A Gentleman's Guide to Scandal by Kathleen Kimmel

Author:Kathleen Kimmel
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-04-19T10:48:37+00:00

Chapter 18

Elinor parted ways with Lord Farleigh as the afternoon wore on, and began an exploration of her own. Her mask provided her with a certain degree of protection, but she almost didn’t need it; men’s eyes slid first to her throat and, spotting the egret charm, slid just as quickly away. She doubted they would have registered her face if she’d thrown the mask into the bushes and paraded across the lawn. That she belonged to another man was a stronger deterrent than any expression of disinterest, which rankled her even as she recognized its use. She had always had the unspoken protection of her male relatives, her wealth, her position in society; she had never had cause to fear that her refusal would be disregarded. Now she was not Lady Elinor Hargrove; she was only a harlot like all the others, and as carefully as Beauchene constructed his rules, most of the men here would assume that her answer was yes without bothering to ask.

Except that she was owned.

By the time she located Madame Beauchene, the realization had nursed itself into a low-simmering resentment against Lord Farleigh. It was hardly his fault—except that he had placed terms and conditions on her ability to pursue her own ends, and that it was his fault that her plan had been interrupted the first night.

Madame Beauchene was entertaining a trio of men in a room of red brocade and endless mirrors, her mask dangling idly from one hand. Elinor supposed she could afford to ignore the rules. Gold accents gilded every frame and piece of furniture. The room had a kingly look the men could not match. Nor could Madame Beauchene, though her audience did not seem to care. She was a plain woman, no beauty to look upon, but she entranced the eye nonetheless. Elinor drew close, hesitating at the palpable edge of the woman’s sphere of attention, and was rewarded only with the flick of Madame Beauchene’s eyes to acknowledge her.

The older woman finished the anecdote she was sharing, something about a muddy horseback ride and a stray sheep, and then pardoned herself. She rose, smiling, and glided over to Elinor. Every one of her fingers sported at least one ring, and on them glittered gaudy gems. She was not a woman of subtlety; she couldn’t afford to be, Elinor decided, with looks like that. She found another way to bowl men over.

“The girl with the torn buttons,” Madame Beauchene said. “I see you recovered your stride.”

“I had a lovely night,” Elinor said, not certain if that was the right way to describe it.

“I wondered,” Madame Beauchene said, “who you were. You haven’t been here before, and I didn’t remember interviewing you.”

“Interviewing?” Elinor said, mouth suddenly dry.

Madame Beauchene’s tone was light, but with a chill edge. “Nor did my husband. We try to speak to every one of our girls before they arrive.”

“Madame Lavigne referred me,” Elinor said quickly. “She said nothing of an interview.”

“Ah, Madame Lavigne,” the woman said, as if that settled the matter.

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