Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

“Yes, perhaps.”

But Francesca didn’t want to talk about Uncle William. Strangely, she felt almost disloyal remembering the night of the ball. He’d been so different ever since, so affable and friendly. If he was really trying so hard to make amends, then she owed him some loyalty. But the question remained, why the sudden change?

“Perhaps it was the letter,” she said, speaking to herself as well as her mother.

“The letter?” Aphrodite went still. “What letter is this, Francesca?”

“The letter from my father. Tommy. You told me about it when you were unwell, Mother. When we returned from Lady Annear’s ball, Uncle William was very angry. He said my—my father didn’t want me, that I was searching for love because I was an unwanted child. I had to show him that wasn’t true, and so I told him about the letter.”

Aphrodite sighed. “My poor darling. I see it all now. What did he say, when you told him about Tommy’s letter??

??

“He changed. Perhaps he realized then that he was wrong. He’s been making a real effort ever since. For example, when I came down to breakfast this morning, he held out my chair for me to sit down, and complimented me on my complexion. Even Mama remarked upon how much things have improved. I think she is hoping she will be able to write to Mr. Jardine very soon and ask him to travel to London to be with us.”

“Yes, I can see she would be relieved at the change in her brother.” But Aphrodite didn’t sound impressed. Perhaps, Francesca thought, she was tired. It wasn’t long since she had been in bed, close to death. She still had nightmares about Maeve’s confession and the journey she had made with Sebastian to see…But suddenly Francesca registered what Aphrodite had said earlier, and she forgot all about Uncle William.

“You mentioned Lord Worthorne, Mother. Has he been here?”

“He’s here now, petit chaton.”

“Oh.” She felt herself light up with all the brilliance of a gas lamp. She couldn’t help it.

Seeing her reaction, Aphrodite smiled. “He’s waiting for you in the Bacchus Room.”

“The Bacchus Room?” Francesca repeated curiously.

The courtesan pushed her ledgers to one side and swung her legs down from the sofa. “The Bacchus Room can be shocking for some people. Take care.”

Now her curiosity really was piqued. “What should I take care of?”

Aphrodite leaned closer and looked deep into her eyes. “Satyrs,” she murmured.

Francesca started to smile, but there was no answering gleam in her mother’s eyes. She felt a shiver run through her, excitement mixed with trepidation. “And Sebastian is in that room?”

Aphrodite nodded. “It is the door at the end of the corridor, if you dare.”

Francesca rose instantly to her feet. “I dare,” she said, and began to make her way down the plush corridor toward the door. The outside was painted white with gold trimmings, just like the other doors, but written on the main panel was “The Bacchus Room.”

Her flesh was tingling; her blood was pumping. She felt alive, and excited. Sebastian was waiting for her. They were about to take another adventure together. Francesca opened the door and stepped inside.

Her mouth fell open.

The Bacchus Room was decorated like a wild woodland, with trees and vines painted directly onto the walls, and draperies of various colors strung from the ceiling, making it difficult to see more than a step or two in front of her. Cushions and bolsters were scattered across the floor. The colors were so vivid that for a moment, Francesca really did feel as if she was lost in a forest. Picking her way to the side, she looked up and saw that she was facing a mural.

It was a depiction of a man, or half a man. He had hooves instead of feet, and horns sprouted from the long hair at his temples. And because he was standing side on, with his hands on his hips, she could see that his manhood was hugely erect. Was this the satyr?

She stepped back, shocked despite herself, and bumped into someone standing behind her. She gave a faint scream.

His arms closed about her, his lips pressed to the side of her neck, and he said in a deep voice, “Hmm, female flesh.”

Francesca knew who he was. She’d known instantly. But he was behind her and therefore invisible, and so she could let her imagination soar.

“Mr. Satyr,” she said breathlessly, “please don’t hurt me.”

“Francesca…”

“Shhh.” She giggled. “Let’s play the game.”