Furthermore, when Gavin had made his decision to wait for marriage, he had not believed it would be such a long wait. After all, he’d been betrothed since boyhood to the heiress Elin Morris. He’d expected to marry her when she’d turned of age but his father’s death and then the loss of her beloved mother had delayed those nuptials for years. Too many years, and then she’d married another, his youngest brother Ben. Theirs was a true love match and Gavin could not in good conscience hold her to her promise to him.
So, here he was, now three-and-thirty and untried . . . in a room where every man claimed to know the secrets to women, or at least that was what they were shouting at the female “sheep” dancing on stage. Meanwhile, Rov was so confident of his manhood, he was betting on bedding the Siren.
No wonder Gavin felt alone. He wanted to believe that there was something sacred to the marriage bed, to the binding of body and spirit between a man and a woman. “What if you don’t win your wager?” he asked his smirking friend.
“I’ll win.”
“But if you don’t?” Gavin pressed, wanting Rov to consider the error of his ways.
“There are always ways to find money,” was the cryptic answer, and Gavin knew then that he must see Rov removed as Chairman of the Committees. He also knew it would not go over well. Not only for Rov but also for Jane. But how to handle the matter delicately?
The sheep finished their dance by bending over so that everyone could see their bare buttocks beneath the silly costumes. The male crowd hooted their appreciation and then fell into an expectant silence.
“’Tis time for the Siren,” Daniels whispered, leaning forward. Even Harris and Crowder also sat up.
Phillips roused himself from the floor and said groggily, “Have I missed her?”
Several voices around them shushed him and Gavin couldn’t help but be caught up in the moment.
The Siren. A woman of mystery. No one knew her identity and yet all in this theater waited for her. They were also aware of Rov’s boasting wager. It added an edge to the evening.
Then, in the stillness, a woman’s voice, as clear and strong as a songbird’s, sang out. The sound filled the theater.
Gavin looked around for her, expecting her to come from the stage.
Instead, a thick, silver rope lowered. Wrapped around it was a glorious golden creature with raven-black hair. Her translucent dress was light as air. It clung to her well-rounded curves, pulling across full breasts. She wore a mask of sparkling jewels. Her lips were ripe and red. Her legs could be seen through her skirts and her feet were bare.
Gavin’s reaction to the Siren was immediate and demanding. He did not believe he’d seen a more beautiful sight in his life.
He had to stand. He could not sit, and he was not the only one. Rov was clapping, holding his hands in the air as if doing homage. Sir John was twittering and the other men around them including the sharps were equally in awe.
She was no mere actress.
The Siren was a goddess and true to her name had the power to lure men wherever she wanted them. Now, Gavin understood why the theater had been packed. Now, he believed that having once seen her, he would never forget her.
The rope slowly turned.
She raised her leg, bending it at the knee. One arm curled around the rope, a gesture of pure feminine grace. The rope began to swing back and forth. Her diaphanous skirts swirled around her, revealing shapely calves and a glimpse of thigh and, perhaps, something more? Something so tantalizing a man would sell his soul for it?
And all the time she sang.
Gavin didn’t hear the words. All he grasped was the sound of her voice, a voice that called to the deepest part of his soul . . . a voice that actually sounded somewhat familiar—?
The thought was startling. It gave him pause.
She leaned back. Her skirts slipped between her thighs. A man could imagine his hand there, himself there. Her black, black braid whipped around her and she turned and looked right at Gavin.
Her eyes were green.
It was actually hard to tell, even though Rov’s box practically sat on the stage, but Gavin knew.
In fact, he knew who she was.
The impact of recognition was both startling and jarring. The Siren was Mrs. Sarah Pettijohn.
He sat, jolted by the realization.
Sarah Pettijohn was the most obnoxious, opinionated, headstrong woman of his acquaintance. The last time they had been together, he couldn’t wait to escape her.
