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Nine

Of Great Acts of Courage

Lady Hamilton’s Ball

Given in Honor of Her Daughter Patricia

Number Forty-One, Grosvenor Square

There are moments of great bravery in every woman’s life. Helene had gathered from her friends that childbirth was one of those. She herself had exhibited a remarkably stupid form of bravery at age seventeen, when she agreed to elope with the heir to the Godwin earldom. But other than that one foolish act, there had been little cause for courage in her life. Until tonight.

Helene was fairly sure that there was no moment more terrifying in her entire life than when she removed her pelisse and handed it to one of Lady Hamilton’s footmen. There she was: practically undressed in the antechamber of the house. The door behind her swung open and a crisp breeze went straight through two layers of silk. She could feel the chill all over her body, even parts which normally never felt a draft, such as her bottom. There was only one thing to be done, and that was to brazen it out.

Sebastian Bonnington put a hand under her elbow and said “Courage!” in his deep voice. Then he gave her a look of such deep appreciation that Esme elbowed him and said laughingly, “Isn’t it lucky that I already warned Helene to stay away from you?”

But then Sebastian turned from Helene to Esme, and the look in his eyes when he looked at his beautiful wife was far more potent than mere appreciation. He dropped a kiss on her lips that was so indicative of passion that Helene turned pink. Just seeing it stirred envy in her heart and an odd winkling feeling in her stomach.

They were announced by Lady Hamilton’s butler. Helene had the distinct feeling that she was an imposter, and as such, she should have a new name. Was she really still Lady Godwin, the prim, contained Lady Godwin who was just announced? But at first, no one seemed to notice any difference. Lady Hamilton was frazzled by the stress of her daughter’s first ball; she smiled at Helene’s hair and whispered a compliment, but didn’t notice her gown.

But little by little, the news spread. It was almost as if she could see it rippling through the ballroom. Helene solemnly paced through a country dance with Major Kersting. He and she, who had always been so comfortable with each other in the past, were quite the opposite now. He kept fingering his narrow mustache, and when they were greeted by three gentlemen at the close of the music, he fled with a look of extreme relief.

Helene had never had more than one aspirant for a dance at the same time. The thrill of seeing three gentlemen before her went to her head like midsummer wine. None of the three were on Esme’s list, alas. Moreover, Lord Peckham was out of the question. The man was married, although he preferred to ignore the fact, and she would never be party to causing Lady Peckham the distress that she herself had suffered due to her husband’s infidelities. She raised a cool eyebrow at him and accepted the hand of Lord Ussher. He was a bit younger than she would have liked, but perhaps that meant his blood was redder.

But by the end of their dance, she had quite decided against Lord Ussher. For one thing, he had sweated through his gloves, and his touch was unpleasantly damp. For another, he appeared to be quite overcome by her gown; he kept glancing down and then wrenching his eyes back to her face as if he were a starving man faced by an apricot tart. Tart being the appropriate word, Helene thought with some amusement. But the truly crucial thing was that he was unable to follow the music, and trod on her toes several times.

When the music stopped, instead of three gentlemen asking for her hand, there were seven. They crowded around her, brown-eyed, blue-eyed, young and old: surely Mr. Cutwell was far too old? Helene smiled at them all, trying desperately to remember what she had heard about each. Did anyone here have an affinity for music? How would she know if they did? Presumably the only way to tell was to dance with each, and assess his ability to keep from stepping on her toes.

She put out her hand more or less at random. Some minutes later, she returned from dancing with the Honorable Gerard Bunge to find that the crowd that surrounded her now rivaled any that had ever surrounded Esme, even at the very height of her popularity as Infamous Esme. But this time it wasn’t so difficult to choose a partner. For as she smiled at the circle, acknowledging their bows with the smallest inclination of her head, Garret Langham, the Earl of Mayne, effortlessly brushed the other men aside without even seeming to notice them.

Mayne had never paid Helene the least attention. Yet now he walked toward her as if they’d known each other their entire life. He looked the epitome of a London buck: his hair brushed into a perfect tumble of curls, his pantaloons sleekly following the line of muscled thighs, his eyes alive with a wicked combination of laughter and desire. “Lady Godwin,” he said easily, holding out his hand. “I believe this is our dance.”

To Helene’s utter surprise, rather than babbling agreement, she found herself raising an eyebrow and looking him over from his hair to his glossy boots. It was a look that she had seen Esme give various gentlemen, and never thought to use herself. But it seemed to come naturally to a woman surrounded by men, all of whom were clambering, nay panting, for the same thing. A dance. Or (insisted Helene’s common sense), a chance to lure her into a side chamber.

Mayne seemed unbothered by her survey, just waited with a little smile playing around his mouth, as if he had always known that they would be partnered, and he had merely waited for her to discard her corsets before telling her.

The thought hardened Helene’s heart. He thought he could just have her, did he? Well, he could. But on her terms.

She stepped forward, and silk embraced her legs. The other men seemed to melt away. “Lady Hamilton has an exquisite Broadwood piano,” she said, giving him a provocative smile from Esme’s repertoire. Goodness knows, she’d spent enough of her time in the past six or seven years watching Esme seduce gentlemen. “Would you accompany me to the music room? I should like to play…a tune.” She lowered her eyes and watched him through her eyelashes.

He didn’t show even a flicker of surprise. “That would be my pleasure,” he said, holding out his arm.

Really, men were absurdly easy to seduce, if that was the right word. Last spring, she had invited Mr. Fairfax-Lacy into her bedchamber merely by reading a poem. Of course, the whole event hadn’t turned out exactly as she planned, but the invitation itself was effortless.

Mayne was just as amenable as Mr. Fairfax-Lacy. They strolled into the music room; he closed the door behind them; she leaned against the polished wood of the Broadwood piano.

Surely he would lunge at her directly? But no, he strolled over to the sideboard and poured them each a glass of wine.

As he handed it to her, he said, “Lady Godwin, you are quite ravishing in that gown.”

She said, “Thank you.”

And he began kissing her. It was all quite effortless, really.

Five minutes later, he drew a teasing finger down her neck and stopped just at the edge of her bodice. It felt white-hot, as if his very finger blazed a trail on her skin. Helene drained her glass of wine, and Mayne promptly poured her another. Then he put his finger in the glass and put it back on her throat. Helene could feel her eyes growing wider as his wet finger slid across her skin, inside the frail silk of her bodice.

“I should very much like to escort you home,” he said, his eyes blazing down into hers.

“Home?” Helene repeated. She was having trouble paying attention. One part of her was absolutely enthralled by his games with the wine. The other side of her (alas for her practicality!) was hoping that he wouldn’t stain the silk. She wanted to wear this gown again.