Regency Improprieties: Innocence and Impropriety / The Vanishing Viscountess. Diane Gaston
‘Flynn?’ she whispered. Her eyes reflected his own wrenching need.
‘This is madness,’ he rasped. Madness for him to covet the woman his powerful employer laid claim to.
She tried to come closer, but he held up his hand. ‘I must go.’
She blocked his way to the door. ‘Why is it madness, Flynn?’
He had no choice but to touch her. He put his hands on her arms and eased her aside so he could collect his hat and gloves.
She stepped closer again. ‘Why is it madness?’ She scooped up the calling cards that had been piled next to his gloves. ‘It is what Tannerton and Greythorne and all these gentlemen want, is it not?’ She let the cards cascade from her fingers. ‘Why can it not be between you and me?’
‘Because of my employer, Rose.’ He pulled on his gloves. ‘It would be the ruin of my future. Yours as well. Do you not see that?’
‘But he need never know,’ she countered.
‘I would know. After all he has done for me, I would not repay him so.’ Did she think he could make love to her one day and face Tanner the next?
He opened the door, but turned back to her. ‘You are indeed like your friend Katy, are you not? Do not tease me further with talk of needing time. I will not believe you.’ He started through the door but swung around again, leaning close to her face, as close as when he almost kissed her. ‘You are just what you seem, Rose. A fancy piece.’
Her lips parted in surprise, but they remained as enticing as before. With a growl of frustration, he wrenched himself away and hurried down the staircase.
Rose leaned against the doorframe, arms wrapped around herself. She squeezed her eyes shut. His words stung, but she knew he’d been correct. She’d behaved badly. Wantonly.
She re-entered the room, shutting the door behind her and hurrying to the window. She watched him leave the building, his pace as quick as if pursued by lions.
Leaning her forehead against the cool glass, she sang, ‘I wish in my heart, I was with you …’
Vauxhall was not nearly as pleasant this night without Rose O’Keefe singing. Greythorne grimaced as Charles Dignum began. He stalked out of the Grove and strolled towards the Transparency. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed one of Vauxhall’s many delights—a woman with flaming red hair, laughing on the arm of that fool Sir Reginald, pulling him through the crowd.
He sucked in a breath. That laughter gave him a twinge.
He blew out the breath and walked on, scanning the crowd. He wanted a woman. Needed a woman. It had been a long time since he’d invited a woman into his den of pleasure. What harm to pluck another flower while he waited to win the elusive Rose from that—that—Corinthian Tannerton?
Blood surged through his veins. He’d win Rose O’Keefe and show her his special set of delights, and once under his control, she would forget all about Tannerton’s pursuit.
Greythorne wiped his face, grateful to the Diamond, Amanda, who had spurned him and lost the opportunity to experience his special talents. Because of the Diamond, he’d pushed himself to dare new delights. New heights. Nearer and nearer the brink.
He’d also had to take more care. There were some who knew his brand of pleasure, and he dared not risk more exposure. He rubbed his hands together. The more secretive he became, the more daring as well. There were no limits in anonymity.
He grinned, imagining this girl’s laughter fading, her eyes widening, mouth opening, cries ringing against the walls of his special room.
He donned the mask he kept in his pocket, the mask that protected him, the mask that freed him. The red-haired woman might be occupied this night, but there were other blooms to be plucked.
And Greythorne loved to cut flowers.
Chapter Six
The message from Flynn arrived for Rose the following afternoon, delivered into her father’s hands. ‘Mary Rose, it is from that marquess’s fellow,’ he said.
Letty, interrupted from admiring how the emerald ring sparkled on her pudgy hand, ran to his side. ‘Well, what is it? What does he say?’
Letty snatched the letter from her father and walked over to read it by the light from the window. ‘He wants to meet her! Two days hence.’ She dropped the letter on the table. ‘Did I not say it would be so?’
Rose picked up the paper, reading that the selected meeting place was King’s Theatre, to see a performance of Don Giovanni. She pressed the paper against her beating heart. Flynn was giving her King’s Theatre. A real opera, too, with performers singing out the whole story. It was almost exciting enough to forget that he’d pushed her away, accusing her of acting like a harlot. Or that she must meet the man who wanted her to be his harlot.
Letty snatched the paper from Rose’s hand. ‘Let me read it again.’ Her lips moved as she went over the words. She handed it back to Rose. ‘He is saying that Miss Green must come with you.’
‘I asked that she be invited. She is one of the girls I lived with.’ Rose had never explained much to her father about living in Miss Hart’s house. She never explained anything to Letty.
‘Where do you meet the marquess?’ Her father took another sip of gin.
‘She will ruin it, I know she will,’ Letty grumbled, crossing the room to pour more gin for herself, drinking it alone in a sulk.
‘At King’s Theatre, Papa,’ Rose replied.
He smiled at her. ‘Your mother sang at King’s Theatre. Did you know that, Mary Rose?’
‘I did, Papa.’
He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Daughter, you are saying you want to sing. Here is your chance!’
She laughed. ‘Papa, I am to watch the opera. And the marquess will not be asking me to sing.’
‘I keep trying to tell you the way of things.’ He put his arm around her and sat her down in one of the chairs. He sat opposite, still holding her hand. ‘A woman in the theatre gets work by pleasing the right people, if you get my meaning. This is the life you chose.’ He reached over to pick up his glass of gin from the table. ‘The marquess has a lofty title and money. ‘Tis said he is very generous to his girls.’
‘Papa,’ she entreated. ‘I’m certain I can make money singing. The newspapers said nice things about me. I’m sure to get another job after the Vauxhall season is over.’
Her father took a sip, then shook his head. ‘You’ll be hired to sing if you have someone asking for you. Like I could ask Mr Hook for you, being in the orchestra and all. But in the theatres, you need a patron, Mary Rose. And if this marquess wants you to sing, you will be finding work.’ He took her hand again and made her look at him. ‘If you displease such a man, if you spurn him, you’ll never work again. All he has to do is say the word.’
Rose glanced away. Flynn had said as much. The marquess had the power to dash her dreams.
Her father squeezed her hand until she looked at him again. ‘Listen, your own darling mother might have risen to greatness. She had the voice, the prettiest voice you’d ever be wanting to hear, and she was as lovely—you favour her, Mary Rose.’ He smiled sadly. ‘She caught the eye of such a man as your marquess. An earl, I’m remembering he was. But she was wanting me, instead.’ He shook his head as if he could still not believe it. ‘The earl was mighty angry, as you can imagine. And then neither of us could find work anywhere. By then you were on the way, and I took her back to Ireland. It was a long time before the earl forgot, and I could return to Englad to earn good money again. And then, of course, your mother got sick.’ His voice faded.
Rose bowed her head, her emotions in a muddle. Her beautiful mother