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Authors: Arabella Sheraton
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insists they are to be mine. The young lady is about my size so there are just a few tiny alterations. I felt quite uncomfortable about accepting the gift, but the Dowager looked so pleased when I tried them all on that I felt it would be churlish to refuse. By the way, you will never believe what that horrible man did. He ordered a dress for me from some London modiste called Madame Celeste. He offers it to ‘compensate’ me for the ruin of one of mine when I had to climb the tree to rescue Scheherazade. Do you remember the incident? Of course, I shan’t wear it. Do write soon, dearest Aunt. I hope Amber’s paw is healed now.
Your loving niece”
“Madame Celeste?” Aunt Preston wondered. “Do you hear that, Amber? Nothing less than the best for the dangerous duke. Oh, dear.” She nibbled her bottom lip in mild agitation. “I do hope he hasn’t fallen in love with her, but I fear he has!”
Fenella’s decision never to wear the dress was overturned when the Dowager insisted she wear it the next day, just to please her.
Chapter Five
The acrid air caught at Devlin’s throat. His head ached and his eyes felt scratchy. He looked round the crowded gaming parlour, squinting through the murky atmosphere. Although the room was brightly lit, he could not see very well. A heavy haze of smoke hung like a grey pall over the festivities. Through the low drone of conversation, he heard muted laughter punctuated by an occasional feminine squeal, the clink of glasses, the chink of coins, the riffling of cards. A buxom woman, heavily rouged and flaunting an enormous jewelled, feathered headdress bore down upon his table. She leered at him, her red lips parting in a triumphant grin. The woman was well past forty-five, perhaps nearer fifty, but dressed like a much younger courtesan in scarlet satin. The very low cut neckline of her ostentatious gown almost exposed her nipples as her ample breasts strained to escape the constricting bodice.
“Ooh, what a catch,” she cackled quietly to herself, “the Duke of Wyndlesham frequenting my establishment. He don’t look too happy to me with such a Friday-face on him. I wonder what’s happened with that cold icicle Penelope Vane.”
Madame Cybille, who ran the Cygnet Club and acted as manageress and chaperone to the nubile Cygnets, prided herself on her clientele. Most were, like the Duke, exceptionally plump in the pocket and nothing was too much trouble for her guests. The Cygnet Club accommodated all gentlemen’s sexual tastes, however exotic. The Cygnets were, of course, very attractive young ladies, who “assisted” the players by plying them with drink. Sometimes a lucky gamester, for a considerable token of appreciation, could escort a beautiful Cygnet upstairs for further pleasures. Madame Cybille preened herself as she nodded in his direction. With a discreet wave of a plump, beringed hand, she indicated one of her prettier Cygnets who appeared willing to lure the Duke into a warm embrace.
Devlin nodded briefly back. Damn the woman’s vulgar familiarity . He preferred the more salubrious gentlemen’s establishments such as White’s or Brooke’s, not the seedy, notorious clubs like the Cygnet and the even more disreputable Mount Olympus. Devlin did not want to acquire the reputation of a gambler such as Sir Marcus Solesby whom he had seen out the corner of his eye, lolling in a secluded corner. Sir Marcus was well foxed and did not care who knew it. He was in the company of two nubile Cygnets, sprawled in attitudes of languid abandonment on either side of him. Their breasts were half exposed and Sir Marcus was shamelessly fondling their creamy globes while, from the expression of ecstasy on his face, their busy little hands were giving him equal amounts of pleasure under the table.
Devlin scowled.
What the devil was he doing here ? Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas .
He must have been mad to think a place such as this would solve the seething turmoil in his
Your loving niece”
“Madame Celeste?” Aunt Preston wondered. “Do you hear that, Amber? Nothing less than the best for the dangerous duke. Oh, dear.” She nibbled her bottom lip in mild agitation. “I do hope he hasn’t fallen in love with her, but I fear he has!”
Fenella’s decision never to wear the dress was overturned when the Dowager insisted she wear it the next day, just to please her.
Chapter Five
The acrid air caught at Devlin’s throat. His head ached and his eyes felt scratchy. He looked round the crowded gaming parlour, squinting through the murky atmosphere. Although the room was brightly lit, he could not see very well. A heavy haze of smoke hung like a grey pall over the festivities. Through the low drone of conversation, he heard muted laughter punctuated by an occasional feminine squeal, the clink of glasses, the chink of coins, the riffling of cards. A buxom woman, heavily rouged and flaunting an enormous jewelled, feathered headdress bore down upon his table. She leered at him, her red lips parting in a triumphant grin. The woman was well past forty-five, perhaps nearer fifty, but dressed like a much younger courtesan in scarlet satin. The very low cut neckline of her ostentatious gown almost exposed her nipples as her ample breasts strained to escape the constricting bodice.
“Ooh, what a catch,” she cackled quietly to herself, “the Duke of Wyndlesham frequenting my establishment. He don’t look too happy to me with such a Friday-face on him. I wonder what’s happened with that cold icicle Penelope Vane.”
Madame Cybille, who ran the Cygnet Club and acted as manageress and chaperone to the nubile Cygnets, prided herself on her clientele. Most were, like the Duke, exceptionally plump in the pocket and nothing was too much trouble for her guests. The Cygnet Club accommodated all gentlemen’s sexual tastes, however exotic. The Cygnets were, of course, very attractive young ladies, who “assisted” the players by plying them with drink. Sometimes a lucky gamester, for a considerable token of appreciation, could escort a beautiful Cygnet upstairs for further pleasures. Madame Cybille preened herself as she nodded in his direction. With a discreet wave of a plump, beringed hand, she indicated one of her prettier Cygnets who appeared willing to lure the Duke into a warm embrace.
Devlin nodded briefly back. Damn the woman’s vulgar familiarity . He preferred the more salubrious gentlemen’s establishments such as White’s or Brooke’s, not the seedy, notorious clubs like the Cygnet and the even more disreputable Mount Olympus. Devlin did not want to acquire the reputation of a gambler such as Sir Marcus Solesby whom he had seen out the corner of his eye, lolling in a secluded corner. Sir Marcus was well foxed and did not care who knew it. He was in the company of two nubile Cygnets, sprawled in attitudes of languid abandonment on either side of him. Their breasts were half exposed and Sir Marcus was shamelessly fondling their creamy globes while, from the expression of ecstasy on his face, their busy little hands were giving him equal amounts of pleasure under the table.
Devlin scowled.
What the devil was he doing here ? Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas .
He must have been mad to think a place such as this would solve the seething turmoil in his
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