Author: Anne Stuart

“He was trying to arrange a marriage for you? But why?”

She wasn’t going to tell her sister the truth, particularly when truth was a subjective matter in the House of Rohan. “If I were comfortably married, he would no longer have to waste his time on charity.”

“But he doesn’t have to now. We have no claim on him. And do not tell me that the founder of the notorious Heavenly Host is a charitable man. I suspect he has a reason for everything he does.”

Elinor rose to her feet, refusing to wince. The only way to avoid this turn of conversation was to leave. Besides, she was going to have to face Rohan sooner or later. She might as well get it over with.

“If he has any reasons, I doubt he’ll share them, my love. I’ll go speak to him. I’m certain that at the very least I can have my room moved closer to yours.”

“That would be a comfort.” Lydia rose as well, pressing a kiss on Elinor’s cheek. “Don’t worry about facing him. You’re more than a match for the most devilish of gentlemen.”

Elinor managed a calm smile. She opened the door and stepped out into the cool hallway, to see her maid waiting. Accompanied by an immense footman—taller and broader than anyone she’d ever seen.

“Are you ready, mademoiselle?” he said.

“Ready for what?”

“To return to your rooms,” Jeanne-Louise said.

“Yes, but—”

The footman swooped her up effortlessly, holding her with such easy strength that it almost felt as if she were floating.

“His lordship said you weren’t to walk. Antoine is very strong,” Jeanne-Louise said, moving down the hall beside them.

It was an extremely odd sensation. “This is unnecessary…” she began.

“His lordship has insisted,” Jeanne-Louise said, as if that was the end of the matter.

Elinor bit her lip in frustration. “I would like to be closer to my sister. If you could move my things…” She suddenly remembered she had no things, other than what he’d provided. “If I could be moved…”

“That isn’t up to me, mademoiselle. You’ll need to speak to his lordship about that.”

“Then perhaps you could take me to him.”

Jeanne-Louise shook her head. “He is having a dinner party and is not to be disturbed. I will leave a message that you wish to see him, but I doubt it will be before tomorrow. There are women at the party.”

“Of course there are,” Elinor said, remembering the woman stretched out across his arms when he first saw her, that woman’s breasts exposed to the night air. Since then she’d only seen Rohan on his best behavior, assuming the guise of a perfect gentleman. She couldn’t forget the real Viscount Rohan, the strange and terrible man who directed the most depraved behavior imaginable.

17

The hulking footman set her down on the brocade-covered settee in the salon that led from her bedroom, treating her like precious crystal. “Does mademoiselle require any other assistance?” he asked.

“No, she does not,” Jeanne-Louise said, leaving Elinor with the impression that she wasn’t simply a chambermaid, she was a prison guard. It didn’t matter. As long as she knew Lydia was safe, she was content, at least for the time being.

And as far as prison guards went, Jeanne-Louise was very kind. She bathed and rebandaged Elinor’s feet. Blood had soaked into her old bandages, and she dreaded to see the damage, but already the cuts and burns had begun to heal. “You need to stay off your feet,” Jeanne-Louise said severely.

The room was brightly lit with candles—night had fallen sometime during her visit with Lydia, and for the first time she looked in the mirror. And then froze.

She’d known her dark brown hair was loose down her back. She hadn’t realized how very pretty it was, or how flattering the clothes Rohan had provided for her. For them. It was unsettling.

She rejected the offer to put on one of the frocks in the closet, all rich, elegant gowns in demimourning. She had no doubt they would fit her, just as Lydia’s dress had been perfect. Rohan had almost supernatural powers when it came to getting what he wanted. Instead, she bathed and changed into a fresh nightgown. They were all thin cambric, and she wore the combing robe over it to hide anything that shouldn’t be seen. Combing robes tended to be cumbersome, made to be worn while one’s hair was arranged, but Elinor didn’t care. She’d wrap herself in a blanket if that wasn’t enough coverage.

Dinner was brought to her on three trays—an impossibly rich assortment of foods, from roasted squab to salmon à l’anglaise, well-cooked mutton to a fine puree of turnips. More than she could possibly eat, and it wasn’t until she got to the final tray that she saw the small plate of toast strips. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

She wasn’t hungry. She ate half the toast strips and drank the tea, sending the rest back. Every time she thought of her mother and Nanny Maude her stomach would clench, and she’d want to throw up. Anything to get rid of the helpless pain she was feeling. Even Jeanne-Louise’s blandishments couldn’t get her to try anything more.

There were books there as well, and for the first time since she’d seen Lydia she felt a glimmering of pleasure. He’d given her a fair assortment, but she picked up the novel first. She wanted dark, Gothic delights rather than philosophy at that moment, and she curled up in bed, reading with pleasure.

When she awoke, her room was pitch-black except for the coals on the fire. She rolled over on her back in the huge, soft bed, luxuriating in the richness of the covers and the way it cradled her. She glanced over at the windows, wondering what time it was, but the small amount of light that came in was clearly from the streetlamps. She reckoned it was somewhere between dawn and dusk, but she had no idea which was closer.

He moved out of the shadows, like the dark creature he was, and Elinor didn’t have time to scream. For a moment it had seemed like an illusion, but then she realized he’d simply been waiting for her. For how long? she wondered.

“You wished to see me, poppet?” he inquired in his silken voice.

She cleared her throat. “I thought you had guests for dinner.”

“It’s well past dinnertime—I sent the rest of them home.”

“All of them?”

“What are you asking, my precious? Reading is still here, but have faith—he’s miles away from your darling sister. The rest have gone.” He paused. “Except for Madame de Tourville, who lies naked in my bed, awaiting me. What is it you need?”

It was a vast relief that he’d forgotten about her, she told herself. Even as it shut off one avenue of escape, an unacceptable one, it was all for the best that he no longer seemed interested in her but had Madame de Tourville instead. “I didn’t wish to disturb your entertainment, my lord. It could have waited until morning.”

His smile flashed white in the darkness. “My pet, you are never a disturbance. Simply tell me what you want and it shall be yours.”

“For one, I wish to be nearer my sister.”

“Alas, I’m afraid that is quite impossible. The rooms in the south wing are being renovated—your sister resides in the only room completed.”

“She can certainly come and sleep with me here, then. There’s plenty of room.”

“Indeed, but there are problems with that,” he said softly.

“And those are?”

“Lent is approaching, and it’s carnival time. I’m afraid the Heavenly Host is particularly perverse when it comes to such occasions. Instead of feasting and rioting the weeks before Lent like most good Christians, we tend to choose the time of fasting and repentance for our time to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh. Gluttony, lust, sloth, all some of our favorite activities. I would think you’d prefer your sister not be near while such things are going on.”

“I could stay with her.”

“Her room is too small. Besides, that wouldn’t suit me.”

She froze. “Why not?”

“Because I wish to have you closer, my pet. I’ve told you before, your sister doesn’t interest me. You do. Unfortunately for you, I thought I might hold her hostage.”

For a moment Elinor was unable to breathe. “Hostage for what?” she finally said evenly. “You know we have no money.”

“Hostage for your good behavior. Or your bad behavior, if you want to be specific. As long as you do what I wish, your sister will be safe and protected like the beautiful English virgin she is.”

She felt hot and cold at the same time. She couldn’t see him clearly—the shadows seemed to flow around him. “Permit me to clarify this, Lord Rohan,” she said in her most practical voice. “My sister will be safe and well cared for if I get in your bed?”

He laughed. “Acquit me of being quite so gauche, child. I have innumerable women to satisfy my carnal urges.”

The ice vanished and she was hot, hot with shame. Of course he didn’t want her. How foolish could she be? “Then what do you want from me?” Her voice showed nothing of her raging inner torment.

“You manage to keep me from being bored. That’s far more valuable than what’s between your legs.”

She made a hissing sound at his deliberately shocking words, and once more she could see his smile. “You see,” he said, “that’s just the sort of thing I find so enchanting.”

“You could find any young lady to shock, my lord.”

“But you’re not missish. You’re not even a virgin. You’re quite an original, my dear Elinor. A prim-and-proper, starched-up young woman of impeccable morals who nonetheless has already relinquished her maidenhood. I’m counting on you to tell me all about it.”

“Over my dead body.”

“No, my sweet. Over your sister’s virginity.”

She stared at him through the shadows. “You wouldn’t! Even you aren’t that depraved.”