bacchanalia.”
Desire stirred. She made him think of swirls of cream on plump, sweet strawberries. “Then yes, he will have them on display. If you feel you can do it, your presence would be helpful. I can guarantee your safety.”
Honesty compelled him to add, “I cannot guarantee that you won’t see things that embarrass you. In fact, I can guarantee that you will.”
He saw a flash of excitement before she frowned.
Ah, it would be criminal to deny her this treat. “So, do you want to come? Tonight?”
Cressida looked into his bright, challenging eyes. Oh yes, she wanted to go. “Staying here would be like Wellington sitting in Brussels sipping tea while Waterloo raged.”
He rose. “Delightful woman! Very well, we must make plans for battle, and the first is to disguise you. I can be recognized, but it’s essential on all levels that you are not.” He tugged on the bell pull. “How well does Crofton know you?”
“Not well.”
“Then how did this extraordinary bargain come about?”
“He asked for permission to court me, but I had my father turn him away. I didn’t like him, and he was clearly one of the ones after my large dowry.” She looked up at him. “I worry that this is all revenge.”
“Possible, but you could have done nothing else. And I assume he didn’t force your father to the card tables.”
She sighed. “No, and after the disaster, he offered me this chance to recoup. In exchange for my virtue, my family could keep all the Indian artifacts. He tried to express distress, to present it as a kindness, the louse. I almost had him thrown out, but saw a chance to get the jewels.”
“It makes me wonder just how straight the play was, but the important matter now is your disguise.”
He rose and went to open the door. “Harry?”
A young footman stepped into view. Cressida saw a strong resemblance to Mrs. Barkway. “Your Grace?”
“Find Mr. Lyne for me.”
When the footman left, the duke turned and looked her over. “You already look different… What happened to the curls?”
She blushed. “They are false.”
“Lord above. But their absence changes your appearance. With a mask… Or a veil. Yes, that’s it! I have a sultan’s costume somewhere. If you go as a houri, with a veil over the lower part of your face and a mask over the upper part, it will do. Is your hair as long as it looks? You can wear it down…”
With a knock, a new man walked in. Another tall, fashionable man, though lighter haired than St. Raven and square faced.
Cressida raised her brows. “What became of the plan to keep me out of sight, Your Grace?”
“Cary’s already seen you. Garters,” he added, clearly to put her to the blush. “Stockings.” Before she could respond, he said, “Miss Mandeville, may I present Mr. Caradoc Lyne. Cary, Miss Mandeville.”
“You’re looking more the thing, Miss Mandeville. I hope you haven’t been too frightened.”
“No more than is reasonable, sir.”
He pulled an apologetic face. “We couldn’t leave you in the hands of that loose fish, Miss Mandeville. Truly.” He turned to the duke. “What’s to do now?”
St. Raven efficiently laid out the situation. His friend argued about the wisdom of taking a lady to such a scandalous affair, but was overborne. Cressida reflected that the Duke of St. Raven was accustomed to having his own way.
“So, our pressing need is a costume,” he said. “Something vaguely Arabian with a face veil.”
“There are some things… er… left behind, I think.”
He returned in moments and spread a pair of purple silk trousers on the bed, adding a glittering, multicolored short-sleeved jacket.
Cressida stared. “I can’t wear trousers!”
“This will be an
orgy
, Miss Mandeville.” The duke’s eyes were laughing at her again.
She went over and picked up the jacket. If she was lucky it would just reach to her waist. “My corset will show beneath this!”
Mr. Lyne cleared his throat. “I think
Desire stirred. She made him think of swirls of cream on plump, sweet strawberries. “Then yes, he will have them on display. If you feel you can do it, your presence would be helpful. I can guarantee your safety.”
Honesty compelled him to add, “I cannot guarantee that you won’t see things that embarrass you. In fact, I can guarantee that you will.”
He saw a flash of excitement before she frowned.
Ah, it would be criminal to deny her this treat. “So, do you want to come? Tonight?”
Cressida looked into his bright, challenging eyes. Oh yes, she wanted to go. “Staying here would be like Wellington sitting in Brussels sipping tea while Waterloo raged.”
He rose. “Delightful woman! Very well, we must make plans for battle, and the first is to disguise you. I can be recognized, but it’s essential on all levels that you are not.” He tugged on the bell pull. “How well does Crofton know you?”
“Not well.”
“Then how did this extraordinary bargain come about?”
“He asked for permission to court me, but I had my father turn him away. I didn’t like him, and he was clearly one of the ones after my large dowry.” She looked up at him. “I worry that this is all revenge.”
“Possible, but you could have done nothing else. And I assume he didn’t force your father to the card tables.”
She sighed. “No, and after the disaster, he offered me this chance to recoup. In exchange for my virtue, my family could keep all the Indian artifacts. He tried to express distress, to present it as a kindness, the louse. I almost had him thrown out, but saw a chance to get the jewels.”
“It makes me wonder just how straight the play was, but the important matter now is your disguise.”
He rose and went to open the door. “Harry?”
A young footman stepped into view. Cressida saw a strong resemblance to Mrs. Barkway. “Your Grace?”
“Find Mr. Lyne for me.”
When the footman left, the duke turned and looked her over. “You already look different… What happened to the curls?”
She blushed. “They are false.”
“Lord above. But their absence changes your appearance. With a mask… Or a veil. Yes, that’s it! I have a sultan’s costume somewhere. If you go as a houri, with a veil over the lower part of your face and a mask over the upper part, it will do. Is your hair as long as it looks? You can wear it down…”
With a knock, a new man walked in. Another tall, fashionable man, though lighter haired than St. Raven and square faced.
Cressida raised her brows. “What became of the plan to keep me out of sight, Your Grace?”
“Cary’s already seen you. Garters,” he added, clearly to put her to the blush. “Stockings.” Before she could respond, he said, “Miss Mandeville, may I present Mr. Caradoc Lyne. Cary, Miss Mandeville.”
“You’re looking more the thing, Miss Mandeville. I hope you haven’t been too frightened.”
“No more than is reasonable, sir.”
He pulled an apologetic face. “We couldn’t leave you in the hands of that loose fish, Miss Mandeville. Truly.” He turned to the duke. “What’s to do now?”
St. Raven efficiently laid out the situation. His friend argued about the wisdom of taking a lady to such a scandalous affair, but was overborne. Cressida reflected that the Duke of St. Raven was accustomed to having his own way.
“So, our pressing need is a costume,” he said. “Something vaguely Arabian with a face veil.”
“There are some things… er… left behind, I think.”
He returned in moments and spread a pair of purple silk trousers on the bed, adding a glittering, multicolored short-sleeved jacket.
Cressida stared. “I can’t wear trousers!”
“This will be an
orgy
, Miss Mandeville.” The duke’s eyes were laughing at her again.
She went over and picked up the jacket. If she was lucky it would just reach to her waist. “My corset will show beneath this!”
Mr. Lyne cleared his throat. “I think
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