Read Online Forged by Love: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 4 by Lynne Connolly - Free Book Online
Authors: Lynne Connolly
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but to continue. He appeared at the theatre that night, newly reopened after the scandal. After, he attended two balls, assiduously promoting Virginie’s cause without making his points too obvious.
At the second ball, finally he met a fellow immortal. D’Argento, resplendent in ice-blue velvet, nodded graciously then sauntered across the room to greet him. “I thought you’d all gone into hiding,” Harry grumbled to him, sotto voce .
“On the contrary, dear boy, we are scattered throughout the favourite haunts of this fair city, doing our best to spread the word.”
That was the first he had heard of it. “So you didn’t think to tell me?”
“You have hardly stopped. One would imagine the cause was close to your heart.” D’Argento lifted his quizzing-glass and peered around the room. “I see Lady Spenlove heading this way.”
“I saw her and her beautiful daughter earlier in the day,” he said grimly, picking a tiny pink feather off his dark brown sleeve. “Since I have done my duty in that direction, and I have no wish to be seen with the same woman twice in one day, I’ll take my leave of you.”
D’Argento, at his most effete, stepped forward and presented her ladyship and her daughter—daughters tonight—with a flourishing bow which incidentally prevented him from reaching her initial target.
Perhaps she would consider an Italian count worth her while. A fabulously wealthy one, anyway.
Harry retreated to pastures new.
And through this tedious day he worried. That scene had disturbed him in more ways than he could explain. At a deep level of his soul, he ached. Since he’d arrived in London he’d heard about Virginie’s beauty, her elegance, her taste, but nobody seemed to want to know what lay beneath. She wasn’t just Venus; she was somebody else, somebody new. Like him, she’d taken the essence of the deity she was born with and made something fresh from it.
How did the woman, Virginie, feel tonight? What would she do? Perhaps something rash, considering the way she’d behaved with Lyndhurst.
Harry sent his card ahead of him, and called on Virginie at the earliest correct hour the next day. At first the butler informed him her grace was away from home, but when Harry showed no sign of leaving, he took the card inside the house. Harry carefully folded down the corner, to tell her he was waiting.
His patience was rewarded when the butler returned to his carriage and loftily bid him egress to the modest house Virginie had hired for the season.
Inside he discovered, if not chaos, then certainly disorder. Travelling trunks stood in the black and white tiled hallway, one open, revealing a barely half-full space. The servants were more evident, the discretion usually demanded of a good domestic temporarily absent. A housemaid scuttled from the door under the stairs to the parlour at the front of the house, bearing a hastily set tray containing tea things. Harry hoped that was for him.
“Would you come this way, my lord,” said the butler, and Harry followed him the short distance to the parlour he’d noted before.
The room was typical of the comfortably furnished places available for the season. Many preferred their own furnishings, but Virginie wouldn’t have had time, since she had lived at the club for the earlier part of the season.
He took in the room in a swift glance, then concentrated on the woman who had risen to greet him.
He bowed over her hand, trying to make his gesture as graceful as he could, because she cared about such things. She was paler than usual, and dark shadows traced her eyes below a light coating of face paint.
She was dressed in dark blue, a silk that rustled seductively when she moved. He saw nothing in her expression except what she wanted him to see. He hated that. Either she was deliberately masking it or he was not skilled at detecting the real person behind the mask. Immortals wore two. The polite society mask every member of the upper tier
At the second ball, finally he met a fellow immortal. D’Argento, resplendent in ice-blue velvet, nodded graciously then sauntered across the room to greet him. “I thought you’d all gone into hiding,” Harry grumbled to him, sotto voce .
“On the contrary, dear boy, we are scattered throughout the favourite haunts of this fair city, doing our best to spread the word.”
That was the first he had heard of it. “So you didn’t think to tell me?”
“You have hardly stopped. One would imagine the cause was close to your heart.” D’Argento lifted his quizzing-glass and peered around the room. “I see Lady Spenlove heading this way.”
“I saw her and her beautiful daughter earlier in the day,” he said grimly, picking a tiny pink feather off his dark brown sleeve. “Since I have done my duty in that direction, and I have no wish to be seen with the same woman twice in one day, I’ll take my leave of you.”
D’Argento, at his most effete, stepped forward and presented her ladyship and her daughter—daughters tonight—with a flourishing bow which incidentally prevented him from reaching her initial target.
Perhaps she would consider an Italian count worth her while. A fabulously wealthy one, anyway.
Harry retreated to pastures new.
And through this tedious day he worried. That scene had disturbed him in more ways than he could explain. At a deep level of his soul, he ached. Since he’d arrived in London he’d heard about Virginie’s beauty, her elegance, her taste, but nobody seemed to want to know what lay beneath. She wasn’t just Venus; she was somebody else, somebody new. Like him, she’d taken the essence of the deity she was born with and made something fresh from it.
How did the woman, Virginie, feel tonight? What would she do? Perhaps something rash, considering the way she’d behaved with Lyndhurst.
Harry sent his card ahead of him, and called on Virginie at the earliest correct hour the next day. At first the butler informed him her grace was away from home, but when Harry showed no sign of leaving, he took the card inside the house. Harry carefully folded down the corner, to tell her he was waiting.
His patience was rewarded when the butler returned to his carriage and loftily bid him egress to the modest house Virginie had hired for the season.
Inside he discovered, if not chaos, then certainly disorder. Travelling trunks stood in the black and white tiled hallway, one open, revealing a barely half-full space. The servants were more evident, the discretion usually demanded of a good domestic temporarily absent. A housemaid scuttled from the door under the stairs to the parlour at the front of the house, bearing a hastily set tray containing tea things. Harry hoped that was for him.
“Would you come this way, my lord,” said the butler, and Harry followed him the short distance to the parlour he’d noted before.
The room was typical of the comfortably furnished places available for the season. Many preferred their own furnishings, but Virginie wouldn’t have had time, since she had lived at the club for the earlier part of the season.
He took in the room in a swift glance, then concentrated on the woman who had risen to greet him.
He bowed over her hand, trying to make his gesture as graceful as he could, because she cared about such things. She was paler than usual, and dark shadows traced her eyes below a light coating of face paint.
She was dressed in dark blue, a silk that rustled seductively when she moved. He saw nothing in her expression except what she wanted him to see. He hated that. Either she was deliberately masking it or he was not skilled at detecting the real person behind the mask. Immortals wore two. The polite society mask every member of the upper tier
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