Devil in Spring Read online

  She nodded.

  He let out a controlled sigh. “The devil knows I’m not proud of it. However, I thought it better than resorting to harlotry or seducing innocents, and I’m not exactly suited for celibacy.”

  “I don’t think badly of you for it,” Pandora hastened to assure him. “Lady Berwick says it’s often done by gentlemen, and ladies must pretend not to know about it.”

  “All very civilized,” Gabriel muttered. His expression was dark as he continued. “There’s nothing wrong with the arrangement unless one or both of the parties involved are married. I’ve always considered marriage vows to be sacred. To lie with another man’s wife is . . . unforgivable.”

  His tone remained even and calm, except for the self-loathing that colored the last word.

  For a moment Pandora was too surprised to speak. It seemed impossible that this man, with his golden good looks and sophistication—a man so perfect in every way—would feel ashamed about anything. Then the surprise melted into a tender feeling as she reflected that he was not some godlike being, but a man with very human flaws. It wasn’t an unwelcome discovery.

  “Your mistress is married,” she said without asking.

  “She’s the wife of the American ambassador.”

  “Then how do you and she . . .”

  “I bought a house where we meet whenever possible.”

  Pandora felt something clutch at her chest, like a set of claws digging into her heart. “No one lives there?” she asked. “The house is only for rendezvous-ing?”

  Gabriel gave her a sardonic glance. “I thought it preferable to rutting behind the potted palms at the latest soirée.”

  “Yes, but to buy an entire house . . .” Pandora knew she was belaboring the point. But it rankled, the idea that he had bought a private, special place for himself and his mistress. Their house. It was probably smart and fashionable, one of those detached villas with bow windows, or perhaps a cottage orné with its own little kitchen garden.

  “What is Mrs. Black like?” she asked.

  “Vivacious. Confident. Worldly.”

  “Beautiful too, I suppose.”

  “Very.”

  The invisible claws sank deeper. What a nasty feeling this was. It almost felt like . . . jealousy? No. Yes. It was jealousy. Oh, this was awful.

  “If the idea of taking a married woman as a mistress bothers you,” she asked, trying not to sound snide, “why didn’t you look for someone else?”

  “It’s not as if one can advertise for a mistress in the papers,” Gabriel said dryly. “And attraction doesn’t always happen with convenient people. It bothered me a great deal that Nola was married. But that wasn’t enough to stop me from pursuing her, once I realized—” He broke off and rubbed the back of his neck, his mouth clamping in a sullen line.

  “Realized what?” Pandora asked with a touch of dread. “That you loved her?”

  “No. I’m fond of her, but nothing more.” Gabriel’s color heightened as he forced himself to continue. “I realized that she and I were very well-matched in the bedroom. I’ve rarely ever found a woman who can satisfy me the way she does. So I overlooked the fact that she was married.” His lips twisted. “When it comes to matters of character, it seems I’ll toss out every scruple in favor of sexual gratification.”

  Pandora was baffled. “Why is it so difficult for women to please you?” she demanded. “What exactly do you ask them to do?”

  The audacious question seemed to jar Gabriel out of his bleak mood. He returned his gaze to her, the corners of his mouth deepening. “I only ask that a woman be available, willing . . . and uninhibited.” Turning his attention to the buttons of Pandora’s nightdress, he began to fasten them with undue concentration. “Unfortunately, most women are taught never to enjoy the sexual act unless it’s for procreation.”

  “But you think they should?”

  “I think there are few enough pleasures for a woman in this world. I think only a selfish idiot would deny his partner the same satisfaction she gives him, especially when her pleasure enhances his own. Yes, I believe women should enjoy it, radical as that might sound. Nola’s lack of inhibition makes her unique, and very desirable.”

  “I don’t have inhibitions,” Pandora blurted out, feeling competitive. She regretted the comment as soon as she saw the sparkle of amusement in Gabriel’s eyes.

  “I’m glad,” he said gently. “You see, there are things a gentleman isn’t supposed to ask of his wife. But if we were to marry, I would have to ask them of you.”

  “If we were to marry, I suppose I wouldn’t mind. But we’re not—” She was forced to pause as an irresistible yawn took over, and she covered her mouth with her hand.

  Gabriel smiled and pulled her close, as if he were trying to absorb the feel of her. Pandora let herself rest quietly against the deep warmth of his flesh and the satiny golden skin. She was surrounded by the vibrant scent of him, fresh with hints of evergreen and dark spice. How familiar his smell had become in a handful of days. She would miss it. She would miss being held like this.

  For a moment of biting envy, she imagined Gabriel going back to London, to the intimate little house he’d bought for himself and his mistress. Mrs. Black would be there waiting for him, perfumed and dressed in a beautiful negligée. He would take her to bed, and do wicked things to her, and even though Pandora had little idea of what those things were, she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to spend hours in bed with him. Butterflies swirled in her stomach.

  “Gabriel,” she said uncertainly, “I didn’t quite tell you the truth.”

  His hand played in her hair. “About what, love?”

  “I shouldn’t have said I have no inhibitions. The truth is that I mostly don’t have inhibitions, but I think there are a few. I just don’t know exactly what they are yet.”

  A dark, soft whisper nearly singed her ear. “I can help you with those.”

  Her heartbeats came even faster than falling rain. It felt disloyal to want him like this . . . disloyal to herself . . . but she couldn’t seem to stop.

  Gabriel loosened the embrace and reached for her discarded robe, intending to dress her again. “I have to carry you to bed now, Pandora,” he said ruefully. “Or our rendezvous is going to turn into outright debauchery.”

  Chapter 14

  “Are you ill, milady?” Ida asked the next morning, standing at Pandora’s bedside.

  Feeling her consciousness dragged upward, kicking and screaming, from the depths of comfortable oblivion, Pandora squinted up at her lady’s maid.

  “I’m lying in bed in a dark room,” she said grumpily, “with my head on a pillow and my eyes closed. People tend to do this when they’re sleeping.”

  “By this time every morning, you’re usually jumping about and chirping like a cricket in a hen yard.”

  Pandora rolled to face away from her. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “The rest of the household is awake. You’re going to miss breakfast unless I can manage to make you presentable in the next half hour.”

  “I don’t care. Tell whoever wants to know that I’m resting.”

  “What about the housemaids? They’ll want to come in and clean.”

  “The room is already tidy.”

  “It most certainly is not. The carpet must be swept, and . . . why is your wrapper draped at the foot of the bed instead of hanging in the wardrobe?”

  Pandora burrowed more deeply beneath the covers, turning pink all over. She remembered Gabriel carrying her to her room last night and laying her on the bed. It had been so dark that she could hardly make out anything, but Gabriel had exceptional night vision.

  “Arms in or out?” he’d asked, straightening the covers efficiently.

  “Out.” Pandora had been nonplussed and amused. “I didn’t know one of your bedroom skills was tucking people in.”

  “Only very small people until now. Justin routinely gives me low marks for leaving the covers too loose.” G
abriel’s weight had depressed the mattress as he’d braced a hand and bent over her. As his lips had touched her forehead, Pandora had circled her arms around his neck and sought his mouth. He’d resisted briefly, his soft laugh rushing against her cheek. “You’ve had enough kissing for one night.”

  “One more,” she had insisted.

  He had obliged her, and she had no idea how long he’d stayed there with his lips playing against hers, while she’d responded with deep-dreaming intensity. Eventually he’d left her, vanishing into the darkness like a cat.

  Pandora was wrenched away from the pleasurable memory as she heard the clang of the tin slipper-box lid.

  “There’s only one slipper,” she heard Ida say suspiciously. “Where’s the other?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why were you out of bed?”

  “I was looking for a book, since I couldn’t sleep,” Pandora replied irritably, filled with worry. What if Gabriel hadn’t remembered to retrieve the other slipper from the hallway? And what about the fallen candle? If one of the servants had found the items . . .

  “It must be here somewhere,” Ida fretted, crouching to look under the bed. “How do you lose things so easily? Gloves, handkerchiefs, pins—”

  “Your talking is waking up my brain,” Pandora said. “I would have thought you’d be pleased for me to stay unconscious longer than usual.”

  “I would,” Ida retorted, “but I have other things to do besides wait on you all morning, Lady Slugabed.” Standing with a huff, she left the room, and closed the door behind her.

  Fluffing up her pillow, Pandora dove her head into it. “I’m going to hire a nice lady’s maid someday,” she grumbled. “One who doesn’t call me names and lecture me at dawn.” She turned to her back and then to her other side, trying to find a comfortable position. It was no use. She was awake, and that was that.

  Would it be worth the effort to ring for Ida and try to dress in time for breakfast? No, she didn’t feel at all like hurrying. In fact, she didn’t know what she felt like. A strange mixture of emotions whisked around inside her . . . nervousness, excitement, melancholy, yearning, fear. Tomorrow was her last full day at Heron’s Point. She dreaded having to leave. She especially dreaded the things that would have to be said.

  Someone tapped quietly on the door. Pandora’s heart lurched as she wondered if it might be Gabriel trying to return the missing slipper. “Yes?” she called out in a hushed voice.

  Kathleen came into the room, her red hair glowing even in the dimness. “I’m sorry to disturb you, dear,” she said gently, coming to the bedside, “but I wanted to ask how you were feeling. Are you ill?”

  “No, but my brain is tired.” Pandora inched closer to the edge of the mattress as she felt Kathleen’s cool, small hand smoothing back her hair and resting briefly on her forehead. From the moment Kathleen had come to the estate, she had been the closest thing to a mother Pandora had ever known, despite the fact that she was still a young woman herself.

  “You have a great deal to think about,” Kathleen murmured, her face soft with sympathy.

  “Whatever I decide is going to feel like a mistake.” Pandora’s throat cinched tight. “I wish Lord St. Vincent were a warty old windbag. Then everything would be easy. Instead, he’s odiously attractive and charming. It’s like he’s deliberately trying to make my life as difficult as possible. This is why I’ve never understood why people think the devil is a hideous beast with horns and claws and a forked tail. No one would be tempted by that.”

  “You’re saying Lord St. Vincent is the devil in disguise?” Kathleen asked, sounding vaguely amused.

  “He may as well be,” Pandora said morosely. “He’s made everything confusing. I’m like a goldfinch, thinking ‘Oh, that little cage looks so awfully nice with its gold bars and cozy velvet perch and that dish of millet-seed—it might be worth having my wings clipped for that.’ And then when the door latches shut, it will be too late.”

  Kathleen patted her back comfortingly. “No one’s wings have to be clipped. I’ll support whatever you decide to do.”

  Oddly, Pandora felt frightened rather than comforted by the reassurance. “If I don’t marry him, will our family be ruined? And Cassandra?”

  “No. We’ll be grist for the gossip mill for a little while, but time will eventually soften everyone’s memory, and then any lingering stain on our reputation will only serve to make us very interesting dinner companions. And I promise we’ll find a perfectly nice husband for Cassandra.” Kathleen hesitated. “However, should you wish to marry in the future, this scandal might pose a problem for some men. Not all, but a few.”

  “I won’t marry until women have the right to vote and make the laws fair. Which means never.” Pandora buried her face in the pillow. “Even the Queen opposes suffrage,” she added in a smothered voice.

  She felt Kathleen’s gentle hand on her head. “It takes time and patience to change people’s way of thinking. Don’t forget that many men are speaking up for women’s equality, including Mr. Disraeli.”

  Pandora flopped over to look up at her. “I wish he would speak up a bit more loudly, then.”

  “One has to speak to people in a way they can hear.” Kathleen regarded her thoughtfully. “In any case, the law won’t change in the next two days, and you have a decision to make. Are you absolutely certain that Lord St. Vincent wouldn’t be supportive of your board game company?”

  “Oh, he would support it, in the way a man supports his wife’s hobby. But it would always have to come second to everything else. It wouldn’t be convenient to have a wife who’s visiting her factory instead of planning out the dinner party. I’m afraid if I marry him, I’ll end up making one compromise after another, and all my dreams will die slowly while I’m busy looking the other way.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?” Pandora asked earnestly. “But you wouldn’t make the same choice, would you?”

  “You and I have different fears, and different needs.”

  “Kathleen . . . Why did you marry Cousin Devon after Theo treated you so badly? Weren’t you afraid?”

  “Yes, I was very afraid.”

  “Why did you do it, then?”

  “I loved him too much to be without him. And I realized I couldn’t let fear make the decision for me.”

  Pandora looked away, while melancholy fell over her like a shadow.

  Kathleen smoothed out a wrinkle on the counterpane. “The duchess and I are taking the girls for an outing to the seashore promenade in town. We’re planning to visit some shops and have fruit ices. Would you like to come? We’ll wait until you’re ready.”

  Sighing shortly, Pandora pulled the soft linen sheet over her head. “No, I don’t want to pretend to be cheerful when I’m feeling so floppulous.”

  Kathleen folded down the sheet and smiled at her. “Then do whatever you like. Everyone has scattered in different directions, and the house is quiet. Devon has gone to the pier with the duke and Ivo to find out if the storm did any damage to the family yacht. Lady Clare is out on a walk with her children.”

  “What about Lord St. Vincent? Do you know where he is?”

  “I believe he’s taking care of business correspondence in the study.” Kathleen bent to kiss Pandora’s forehead, the movement diffusing a whiff of roses and mint. “Darling, let me leave you with a thought: There’s very little in life that doesn’t require a compromise of one kind or another. No matter what you choose, it won’t be perfect.”

  “So much for happy-ever-after,” Pandora said sourly.

  Kathleen smiled. “But wouldn’t it be dull if ever-after was always happy, with no difficulties or problems to solve? Ever-after is far more interesting than that.”

  Later in the morning, Pandora ventured downstairs in a lavender dress of delicately ribbed grosgrain silk, with layered white underskirts that had been pulled back into a cascade of flounces. Ida, despite her earlier cantankerous attitude, had brought up tea an
d toast for Pandora, and had taken special pains to arrange her hair. After curling the long dark locks with hot tongs, Ida had carefully pinned it up at the crown of her head into a mass of ringlets and clusters. Whenever a lock of Pandora’s obstinately straight hair had refused to hold a curl, Ida had misted it with quince seed tonic, resulting in a coil as sturdy as a steel spring. As a finishing touch, the lady’s maid had accented the style with a few randomly placed pearls affixed to silver pins.

  “Thank you, Ida,” Pandora had said, viewing the results in the looking glass with the aid of a hand mirror. “You’re the only person my hair has ever obeyed.” After a pause, she had added humbly, “I’m sorry I lose things. I’m sure it would drive anyone mad to have to look after me.”

  “Keeps me in a job,” Ida had said philosophically. “But don’t apologize, milady—you should never tell a servant you’re sorry. It upsets the order of things.”

  “But what if I feel so sorry that I must say it or burst?”

  “You can’t.”

  “Yes, I can. I’ll look at you and tap my forehead with three fingertips—like this. There—that’s our signal for ‘I’m sorry.’” Enthused by the idea, Pandora had continued, “I could come up with other signals—we’ll have our own language!”

  “Milady,” Ida had begged, “please don’t be so odd.”

  The house was bright with slants of sunlight, now that the storm had cleared. Although no one was in sight, Pandora heard the bustling of servants in various rooms as she walked along the hallway. There was the rattle of a coal scuttle, the swishing of carpet brooms, the scrape of scouring paper on fire irons. All the industry taking place around her made Pandora long to return home and resume work on her board game business. It was time to visit potential locations for a small factory space, and meet with her printer, and begin to interview prospective employees.

  The door of the study had been left open. As Pandora approached the threshold, her pulse escalated until she could feel it beating at her throat, wrists, and knees. She hardly knew how to face Gabriel, after the things they’d done last night. Stopping at the side of the doorway, she peeked around the edge of the jamb.