it. “While William might be happily married to Princess Adelaide now,” Constance noted. “He kept an Irish actress, Mrs. Jordan, as his mistress for a number of years. Together they had ten illegitimate children, so perhaps we are underestimating his ability to enjoy a good-natured affair.”
“Hmm. I suppose you’re right. I will definitely give it some thought.” The lady lifted a brow. “If I address it as a masquerade as well, that might offer a bit of mystery and anonymity to those that might be hesitant to attend. Should we request that the recipients come dressed in Georgian attire to honor the original balls held in Russia?”
Constance instantly imagined Devin standing along the sidelines in a silver sack back dress with a white feathered mask, while she wore a black waistcoat, jacket and breeches with white stockings and buckled shoes. Their eyes would meet from across the crowded room and they would slowly move toward each other, and then slip away to a quiet, secluded room… “Oh, most definitely,” she returned in a breathless whisper.
Marguerite clasped her hands together. “I do believe that you have convinced me! I daresay the count and his wife will be overjoyed to see some of these stuffy English dandies turned on their heads.”
Again, Constance thought of Devin and how she wouldn’t mind if he was horizontal. On a bed. On top of her. “I daresay I’m rather eager about the prospect too.”
“What prospect is that?” As the Count walked in and Marguerite began to gush about the upcoming ball, practically speaking as though it was her idea, Constance just let her enjoy the moment. She would be hosting it, after all.
When the countess finished speaking, D’Orsay murmured, “It sounds intriguing. I shall visit the modiste this afternoon and begin looking for just the right fabric.”
“No doubt you will be the belle of the ball,” Lady Blessington cooed with unconcealed admiration.
Taking that as her cue to depart, Constance bade them both a fond farewell and promised to meet them later that evening to attend Almack’s. While Constance had heard that the assembly rooms had started to decline in recent years, the excitement of gaining one of those rare vouchers was still very much alive. In order to achieve entry, one had to impress the reining patronesses whose approval could make or break a hopeful young lady in society. Because of this, Constance was still delighted to have the chance to attend. If nothing else, it would give her a glimpse of everything she had always been denied as a courtesan. But as the Countess of Blessington and Count D’Orsay’s personal guest, her entrée was properly secured.
A smile had graced her face as Constance left Mayfair, but as the hired hackney deposited her in front of her current residence, for some reason her spirits started to falter. She had been excited to tell Devin that the countess had agreed to the metamorphosis ball, but then she realized that wasn’t what bothered her the most. It was that she was starting to enjoy this little acquaintance a bit too much. It was as if she was already his mistress and this was the home she shared with him, as opposed to where she was merely allowing him to stay while he recovered from his injuries.
Constance stopped on the front step and put a hand on the railing to gain some sense of equilibrium. She could not go down this destructive path again. Madame Corressa was quickly starting to take control and Constance was allowing it to happen. Desire was once again charging ahead and another section of her soul was being chipped away. If she ever had any hope of recovering anything that she had allowed passion to destroy, then she had to resist the urge to succumb, no matter how much she was tempted by Devin and his wicked charms.
Standing up straight, Constance walked through the front door and climbed the stairs to her chamber. It had been a rather warm, summer day and with the trickle of perspiration trailing down her spine, she was anxious to take a long, soaking bath.
After her maid had assisted her with her clothes, Constance realized how grateful she was for the pump that had been built into the basement, so she didn’t have to employ a trail of footmen just to heat water and make several trips upstairs before the tub was finally filled. While she enjoyed the shower bath most of the time, right now she felt the need to relax before that evening’s events.
With her hair hanging down her back, Constance sank into the lilac scented water and slowly exhaled as she submerged her body beneath the water, the edge lapping just over the tops of her breasts. The steam quickly made her sleepy and she had difficulty keeping her eyes open. Giving in to the urge to take just a short repose, she leaned her head back against the lip of the tub.
She wasn’t sure what woke her, or if she had actually dozed off, but there was no mistaking Devin and his coy expression as he leaned against the wall in front of her and appeared to enjoy the view. His thumb was slowly moving across his lower lip and his eyes were so dark that the pupils nearly eclipsed all the color.
She gasped and reached for something to throw at him. She found the soap and threw the bar at him, which he easily evaded. “Get out of here! Don’t you understand privacy?”
“Generally, yes.”
When he didn’t move, she threw her hands up in the air. “Then why don’t you practice some of it and leave me in peace?”
He seemed distracted and that was when she realized that, in her frustration, she’d sat up, gaining him a perfect view of the tips of her breasts. She huffed and reached for the nearby linen that had been left out. She stood up and wrapped it around her, tucking it securely under her arm as she stepped out onto the floor.
She would have marched into her bedchamber and slammed the door, but Devin suddenly blinked, as if coming out of some sort of trance. “We have a problem.”
