Duchess of Seduction (Hearts in Hiding 3)

ome here.

Even as she tried to bolster herself with this, she acknowledged that as Justin was rarely home these days, she must assume he was seeking company more diverting than her own.

She was only half aware of the emptying of the drawing room— the withdrawal of patrons into chambers beyond while those remaining made small talk around a table of glazed ham and plover’s eggs.

Her misery enveloped her like a cloak of heavy, green slime. Could it be true? Could Justin be amongst those who’d silently slid into the shadows? Oh, she was certain she retained her husband’s heart and his regard, but what was a man to do when denied his physical needs? Cressida had barely let him do more than caress her in ten months.

“Would you care for some refreshment, madam?”

It was Mrs. Plumb, judging by the description Catherine had given her. Coarse, plump Mrs. Plumb, dressed like Cressida in respectable widow’s weeds, smiling unctuously at her as she offered her a fizzing champagne coupe. Glancing about her, Cressida realized she was alone amidst a sea of empty blue brocade chairs.

The woman leaned closer, and her smile was conspiratorial. “Or perhaps there is a certain gentleman, known or otherwise, to whom you seek an introduction. Madame Plumb prides herself on ensuring the pleasure of her patrons.” She thrust out her hand and gripped Cressida’s wrist. “Madam, are you all right?”

The woman’s vulgar words brought the bile rushing up Cressida’s throat. Pushing away, she hurried toward the door, past a knot of people gathered near the supper table, to find herself in a darkened passage. What on earth had possessed her to come to such a place? She was out of her mind. Without doubt, she was out of her depth.

In the gloom, she observed a gentleman walking down the corridor, head bent, but when he raised it, as he drew almost level, he was smiling at her. And there was invitation implicit in the sweep of his speculative gaze.

Fear and horror propelled Cressida through the first door she came to, hoping wildly it would offer an escape route to the street outside. She had to get as far away as she could from Mrs. Plumb, her patrons and their odious assumptions. Who knew what the woman was going to suggest for Cressida’s entertainment? A quick fumble with that man who looked like he was treading the corridors in search of conquest? He’d been handsome enough, but not so young that there wasn’t someone at home waiting for him?

Madam Plumb’s establishment was not a place for a gently reared female, and the sooner Cressida was back home where she belonged, the better. It was time to admit defeat. With relief, she decided that this was definitely a place Justin would never visit.

Closing the door behind her, she closed her eyes as she sank against it, waiting for the drumming in her mind to abate. Blessed relief it was to be alone, though she wouldn’t rest until she’d found her way onto the street and freedom. Her hand were clammy with fear and her mouth was dry, but a calming scent of rosewater dissipated her nausea. After a moment, she became conscious of a faint singing in the background—soft, gentle, harmonious voices.

Disoriented, Cressida opened her eyes and gazed upon the countenance of the most angelic creature she’d ever seen.

“Have you come to join us?” asked the young woman, who smiled when Cressida jerked back in fear.

Dressed in flowing, diaphanous robes, her long, fair hair rippled from a high Madonna forehead, and her eyes were blue and guileless. “My name is Ariane.” There was something mesmerizing about her gaze and, as if she had no will of her own, Cressida stretched out her hands as Ariane whispered, “You look as if you have lost your way and don’t know how to find it again.” She squeezed Cressida’s hand unleashing a powerful sense of comfort and hope. “I think I understand, for I was once like you—fearful. But there’s nothing to be afraid of in this house. Not if you are looking for love.”

Oh, she was looking for love but not the kind that could be found in a house like this.

Strangely, though, the young woman’s gaze was compelling enough to keep Cressida rooted to the spot. What could be the harm if she stayed a little? There were only women in this room, after all, for she could see several in the background through the strange mist-like substance that seemed to have been part of their performance.

Cressida glanced from her severe garments of disguise to the young woman before her. Everyone tonight had been dressed in masquerade but this young woman looked as if she had nothing to hide, as if she’d stepped straight from a mythical painting, adding to Cressida’s sense of unreality that she should be in such a place. Ariane was the most beautiful woman Cressida had ever laid eyes upon. She was also the most undressed, with her gossamer robes leaving little to the imagination.

Blushing, Cressida realised their hands were now linked, while this young woman, Ariane, was one of four similarly dressed ‘goddesses’ in the room. All smiled kindly at her with understanding in their eyes. Suddenly, she felt emboldened.

“I don’t know why I came,” she blurted out. “I heard men and women meet lovers in this house. But that’s not why I came. I haven’t come to meet a lover.” Fearful, suddenly, of being misconstrued, she pulled away her hands and backed toward the door. “I’m not like that.” She tried to steady her breathing. “I saw a man in the corridor just now who looked at me as if I were like—”

“Like one of us?” Ariane supplied with a smile. She’d followed and now began to stroke Cressida’s arm, her soft, ungloved touch searing sensation through her. “A Vestal Virgin? That’s what we’re called, you know.” Ariane’s laugh was a more sensual than Cressida would have expected. “If he was dark and handsome with a piratical leer, then he was probably my husband.”

“Your husband?”

Ariane nodded. “You sound shocked. Yet Mrs. Plumb’s Salon of Sin is for everyone like us—star-crossed lovers or those burdened by unhappy marriages.” She began to stroke Cressida’s forearm as she led her around the room. “My husband and I eloped five years ago, but it’s a secret we must keep until he turns five-and-twenty and can therefore claim his inheritance.” She sighed. “So we meet here, where I survive by dancing for the entertainment of others. We all have a different story, and—see?—I have told you, a stranger, mine within a moment of meeting you. Unburdening oneself can be great catharsis, as my friends will attest.” She indicated the three other young women, whose mouths all turned up in a sympathy that shone from their eyes.

Cressida stared. In harmony, they’d seemed as one, but now that they’d drawn closer and the candlelight flickered across their features, she saw the tallest was crowned with a cascade of jet black hair as glossy as a raven’s wing, her sharp, pretty little face viewing Cressida with fixed interest. The other two were fair, the youngest of them rubbing swollen eyes, suggesting she’d just been crying.

“If you heard our stories,” Ariane said softly, “you’d realize you were little different from the rest of us and that we are here, like you, looking for the same thing — love.”

“I have love,” Cressida said woodenly, looking from their four earnest faces to the dim, ordinary room beyond. “I have a loving husband at home.”

The women exchanged looks which made Cressida cringe inside though she fought the urge to add emphasis to her statement.

“Except that you think he’s here, and that’s why you’ve bravely set out to search for him. You think he’s been taking pleasure in a house like this,” Ariane paused meaningfully, adding, “with women like us.”

Cressida shook her head. “No, I’m sure he’d never—”

“Nor would we, for we are not lightskirts who sell our bodies for the pleasure of men,” said the youngest woman fiercely, dabbing her eyes with her chiffon scarf as she broke away from the comfort of her companions to confront Cressida. “Though often one’s body is the only commodity we have, and selling it is the only way to stop from starving when a woman has no man to support her.” Her voice trembled. “So we dance, and while we are young and still have our looks, men pay for the pleasure of watching us. We