Beguiled

Chapter 1

Even through the spinning, braying crowd, James noticed her. An island of unsmiling calm. Cool, pale colours: blonde and blue, cream and peach, gold and sea-foam green, set her apart from the garish crowd. James found his eyes resting on her, absorbing her tranquillity, even while Lorna Bow and Chomondeley both tried to catch his eye.

Her eyes, a very pale blue, more Saxon than Anglo, met his. She didn't smile, but held his eyes and nodded once in acknowledgement.

Countess Musgrove dragged him into the magician's cabinet. When he escaped, with the Countess's threats still souring the taste of the wine in his mouth, he did not see her. Chomondeley was reeling around the dance floor, plying his bags of gas. James caught sight of Zilpha and her rooster of a husband. The husband looked worse for the wine and gas: eyes too bright, face too flushed.

A hand caught his arm and turned him away from the ugly tableau.

"I'm told you do not dance, Mr. Delaney," she said, steering him towards the portico from which the Countess had summoned him. "So I wonder if you would take a turn with me? There is a pleasant walk through the gardens to the pond."

"Have we been introduced, madam?" James asked coolly, but he slid his hand over her kidskin glove where it rested on his forearm, to keep her at his side in case she took offense.

"No, Mr. Delaney. Is my presumption unforgiveable?" She had a low voice, clear and melodious, without any discernible accent.

"Not if you give me your name now."

"Mrs. Caroline Grant."

"How d'you do, Mrs. Grant," James said, with careful courtesy.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Delaney."

He smiled, pleased by her manners. She glanced down while they navigated the steps to the garden walk, then looked up into his eyes.

James felt the spark, the incendiary quickening, which jumped between them. He'd been aware of her as they moved. The gentle press of her side against his arm. The susurrus of her silken gown. The faint, floral fragrance rising from her cleavage. But after that spark, every impression was magnified, as though through a huge lens. She filled his senses. Instead of maddening him, as did his lust for Zilpha, or repulsing him, as did the filth of the city, she soothed him. Looking at her, James felt as if he had emerged from the sea: salt-scoured, clear-eyed and refreshed.

"Mr. Delaney," she breathed, and he knew that she had seen too much of what he felt.

"Was there a particular reason you wished to meet me, Mrs. Grant?" he asked, to open a little distance between them, although he kept a firm hold on her hand. "Other than a chance to see the Countess's pond? Or, was it actually a chance to meet the most infamous man in London?"

"Surely not the most infamous, Mr. Delaney. I believe Mr. Brummell still holds that distinction. But I will admit that I had a particular reason for wishing to meet you. I believe you have met my compatriots, Doctor Dumbarton and, of course, the Countess."

"Ah," James said. "A Republican."

"By both birth and sympathy, sir."

James gave a low grunt. She didn't sound like a Colonial, so she must have lived in London for some time, or received a good tuition.

"I also believe, and you may correct me if I misapprehend, that my compatriots have been less than courteous in their approaches. I would like to apologize for their tactlessness, and make amends, if I may?"

"And how would you make amends, Mrs. Grant?"

"I understand that you asked to meet with the embassy in Paris. Refusal of that request was short-sighted on my compatriot's part. I depart for Paris in three weeks. I have been promised an introduction to the man himself, Mr. Crawford. I wonder if you would like to join my party, Mr. Delaney?"