The Deadliest Sin. Caroline RichardsЧитать онлайн книгу.
did not know what she was asking. Wadsworth launched enthusiastically into a lascivious tale about the estate, which had hosted, not quite one hundred years earlier, a colorful array of rakes, libertines, courtesans, and adventurers who had enjoyed despoiling the manor house with alarming regularity. “Indeed yes, my great grandfather’s guests raced through the dark forests of the countryside for frenzied couplings or libidinous meetings in ruined abbeys, erotic gardens, and underground tunnels. I should be pleased to be your host at any time, my dear, should you care to see some of the more interesting follies.”
Julia remained amazingly composed. “What an interesting family, sir. I do recall hearing of your great grandfather who, it has been written, fornicated his way across Europe on two Grand Tours, causing scandals from St. Petersburg to Constantinople.” She added serenely, “As I understand it, he was also a member of Parliament.”
“We do try to keep up the tradition,” chortled Wadsworth, whose family continued to hold the seat though he never bothered to attend Parliament. “Why, I recall old Edgar, as we in the family call him, would use Eccles house for all manner of carnal misbehavior.” He warmed to his subject. “From what we know, he would gather his guests for twice weekly bacchanals and my goodness, there are stories of aristocratic women traveling from London to join the frolics dressed as nuns. Comely local nymphs were enticed, so it is told, to lie quite bare on the altar of lust.” His jowls trembling, he continued heartily. “And of course there were the caves.”
Julia tilted her head to one side inquiringly. “The caves? I do recall hearing of abandoned chalk mines in the area.”
Wadsworth, thought Strathmore with a twinge of irritation, was more than pleased to oblige his captive audience with an excruciatingly detailed explanation. “You are quite the scholar, my dear,” sighed Wadsworth admiringly, his cheeks ruddy with enthusiasm. “My great grandfather had ordered the caves built in the 1750s, converting a chalk mine into elaborate tunnels and grottoes going down over three hundred feet. He was very imaginative, I must say, with a bridge built over a subterranean river which they christened the Styx, naturally, and an elaborate entrance with a façade to evoke the nave of a church. Quite an exemplary effort, and as I offered earlier, I should be delighted to be your escort should you choose to experience some of our unique sights first hand, my dear.”
“Most kind of you to offer, sir. But I do believe the evening’s entertainments hold enough excitement for the moment, as do your guests with whom I should like to become better acquainted.”
Strathmore experienced an unexpected flare of temper. Julia Woolcott was indeed looking for someone. Faron. Dangerous for her, of course, but easier for him. He tamped down his inexplicable irritation.
“Indeed yes, my dear, I should be more than pleased to make introductions. As I am certain Lord Strathmore has informed you, we hew to a certain protocol that requests we do not divulge names once we leave the estate. We endeavor to keep our diversions private. To protect the innocent.” With that last statement, Wadsworth let out a bark of laughter.
Strathmore tensed, watching Julia survey the room. Faron had chosen her for a reason—and she, no doubt, knew it.
“That includes you as well, Strathmore, despite the reputation that precedes you,” said Wadsworth, continuing with a bonhomie that made Strathmore think of a snake charmer he’d once met in the Sindi province of India. “You’ve been outside the country for a time. Up to all manner of interesting diversions, no doubt.”
“I’ve been away some years,” Strathmore said, accepting a glass of claret from a passing footman who glided by as discreetly as a ghost. He preferred brandy but finished the claret in one mouthful. It had been some time since spirits had warmed his belly.
Wadsworth chuckled. “Indeed, indeed. I’ve been keeping abreast of your explorations, young man. Is there any truth to the rumor that you infiltrated the walled city of Ethiopia, Harar to be exact, a land forbidden to foreigners? That would make you the first white man to enter and leave alive.”
Strathmore nodded. He didn’t add that he and his followers had been hunted through the desert back to the safety of the coast, barely surviving the trek. If Miss Woolcott was surprised at the revelation, she let on with only a slight tightening of her full lips, which curved in seeming appreciation of Wadsworth’s prattle.
The older man, flushed with brandy and anticipation, continued. “More specifically, we’ve heard tittle-tattle about your latest project, the news of which has already made the rounds in select circles. Although I should suppose the Royal Society won’t be quick to invite you to discuss it publicly.” Wadsworth stroked his belly, tautly encased in blue velvet. Then he turned to the elegant blonde who had appeared behind him. Her delicate fingers clasped around her flute, she sipped slowly, all the while keeping her gaze glued on Strathmore with heavy-lidded eyes.
“Quite a rousing read what, Felicity?” continued Wadsworth, with a wink toward the blonde before turning back to Strathmore. “Is it any wonder I saw fit to invite Strathmore to my little gathering?”
“You have found me out,” said Strathmore smoothly, assuming the characteristic air of a man who took without asking, a man as at home in luxury as he was in a bedouin tent. He knew his size and demeanor alone commanded the attention of the room, precisely what Faron had intended. Two other gentlemen drifted into their circle, scenting new prey, their gaze all but pinning Julia to her seat. She almost looked relieved, her eyes darting around the room as if to reassure herself the evening was proceeding along rather pedestrian lines. No one had yet divested themselves of clothing or flung themselves buck naked on one of the overstuffed divans lining the wall.
A narrow-faced, balding man, who introduced himself only as Robertson, gave Julia a lingering nod before lifting his flute high as if to toast the revelries to come. “I have not read it myself although I have heard that your translation captures the flavor of the original brilliantly, Strathmore,” said Robertson, snagging another flute of champagne from a passing footman and offering it to Julia with a familiarity that bespoke intimacy. She released the grip on Strathmore’s evening coat to accept the drink.
Wadsworth’s smirk widened. “Expect you’ll be able to show us a thing or two, eh Strathmore? Living with savages does have its benefits, I should say.” Like an orchestra’s conductor, Wadsworth lowered his numerous chins to cue laughter all around. Strathmore didn’t have to confirm that Julia had paled beside him, her eyes glowing with an abnormal intensity.
She took a sip of the champagne and then said, “Clearly, the younger son of the Earl of Dunedin is a talented man.”
“You pay me a great compliment,” Strathmore murmured, acknowledging to himself that she knew very well his family provenance. “You’ll have me blushing any moment now.” She stole a sharp glance. Their eyes met and he had the distinct feeling she had been awaiting the opportunity to glare at him. “Of course you know of my illustrious family,” he murmured with hushed intimacy meant to send a shiver through her. His fingers closed over hers on the arm of her chair.
That she knew his identity was of little import. Even he had difficulty attaching himself to his family name. From a young age, he’d thought himself a foundling, tall and dark while his older brother was slight and fair. He had little in common with his father, the absent-minded wraith, who frittered away his time on gentlemanly pursuits, forever unable to capture and hold the attention, or the fidelity of his beautiful wife.
The blonde hanging over Wadsworth’s rounded shoulders sighed with admiration. “Do tell us more about the translation of this exceptional compendium,” said Felicity Clarence slowly, a strange half-smile twisting her thin red lips. Her sloe eyes narrowed on Strathmore. “From what I understand, there are several chapters on the stimulation of desire, types of embraces, caresses, kisses, marking with nails, biting, slapping by hand and”—she paused with the drama familiar to an actress—“on copulation.” She leaned over to present the full thrust of her smile and heavy bosom. “Or better still, you could demonstrate.” Her eyes glittered like diamonds. “Later.”
The man at Robertson’s side, who called himself Beaumarchais, concurred. Tall, with