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Another woman was not quite so prepared to be philosophical about the whole affair. Celia Chase ripped the offending page in two on reading that Alex Blackthorne was to be married. Having screwed the newsprint into a ball, she hurled it as far as she could, then slumped into a chair and burst into furious tears.
Everything had suddenly become very clear to Celia. On the day Alex had left town she had received a short note from him ending their liaison. In the same post had come a letter from his attorney detailing her generous settlement.
Celia had been incensed to know she was being pensioned off, having only briefly enjoyed the advantages of being the mistress of the ton’s most popular bachelor. Not that she’d expected him to propose, but she would have been content to remain his paramour whether or not he took a wife. Now she wished she’d made that perfectly plain to him because she wanted back the life he’d shown her. She was young and ambitious. Pensions were all very well, but they didn’t provide intense sensual pleasure or an entrée to the circles where rich and influential people congregated.
Alex’s good looks and raw virility had drawn Celia to him like a moth to a flame. She’d been delighted in his skill as a lover. As equally satisfying had been putting out of joint the noses of ladies who were keen to impress on her their superior status. Her betters, maybe, but their contempt could never disguise their jealousy. Celia knew every one of them craved replacing her in Viscount Blackthorne’s bed.
Celia was sure Alex must still desire her voluptuous body and was hoping she could coax him to have her back. She’d heard the gossip, spread by one of Alex’s enemies, about the viscount compromising a lady, and had dismissed it as irrelevant. The reason why he’d ended their affair now became apparent to her. He’d feared her being hurt by him taking a wife...a wife he didn’t truly want, but had been burdened with from social graces.
Having been raised in straitened circumstances by her milliner mother, something as twee as etiquette was absurd to Celia. A pampered life and the respect and envy of her rivals were what were important to her. Many months ago, on the same day she had eagerly agreed to Alex’s proposition, she had turned down a similar offer from a coal merchant. She was confident she’d still have that fellow twined about her finger. So, to her mind, Alex Blackthorne owed her another chance to prove to him he’d no need to look elsewhere for his pleasure.
Celia dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief. Her pretty features hardened and a moment later she tossed the soaking linen towards the table where it landed on what remained of the crumpled newspaper. She was determined to get what she wanted just as she had when, at the age of sixteen, she’d escaped a miserable life as her mother’s apprentice by warming the bed of a local magistrate.
Springing up from her chair, Celia paced to and fro, her fingers clenching and unclenching as strategies darted in and out of her mind. All she needed was an opportunity to tell Alex she could be trusted to be discreet and they could carry on as before. And she needed to do it immediately, before he got another woman to take her place. Like most men of his wealth and class he would keep a mistress, perhaps even before his little wife’s belly started swelling.
Celia took a deep breath, feeling quite better now she’d decided on a course of action. She knew who might be useful in her scheme and had no qualms about the method needed to persuade him to help her.
Having approached the mantelpiece, Celia clattered the little bell that reposed on its marble shelf. While waiting to be attended by her maid she studied her creamy complexion in the mirror that soared up almost as high as the ceiling. A plump white finger fussed at the dark curls on her forehead before she stared deep into slanting dark-blue eyes, lively with intrigue.
A tiny French woman appeared on the threshold and bobbed her mobcap.
‘I have an errand for you Paulette.’ Celia turned slowly about.
‘Madame?’
‘I should like you to discover the location of a certain gentleman. I wish to make his acquaintance, but unfortunately I do not have his whereabouts, you see.’
Paulette raised her thin face and frowned at her mistress. ‘’Ow shall I do it, madame?’
‘Make some enquiries,’ Celia answered a trifle impatiently. ‘The butcher’s boy, for example...he might know of the fellow’s direction if he is a resident in the neighbourhood. Or...try at a coffee shop...or tavern...the sort of places fellows frequent besides their fusty clubs.’ Celia clapped her hands. ‘Of course! The clubs along St James’s! He is a well-bred gentleman and a patron of one or other, I’m sure.’
