The Duchess (Montgomery/Taggert 16)

Trevelyan stood up and walked to the edge of the porch. “I have no idea what you mean. I’ve told you more about my life than I’ve ever told anyone.”

“That may be true, but you’ve told me only about Captain Baker. You’ve never told me about your life before he was born. Where did you grow up? How are you related to Harry?”

“I’m getting cold. I think we should go back.” He turned to look at her, lowering his lashes and giving her a lascivious look. “Or perhaps you’d rather stay here? We could go into the summerhouse and—”

“You’ll give me your body but not your secrets. You know all there is to know about me but you tell me nothing about yourself. You share nothing private with me.”

“I share all that I can with you.”

“You share all that you want to with me.” She turned on her heel and walked away from him.

He caught her when she was just a few feet away from the summerhouse. “Stay with me,” he s

aid. “Don’t leave.”

She looked into those eyes, those unreadable eyes, and wondered what was behind them. She wanted to pull away from him but she felt that he needed her. She leaned against him and he held her close. “All right, I’ll stay.”

He kissed the top of her head and continued holding her for a very long while. “So, you think I should leave out some of the measurements in my books, do you?”

“Why don’t you let me take a pencil to them?”

“Allow you to edit them? You? A mere child?”

They argued all the way back to the tower. Claire argued with Trevelyan but she saw that half of what he was saying was to tease her. Yet when they had argued before, something she’d said had seriously upset him.

In their precious four days together, that was the only argument they had. The rest of the time they spent making love and dealing with Brat and Nyssa. On the first morning after Claire had agreed to spend the days with Trevelyan, she had not wanted to spend any time with the beautiful young woman. After all, what woman would want to spend hours beside a woman who was so beautiful that she was called the Pearl of the Moon and was worshiped by an entire city of men? It could make one decidedly uncomfortable. But besides Nyssa’s beauty, Claire still remembered the dreadful things that Nyssa had said about her, that she was the color of the underbelly of a frog. There was also what Trevelyan had said about Nyssa being more woman than he could handle. Claire would have wagered there was nothing in life that could make her like Nyssa.

But Claire had not counted on Nyssa herself. Nyssa’s aim in life seemed to be to do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted to do it. Trevelyan said that as the priestess of the Peshans, her only responsibility was to enjoy herself—and that Nyssa did. She laughed; she sang; she danced. She teased Trevelyan and made him smile, then, just when Claire was ready to walk out of the room, Nyssa started teasing Claire. Nyssa asked if she didn’t find Trevelyan’s moods most annoying, then she admired Claire’s hair and asked if she could brush it for her. It was difficult to be angry at someone who was brushing your hair. Nyssa arranged Claire’s thick hair into braids, then inserted three jeweled combs in them. After that she led Claire into Trevelyan’s bedroom and soon had her dressed in one of his embroidered robes.

“Now for the face,” Nyssa said.

Claire started to protest but she was too curious to want to stop. She watched in fascination as Nyssa opened her trunk and rummaged inside until she found a lump of black stuff that looked like charcoal. Nyssa had Oman bring her a brazier, then she lit the lump. As the black stuff burned Nyssa held an overturned bowl over the smoke. After a few minutes, there was a black residue on the underside of the bowl. Nyssa took a small brush from her trunk. Claire had to bite down a protest when Nyssa spit in the residue in the bowl and used the brush to make a paste. In the next minute, Nyssa quickly and expertly applied the black paste to Claire’s lids and eyelashes. After this Nyssa applied powder and rouge to Claire’s face, using more of the rouge on Claire’s lips. When she was done, she handed Claire a small mirror.

Claire was sure that she’d look like a clown in a circus, but she didn’t. Nyssa was an expert at applying cosmetics. Claire knew that she had never looked so good. She glanced toward the writing room.

“Go to him,” Nyssa said. “He will like it.”

Shyly, Claire went to Trevelyan’s writing room, where he was at table number five. Whenever he was not actively engaged elsewhere, he was at one of his tables writing.

Claire stood by him for some minutes and had to clear her throat three times before he looked at her. When he did look at her, he studied her, then took her chin in his hand and turned her face this way and that. He said something to Nyssa in Peshan, then he kissed Claire and went back to his writing.

Claire felt somewhat disappointed as she walked back to Nyssa. “What did he say?” she whispered.

“He said that you were already perfect and that I might need enhancement, but you did not.”

Claire smiled in delight, then went back to Trevelyan and kissed him soundly. Trevelyan was puzzled by this, as what he had actually said to Nyssa was that her application of the cosmetics needed work, that she used too heavy a hand.

After Nyssa had dressed Claire, she asked if she might put on Claire’s American clothes. Nyssa’s small breasts did nothing to fill out the top of the dress, so Claire wadded up several pairs of Trevelyan’s socks and padded the bosom of the dress.

Happily, Nyssa paraded herself before Trevelyan and Oman, who admired both of the women outrageously.

It was during this fashion show that Brat entered the room. It was her first close-hand sight of Nyssa. From the moment Brat entered the room, the air was charged with tension.

Nyssa’s lovely face changed from one of delight over the odd gown she was wearing. She stopped admiring her false bosom and stared at Brat. Claire knew immediately that Nyssa had never before seen another female who was competition for her when it came to beauty. But Brat was certainly competition. Whereas Nyssa’s looks were dark, with dark eyes and hair, Brat’s beauty was of the palest. Brat had light brown hair, blue eyes, pink lips, and skin the color of ivory.

Claire glanced at Trevelyan and saw that he was leaning back in his chair and watching the two young women with great interest. He had on his I’m-going-to-write-about-this face.

Brat was the first to move. She walked toward Nyssa, looked her in the eye, for Nyssa was small and Brat, at fourteen, had not gained her full adult height, then Brat doubled her fist and hit Nyssa smack in the face. Nyssa went sprawling to the floor.