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Alessandro rose abruptly, tugging at his cuffs and straightening his jacket. “Dear ladies, I’m afraid I’ve lingered far too long in your delightful company.”
Charlotte’s nattering on about wedding preparations must have put him on edge, thought Mélisande.
“The hour grows late,” he added, softening his voice and looking directly at her, “and there are matters to which I must attend.”
With a slight nod, she promised him she would be there.
LOVE IS A HORRIBLY COMPLICATED THING
MÉLISANDE POURED HERSELF a glass of wine and brought it b
ack to the bed. “We must be more careful,” she told Alessandro as she eased under the coverlet. “In private is one thing, but outside these walls is another.”
“I understand,” said Alessandro. “I am sorry to have caused you distress. I promise you it will not happen again.”
Part of her wished she hadn’t said anything. The traitorous part. He looked so disappointed in himself, so contrite, so sincere. As if he truly regretted his actions that afternoon.
“I am as much to blame as you,” she added, softening. “I ought to have had better sense than to let myself be carried away by the moment. I cannot afford to take such risks.”
“You take a risk now, in coming here to meet with me. A far greater risk than that of being caught with your fiancé.”
She chose not to point out the obvious: that he wasn’t really her fiancé. “Indeed,” she said wryly. “But this way, I have a much better chance of keeping the true nature of our relationship a secret. Plausible deniability is everything. Unless someone can provide incontrovertible proof that you are meeting me, I can claim otherwise. And I assure you that I have covered my tracks extremely well with regards to this place.”
“A man would have to be a fool to underestimate your abilities,” he said, shaking his head and smiling. “Of all the people I have known, you are the only one besides the empress of Russia who has been called ‘formidable’ by her friends.”
“Oh? Who, if I may ask, referred to me in such unflattering terms?”
“Ludley.” He laughed.
“Well, he would certainly know. After all, he’s lost more wagers to me than he likes to admit. I’ve tried telling him it’s no use betting against me, but he never listens.”
“I’ve heard about your wagers,” he said, laughing. “The one where you offered to personally reenact Lady Godiva’s ride through the streets of London on your horse if he lost was particularly interesting.”
Mélisande flushed. “That was several years ago, and I said it in a fit of pique. Fortunately, my horse was indeed the better of the two.”
“Would you have made good on your bet if he hadn’t been?”
“We’ll never know, will we?” she said, giving him a saucy grin. His laughter made her want to kiss him, so she did.
“For a woman who values discretion, you certainly have a way of attracting notice.”
Mélisande swirled the liquid in her glass, watching the way the golden liquid caught the firelight. “Mmm. I cannot seem to keep out of trouble. Had I been born a man, I would no doubt rival even you in the realm of sheer recklessness.”
“As you were not, thanks be to the Almighty, I don’t suppose we’ll ever know, will we?” he teased.
Curiosity took hold of her. “How exactly did you come to be so well-known? Everyone from the youngest debutant to the oldest matron seems to have at least some passing knowledge of your exploits.”
“Not by design, I assure you,” he said. “It was certainly not my intention to acquire such notoriety.”
“Some men deliberately seek the kind of reputation you seem to have obtained purely by accident,” she told him, thinking again of the infamous book at White’s.
“Ah, but their chief pleasure is derived from hearing other men’s opinions of their conquests. I earned my infamy honestly, and care not what others think. My reputation is merely a result of indulging my obsession. A beautiful woman presents an irresistible mystery.”
She snorted. “Most of the men I’ve met seem interested only in exploring the depth of my purse. As for beauty, even the most unfortunate-looking female can catch a husband, provided her dowry is large enough. I’ve heard men say one woman is as good as another in the dark.”
“They are fools,” said Alessandro, pushing aside her robe and dropping a kiss on her bare shoulder. “Women are as varied and unique as one flower is from another. Is not a rose vastly different from a daisy? And there are differences even between two of the same kind of flower.”
“Some men don’t know the difference between a rose and a dandelion,” she scoffed. “I’m afraid your view is not a common one. Females are considered ornaments or playthings, meant only to bear children and see to a man’s comfort, or to provide him with wealth. It never fails to amaze me how any man with a wife who manages his entire household can think she lacks intelligence.”
