sort of dark good looks that especially appealed to him. Of course, he had to admit now that at that time, those five years ago, the blond, brunette, red-haired, and possibly even bald-pated good looks of any young female would have appealed to him equally as well. He had not been half so immune to the scandalmongers as he had pretended to be. And a young man, for he’d been only four and twenty at the time, who had just obtained a shocking divorce on the grounds of his own inability in the marital bed, would be likely, no matter how he kept up the pretext of not caring, to seek to prove his masculinity incessantly for all the whispering world to see and hear about.
So, as much as he might have admired her fashion, he had done no more than to speak a few polite words over Lady Leonora’s little white hand at that time. For he couldn’t offer her what a proper young lady was obviously looking for in her presentation year, and she could scarcely offer him what an improper young man was seeking in the year of his absolute disgrace. But there was no denying that he always noted her presence, and not just for her father’s sake, whenever their paths happened to cross. And that happened far more frequently than might have been expected of two persons traversing such absolutely diverse paths of society.
But then, London was much like a small town for all its size, and since people always tend to travel in the same tight congenial groups, just as some species of fish do even in the widest seas, those paths are well marked. So even as all the goldsmiths in Town knew of or about each other, as did all the poets and printers and pickpockets, so then all the members of the ton could be said to be constantly tripping over each other.
Even so, although the marquess had been born to the same world that Leonora had been, he had been cast out from it by his actions, and might have absented himself from it forever had it not been for the lady’s father. The viscount had heard of the young gentleman’s disgrace, and had seen him in a house of ill and wide repute as he attempted to ruin what little reputation he had left to himself. As he was upon the premises for his own purposes anyway, the Viscount Talwin had waited until the following morning, when the young marquess was attempting to restore whatever health he had remaining after his roisterous evening. Then the older gentleman had served up a proposition to the younger, along with his fifth cup of strong and steaming coffee. That proposition, the marquess was fond of remembering, had been his salvation and the making of him as a man.
What he had so urgently needed, he had been given. And that was not just a constant supply of sweet young womanflesh, as he had thought. It was, that first time, just one dangerous, responsible, and important task to perform for his country. And when he’d returned from the Continent, having executed that mission creditably, there had been another for him to essay. It was not until fairly recently, when the French authorities had begun to take note of that lean wolfish face and form to the point where he earned the chilling and deserved nickname of “le loup Anglais,” that he had been forced to return to England for good. But there was still employment for him, his patron had insisted, and he had passed his time these last weeks in Town learning what he could from English sources. Not all of his countrymen were patriots, as the viscount told him, and so until Nappy had given up every last dream of world conquest, he would be needed. And to be needed had been just what the Marquess of Severne most desired.
But now he needed to know just why his mentor’s daughter had vented her spleen upon him. He had only encountered her a few times during that Season five years previously, for he had gone off to the Continent almost at the same time that she had blotted her copy book so indelibly that her father had ordered her home immediately. Their lives
So, as much as he might have admired her fashion, he had done no more than to speak a few polite words over Lady Leonora’s little white hand at that time. For he couldn’t offer her what a proper young lady was obviously looking for in her presentation year, and she could scarcely offer him what an improper young man was seeking in the year of his absolute disgrace. But there was no denying that he always noted her presence, and not just for her father’s sake, whenever their paths happened to cross. And that happened far more frequently than might have been expected of two persons traversing such absolutely diverse paths of society.
But then, London was much like a small town for all its size, and since people always tend to travel in the same tight congenial groups, just as some species of fish do even in the widest seas, those paths are well marked. So even as all the goldsmiths in Town knew of or about each other, as did all the poets and printers and pickpockets, so then all the members of the ton could be said to be constantly tripping over each other.
Even so, although the marquess had been born to the same world that Leonora had been, he had been cast out from it by his actions, and might have absented himself from it forever had it not been for the lady’s father. The viscount had heard of the young gentleman’s disgrace, and had seen him in a house of ill and wide repute as he attempted to ruin what little reputation he had left to himself. As he was upon the premises for his own purposes anyway, the Viscount Talwin had waited until the following morning, when the young marquess was attempting to restore whatever health he had remaining after his roisterous evening. Then the older gentleman had served up a proposition to the younger, along with his fifth cup of strong and steaming coffee. That proposition, the marquess was fond of remembering, had been his salvation and the making of him as a man.
What he had so urgently needed, he had been given. And that was not just a constant supply of sweet young womanflesh, as he had thought. It was, that first time, just one dangerous, responsible, and important task to perform for his country. And when he’d returned from the Continent, having executed that mission creditably, there had been another for him to essay. It was not until fairly recently, when the French authorities had begun to take note of that lean wolfish face and form to the point where he earned the chilling and deserved nickname of “le loup Anglais,” that he had been forced to return to England for good. But there was still employment for him, his patron had insisted, and he had passed his time these last weeks in Town learning what he could from English sources. Not all of his countrymen were patriots, as the viscount told him, and so until Nappy had given up every last dream of world conquest, he would be needed. And to be needed had been just what the Marquess of Severne most desired.
But now he needed to know just why his mentor’s daughter had vented her spleen upon him. He had only encountered her a few times during that Season five years previously, for he had gone off to the Continent almost at the same time that she had blotted her copy book so indelibly that her father had ordered her home immediately. Their lives
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