Josephine
As Josephine entered the house with Hero, she felt a distinctly unchristian desire to wring his neck. It was common knowledge in Penreith that on the night when the old Earl and Caroline had died, servants had found Hero in the countess's bedroom. In spite of that strong circumstantial evidence, Josephine had been reluctant to draw the obvious conclusion. Though at the time she thought she was being nonjudgmental, in retrospect she supposed that she simply hadn't wanted to believe Hero could be so base. Now, however, she was likely to learn the truth by seeing the two of them together, and she found that she didn't want to know what had actually happened.
As the dignified butler admitted the visitors and asked their names, a naked toddler ran shrieking through the front hall. It quite ruined the formal effect. A panting nursemaid came racing through in hot pursuit of the child, followed a few seconds later by a laughing lady in her mid-thirties.
Her gaze went to the visitors, and her expression changed. "Hero!" she exclaimed, holding her hands out to him. "Why didn't you tell me you'd returned to England?"
He caught her hands, then kissed her on both cheeks. "I only arrived in London yesterday, Emily."
Josephine watched in stiff-faced silence, thinking that she had seen Hero kiss entirely too many women today. The dowager countess was glowing with health and happiness and looked a decade younger than when she had lived in Westgate. And judging by the obvious affection between the two, it was easy to believe that they had been lovers.
Hero turned and drew Josephine forward. "Perhaps you remember my companion."
After a moment of perplexity, the countess said, "You're Miss Langford, the Penreith schoolmistress, aren't you? We met when Hero was setting up the endowment for the school."
It was Josephine's turn to look perplexed. "Hero set up the endowment? I thought the school was your project."
"Since my husband tended to disapprove of Hero's progressive ideas, it was better for me to do the public part," the countess explained. "I hope the school is doing well. Are you still the schoolmistress?"
"Most of the time," Hero interjected. "She's taken a three-month leave of absence in an attempt to educate me."
The countess's curious gaze went from him to Josephine and back again, but before she could comment, the young nursemaid returned, her bare-bottomed charge gurgling in her arms. "I'm sorry, ma'am," she said apologetically. "I don't know how Master William managed to sneak off like that."
The countess leaned forward and kissed her son's cheek. "Amazingly inventive, isn't he?" she said proudly.
"'Ventive, 'ventive, 'ventive!" the child echoed.
"So this is my godson." Laughing, Hero took William away from the nursemaid. "Considering how much he hates wearing clothing, he's going to be inexpensive to dress in years to come. Maybe he has some of the Gypsy love of freedom."
Josephine couldn't stop herself from looking for a resemblance between Hero and William. If there was one, she didn't see it; the child was blond and blue-eyed, a proper English baby. He was also too young to be the product of a four-year-old liaison.
The countess's light voice interrupted her thoughts. "Forgive my rudeness, Miss Langford. As you can see, everything is at sixes and sevens, but would you care to join me for tea? Hero and I have a great deal to talk about."
Hero chuckled and handed William back to his nurse. "It's clear what you've been doing for the last several years."
The countess blushed like a schoolgirl as she ushered her guests into the drawing room and rang for refreshments. Josephine sipped tea and nibbled cakes while the other two exchanged news. Was this why she was in London—to watch Hero charm other women? The thought made her feel distinctly hostile.
After half an hour, Hero drew a round, brightly painted wooden object from his pocket. "I brought a small present for William. It's from the East Indies, where it's called a yo-yo." He looped the silk string around his finger and made the toy run up and down the string, accompanied by a soft singing sound.
The countess said, "My brother had a similar toy when we were children, but his was called a bandalore. Let's see if I remember how to make it work. Her attempts were unsuccessful. The third time the yo-yo ended up hanging limply from the string, she returned it to Hero. "I'm afraid I'm out of practice."
"If you don't object, I'll take it up to the nursery and demonstrate it for William."
"He'll be enchanted." The countess rang for the butler and ordered him to take Hero to the nursery.
Josephine felt uneasy about being left alone with the countess, but that faded when the other woman turned candid hazel eyes toward her. "Please forgive Hero and me for our rudeness—four years is a long time, and the scapegrace hardly ever wrote."
"I'm sure you're glad that he's home again, Lady Westgate," Josephine said in a neutral tone.
"Yes, even though it reminds me of that dreadful time." The countess picked up one of the butter cakes. "Incidentally, I don't use the title anymore, Miss Langford. Now I'm plain Mrs. Robert Holcroft. Or Emily to a friend of Hero's."
"You've abandoned the title? That's almost unheard of. I thought women in your position usually keep their former rank if they remarry commoners."
Emily's face hardened. "I never wanted to be a countess. Robert—my husband—and I grew up together, and always knew that we wanted to marry. But he was the younger son of a squire with few prospects, while I was the daughter of a viscount. When Lord Westgate made his extremely flattering offer, my parents insisted that I accept it even though he was forty years older than I."
"I'm sorry," Josephine said awkwardly. "I had no idea. You looked so serene that no one in Penreith guessed that the marriage was not to your taste."
"Lord Westgate wanted a young brood mare to give him more children." She began crumbling the butter cake between her fingers. "He was quite ... conscientious about exercising his conjugal rights, but I proved to be a disappointment to him. It was a difficult time. Hero was a... great comfort to me." The butter cake had been reduced to a mound of golden crumbs.
To Josephine, it sounded like an oblique confession that Emily and Hero had been lovers, but that the affair had not been casual, lustful seduction. At least, not on Emily's part.
Though Josephine could not condone adultery, she understood how an unhappy woman could slip into an affair with a handsome, charming step-grandson who was close to her own age. Not knowing what else to say, she remarked, "William is proof that it wasn't your fault that there were no children borne of your first marriage."
"Don't think I haven't found satisfaction in that knowledge," Emily said dryly. "Wherever the fourth Earl of Westgate is now—and I suspect that it's a very hot place—I hope he knows that I am not barren." She touched her abdomen. "And in the autumn, William will have a brother or sister."
"How lovely. Congratulations." No longer able to contain her bemusement, Josephine continued, "But why are you telling all this to a stranger?"
Emily shrugged. "Because you're easy to talk to. Because Hero brought you here. Because you're from Penreith. I suppose the last reason is the most important. If you live in the valley, you must know the scandal surrounding the death of my husband and Hero's wife. Heaven only knows what stories went around, though the rumors could hardly be worse than the truth. I left Wales as soon as I had buried my husband. At the time I was too numb to care what anyone thought, but this seems like a chance to set the record straight."
Josephine wondered how Hero had felt about the affair. Had he loved Emily? Did he still? But of course she couldn't ask. Instead, she said, "There was a great deal of wild speculation about what had happened, but the scandal is half forgotten by now. With you and Hero gone from the valley and no one else knowing the facts, the gossips had precious little to work with."
"Good." Emily's brows drew together. "Robert helped me put that dreadful time behind me. Hero, I think, has been less fortunate. Perhaps you can help him, as Robert helped me."
A little helplessly, Josephine said, "This is a very strange conversation."
"I suppose it is." Emily smiled. "I don't know exactly what is between you and Hero, but he wouldn't have brought you here if he didn't care about you. He needs someone to care about him. Someone he can trust."
Before Josephine could explain that the situation was not what Emily thought, Hero himself returned from the nursery. As conversation became general again, Josephine decided it was just as well that she had been unable to respond, because she didn't know what to think, or what to say. She had been raised in a world of blacks and whites, where right was right and wrong was wrong. Unfortunately, the area around Hero was all shades of gray.
A few minutes later, as Josephine and Hero were taking their leave, Emily's husband returned home. Robert Holcroft was a stocky blond man with a contagious smile. When introduced to Hero, he shook hands eagerly, saying how much he had looked forward to this meeting. If he knew that Emily and Hero had been lovers, it didn't show in his manner.
As they drove away in the curricle, Josephine said, "I'm glad to know that Lady Westgate is happy now. When she left the valley after burying her husband four years ago, it was as if she had dropped off the face of the earth. No one in Penreith had any idea what happened to her."
"She wanted to forget her years in Wales, and one can hardly blame her," Hero said dryly. "She married Holcroft one year to the day after my grandfather's death. He's a barrister by training, but now he's a rising star in Parliament. Someday he'll be a cabinet minister."
"What district does he represent?"
"Leicestershire." Hero slowed the curricle, then turned left into a quieter street. "I control the seat, and when Emily wrote that Holcroft wanted to go into politics, I gave it to him. From what I hear, he's working out well—seems to be both cleverer and more principled than the fellow who preceded him."
Startled, she said, "You control a district in Leicestershire?"
"Among others. Our corrupt political system gives me effective control of seats in three different counties. Though the Westgate title is rooted in Wales, these days the majority of the family fortune is generated elsewhere."
Josephine was struck by how little she knew about Hero, or about the wealth and power a man in his position wielded. "No wonder Mr. Holcroft was so happy to meet you, since you're his political patron. Is that also why you're William's godfather?"
Hero smiled. "I'd like to think that friendship enters into it. Emily was an island of warmth and sanity at Westgate."
He didn't sound like a man suffering from a broken heart. Obviously he was very fond of Emily, but Josephine took irrational satisfaction in the knowledge that she had not been the great love of his life. "If you were able to put Holcroft into Parliament, you must have kept fairly close track of your affairs while you were out of the country."
"Every six months or so, a box of legal papers would catch up with me, and I would send instructions back to my man of business." He gave her an ironic glance. "I'm not quite as irresponsible as my reputation implies."
"No one could be," she said tartly.
Hero laughed. "You're a perfect Welsh rose: delicate, sweet-scented, and well-equipped with thorns." He reached out and brushed her chin with his gloved knuckles. "And it's the thorns that make you interesting."
As compliments went it wasn't much, but Josephine cherished it anyhow. She was much better at thorniness than she was at conventional charm.
****
Josephine carefully lined up the cue ball, then stroked. The cue stick skidded against the ivory ball and veered off, missing the object ball. "Drat! I misstroked again." She raised the cue and scowled at the tip. "The problem is that the wood is so smooth and hard. Would it be illegal to put a different material on the end—something that would not skid as much as bare wood?"
"I think it would be legal, but no true billiard lover would approve. The challenge is to play well in spite of the equipment, not because of it." Hero leaned over, his muscles flexing under his white lawn shirt, and neatly potted a ball. "At least this table is flat compared to the one at Westgate, which resembled a plowed field in midwinter."
"By the time we go home, that table should have its new slate top. It will be interesting to see how it works."
Since her first day in London had been full of drama, it was pleasant to spend the evening quietly with Hero. And there were advantages to her being a novice billiard player, because she spent most of her time watching him shoot. Moving around the billiard table with easy, pantherlike grace, he was a sight to please any female. With a small tingle of pleasure, she wondered when he would collect today's kiss. If he didn't do it soon, she might kiss him herself. He seemed to like it when she did that.
Hero stroked again. After the cue ball bounced showily off three cushions, it knocked the object ball into a pocket.
Before Josephine could compliment him, a lazy voice drawled from the doorway, "A certain skill at billiards is the mark of a gentleman, but to play too well is the sign of a misspent youth."
"Lucien!" Hero dropped his cue on the table and went to give the newcomer an exuberant hug. "I see you got my note. I'm glad you could come by tonight."
Lucien murmured, "Still as unrestrained as ever, I see," but Josephine noticed that he returned the embrace with obvious affection.
While the men exchanged greetings, she studied the newcomer, who was dressed with an elegance just short of dandyism. He was almost as handsome as Hero, but in a blond, utterly English way. Among the Fallen Angels, he had obviously been Lucifer, the morning star who had been the brightest and most beautiful before he had rebelled against heaven. He also moved as quietly as a cat, for neither Josephine nor Hero had heard him approach.
After disentangling himself from his friend, Hero performed the introductions. "Jo, you'll have gathered that this is Lord Strathmore. Lucien, my friend Miss Langford."
Were she and Hero friends? As a description, it left much unsaid. Smiling, she said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, my lord. Hero has often spoken of you."
"Lies, all lies," he said promptly. "They were never able to prove anything."
As Josephine laughed, he bowed elegantly over her hand. When he straightened, she saw that his eyes were an unusual green-gold that made her think of cats again. He studied her curiously, as if trying to deduce her position in the household. No proper spinster would be spending an evening alone at a man's house. On the other hand, even her new gowns couldn't make Josephine look like the sort of female with whom Hero would misbehave.
Lord Strathmore said, "You're Welsh, Miss Langford?"
"And here I thought my English was flawless."
"A touch of Welsh accent adds music to a voice." His smile proved he rivaled Hero in charm as well as looks.
Hero said, "Jo, do you mind if we finish the game later?"
She smiled. "I'll concede—I've no chance of winning."
"In that case ..." Hero handed the cue to his friend. "Think you can pot the last two balls?"
Lucien bent over the table and stroked. The cue ball whizzed about the table, knocking first one, then the other, of the object balls into pockets. "I, too, had a misspent youth."
After the laughter died down, Josephine said, "I'll retire for the night. I'm sure you two have much to talk about."
Hero draped an arm around her shoulders. "Don't go yet. I want to ask Lucien about Michael Kenyon, and the answer to that concerns you as much as me."
Lord Strathmore frowned, but said nothing until the three of them were settled in the library, the two men drinking brandy while Josephine sipped on a very small sherry. She and Hero sat in adjacent wing chairs while Strathmore lounged on a sofa opposite. The room was lit mostly by the coal fire, which created a warm, peaceful glow.
After briefly describing the situation at the Penreith mine, Hero said, "Michael seems to have completely abandoned the business, which doesn't seem like him. Do you know where he is now? I've had no contact with him since I left England, but I'd like to see him soon if possible."
Lucien raised his brows. "You didn't know that he went back into the army?"
"Good God, I had no idea. When he sold out, he swore that he'd had enough of soldiering to last him the rest of his life."
"No doubt he meant it at the time, but he bought another commission not long after you left the country."
Hero frowned, and Josephine saw concern in his eyes. "You're not going to tell me that the silly beggar has gone and gotten himself killed, are you?"
"Don't worry, Michael is indestructible. He spent most of the last four years fighting the French on the Peninsula. He's a major now, and something of a hero."
Hero smiled. "That sounds like him. Better to unleash that ferocious temper on the enemy rather than on his friends."
Lucien looked down into his glass and swirled the brandy around. "Speaking of his temper, did you and Michael lose touch because you'd had some kind of quarrel?"
"No. Actually, I hardly saw him for some months before I left the country, even though he was in Penreith for much of that time. He was very involved with plans and improvements for the mine, which is why it's so surprising that he has neglected it since." Absently Hero reached over and covered Josephine's hand. "Where is he now—with the army in France?"
"No, you're in luck. He came down with fever in winter camp and was shipped home at Wellington's personal order. He's in London now, pretty well recovered from his illness, though he's still on sick leave." Lucien fell silent and regarded his brandy glass broodingly.
"You've seen him then, and you're concerned about him," Hero guessed. "What's wrong?"
"Too much war, I imagine," Lucien said slowly. "I met him in the park riding one morning. He's lean as a wolf, and I felt wildness just under the surface. Or perhaps it's desperation. The country may have benefited by his army service, but I don't think he has."
"Is he staying at Ashburton House? I want to call on him."
"No, he's taken rooms, but I don't know where." Lucien smiled wryly. "Though he seemed pleased to see me, he wasn't volunteering any information. Reminded me of a fox that's gone to earth. Though he's been in London for several months, he hasn't made much attempt to see his old friends."
"You can find where he's staying—you always know everything about everyone."
"But I very seldom tell all I know." Lucien glanced up, his eyes glowing golden in the firelight. "It might be better if you don't try to see him. When Michael and I were talking, your name came up and—well, I won't say that he literally bared his teeth like a wolf, but that's the impression I got."
Hero's fingers tightened on Josephine's. "It's a nuisance if he's having a tantrum, but I need to talk to him about the Penreith mine. If he doesn't want to run it properly, he can sell the lease back to me, but that is my land and those are my people, and I will not permit the present situation to continue."
Josephine glanced at him, surprised at his intensity. It sounded very much as if Hero had made her cause his own, in spite of his threat to walk away if she left him.
"You're as stubborn as Michael is," Lucien said with a trace of exasperation. "If there are going to be fireworks, meeting in a public place is probably a good idea. Rafe is having a ball next week, and Michael said he'd be attending. Of course you'll be invited as soon as Rafe knows you've returned."
"Perfect." Hero relaxed and smiled at Josephine. "Rafe's balls are famous. You'll find it interesting."
Lucien frowned. "I'm not sure that it is the sort of event you should take Miss Langford to."
"No?" Hero's glance was challenging. "The highest sticklers might not approve of Rafe's entertainments, but he would never permit real vulgarity. I think she'll enjoy it."
"It's still no place for a respectable unmarried female."
"But I am not respectable," Josephine said smoothly as she got to her feet. "Hero can tell you about it if you're curious. I'm very glad to have met you, Lord Strathmore. Hero, I'll see you tomorrow."
He also rose. "I'll be back in a moment, Luce."
He escorted her into the hall and closed the door to the library behind him. "Did you think you'd be able to escape without surrendering your kiss for the day?"
She chuckled. "I was hoping you wouldn't forget." She stepped into his arms and turned her face up.
As always, his kiss was intoxicating, stirring pulses throughout her body. One of his hands wandered down to cup her buttock, pressing her tightly against him. She almost broke away. Then a mischievous demon pointed out that Hero would have to return to his friend soon, so it was safe to tease him in a way that she wouldn's dare otherwise.
Delicately she nipped his lower lip with her teeth. He gasped and his hands began working convulsively, kneading her body as if he was trying to absorb her into himself. Amazed at her own boldness, she slid her hand down between them until it came to rest on that fascinating, alarming ridge of male flesh. He hardened instantly, his whole body going taut. "Luce can go home while we continue this upstairs," he gasped.
A little flustered by the intensity of his reaction, she broke away from his embrace. "Mustn't be rude to a friend you haven't seen in years," she said breathlessly.
As she started up the stairs, he caught her hand and turned her toward him. In a soft, mesmerizing voice, he asked, "Shall I join you later tonight and show you what comes next?"
She felt a shiver that was part fear, part excitement. She was teasing a tiger, and if she wasn't careful, the tiger would make a meal of her. Disengaging her hand, she said lightly, "After such a tiring day, I need a full night's sleep."
"Soon you'll say yes." His green eyes bored into hers, demanding and promising. "I swear it."
"Don't count on that, Hero. Remember, your object is to seduce me, and mine is to drive you to distraction."
He gave a crack of laughter. "You're a minx, Jo. But this is one contest I aim to win."
She gave him her sweetest smile. "Prepare yourself for failure, my lord." Then she whisked upstairs, exhilaration sizzling in her veins.
Her animation lasted until she entered her room. After locking the door, she leaned against it as her gaze traveled over the sumptuous bedchamber. Gilded cherubs cavorted on the ceiling, gold velvet hangings swathed the magnificently carved bed, and her feet rested on a Chinese carpet that probably cost more money than she would earn in her entire life.
She felt a wave of disorientation. Merciful heaven, what was plain, sensible Josephine Langford of Penreith doing in such a place?
Good intentions had led her to Hero in the first place, but it was unholy anger that had made her agree to his devil's bargain. Ever since then, the two of them had been circling each other in an elaborate dance, advancing and separating while drawing ever closer. At the center of the circle lay ruin, both spiritual and social. Yet still she danced, for she had never felt so alive in her life. If all sin was so sweet, so exciting, no wonder mankind was a race of sinners.
For an instant, she imagined her father standing before her, regarding her with a grave disappointment that hurt more than anger would have. She knew she wasn't living up to his standards. She had never been able to, and since meeting Hero she had been awash in pride, anger, and lust.
Desolation engulfed her, and a great and terrible despair. For the first time since leaving Penreith, she knelt and attempted to pray. Our Father, who art in heaven ...
An ethereal father in heaven was no help, not when set against the warm, solid reality of Hero.
He wanted her. Though his desire might be fleeting, as much the urge to win a game as to indulge his lust, it was real and powerfully compelling. No one had ever wanted her so intensely.
It meant so much to be wanted.
It would be easier to resist Hero if he were evil, but he was no more a devil than he was a saint. She suspected that he was best described by the words pagan and amoral. But he was kind to her, and sometimes she sensed in him a loneliness as great as her own. She was learning that loneliness was even more compelling than desire ....
She tried to force her mind back to the prayer, but she broke again at Lead us not into temptation ...
It was too late, for temptation surrounded her. She suspected that the major reason she hadn't succumbed to it was because of her competitive desire to beat Hero at his own game. If she were being honest, she would have to admit that virtue had very little to do with her resistance.
If she managed to preserve her virginity, she would be able to go back to Penreith and face down the gossip, for her conscience would be clear. But what would become of her if she surrendered? She could not imagine returning to her old life if she was a ruined woman. Yet there could be no future for her with Hero, who wanted to bed her mostly to prove that he could. Marriage was out of the question, and she could never live as his mistress even if he continued to want her.
Abandoning the Lord's Prayer, she sent up a silent cry from the heart. Dear God, help me find the strength to break away from this dangerous dance before I destroy myself.
She repeated the words again and again in the most desperate prayer of her life. But though she held herself silent and listened, there was no sign that anyone had heard. She felt no presence, no inner certainty of what path she should follow. She was alone, without guidance. The only reality was the seductive dance, which spiraled down into darkness, danger, and desire.
As she wept into her hands, she felt more alone than ever before in her life.
Hero
As Hero reentered the library, Lucien was adding brandy to both their glasses. "Miss Langford says that she is not respectable, and that you could tell me about it if I am curious." He took a small sip of spirits. "Which I am, very."
In a few succinct sentences, Hero outlined the bargain he and Josephine had made: her presence in return for his influence in improving the lot of the residents of Penreith.
Though he deliberately gave no details, when he finished Lucien muttered an oath under his breath. "Fuck hell, Hero, what the fuck has gotten into you? You've had your share of wild escapades, but I've never known you to ruin an innocent."
"Josephine is no innocent," Hero retorted. "She is twenty-six years old, well-educated enough to qualify as a bluestocking, and admirably tough-minded. She is with me by her own choice."
"Is she?" Lucien's eyes took on the green glitter that meant he was not about to let the discussion lapse. "If you feel a desire to strike a blow against womankind, find a bitch who deserves it. Don't ruin a decent woman by using her conscience and her caring heart as weapons against her."
Hero banged his brandy glass down on the side table. "For fucks sake, Luce, I've never given you the right to censure me. That's why I always acted as an amateur rather than becoming an official member of your furtive little organization."
Lucien raised one hand. "Pax, Hero. I don't particularly enjoy meddling, but I'm concerned by the situation, and it looks like no one else will speak for Miss Langford."
"I've no intention of hurting her."
"But you already have. You must have some idea what the gossip is like in a village. It will be very hard for her to return to her old life."
Hero stood and paced restlessly across the library. "Good. She can stay with me."
"As a permanent mistress?" Lucien's voice was startled.
"Why not? I could do worse, and often have."
"If you feel that way about the girl, then marry her."
"Never," Hero said flatly. "I married once, and that was once too often."
After a long silence, Lucien said softly, "I've often wondered what happened between you and the beauteous Caroline."
Hero spun on his heel and glared at his friend, his expression taut to the point of shattering. "Luce, the only way a friendship can endure is by having limits that can't be crossed. If you value our friendship, you'll mind your own business."
"Obviously it was even worse than I suspected, I'm sorry, Hero."
"Don't be. At least she had the consideration to die." Hero retrieved his glass, then raised it in a mocking salute. "To Caroline, who taught me so many useful lessons about life and love." He drank the rest of the brandy in one long swallow.
Lucien watched in silence. He had assumed that four years would have been long enough for Hero to recover from the disaster that had sent him flying from England, but that didn't seem to be the case. Lucien was beginning to feel as concerned about Hero as he was about Michael.
But he had learned lessons himself in the last difficult years. One of them was that there wasn't much a man could do for a friend ... except to be a friend.