One Forbidden Evening. Jo Goodman

scent of hers? he wondered. Or something she wore for this evening only, like the rest of her costume?

      Ferrin followed her into the library and saw quickly that she would not find what she sought there. The musketeer on the chaise longue gave up trying to kiss his lady-in-waiting and eased his arms from around her shoulders. Ferrin’s lips twitched. It seemed she would be a lady-in-waiting a bit longer.

      “Something amuses?” Boudicca asked.

      “Always.” When she did not ask him to explain himself, he had the impression she was drawing her own conclusion. “Your friend does not appear to be here, either.”

      “No, she doesn’t.”

      “Shall we try the gallery?”

      “You do not mind?”

      “Not at all.”

      Ferrin pointed in the direction of the door that would lead them through to the gallery. Not many guests had stumbled upon this room, though the evening was hours yet from being at an end. Several couples were touring the room, some unattached females were exchanging the latest on-dit. There was not a single shepherdess.

      He thought Boudicca would want to leave immediately, but she turned her attention to the paintings. “Would you like to view them?” he asked.

      “I would.”

      He took her empty glass and set it on the entry table with his own, then he offered his arm again. She accepted his escort without pause this time, and he drew her toward the full length portrait of his great-grandfather. “This is George Howard Hollings,” he told her. “The third Hollings to hold the title. Intimidating, is he not?”

      “Impressive, I was thinking. You have his eyes.”

      “One of them.”

      She smiled again, this time more easily than before, then pointed to the painting to the right. “His father?” she asked.

      “His grandfather. The first earl.”

      “He looks vaguely disreputable.”

      “You are putting it too mildly. He was wholly disreputable.”

      “How did he acquire the title?”

      “A letter of mark. He preyed on Spanish galleons in the Americas. It was quite lucrative.”

      “Then he was a pirate…as you are.”

      “A privateer, I believe, is the proper term. A pirate has no letter of mark from his queen. He served the interests of the Crown and he was rewarded with a title and lands.”

      “And considerable fortune.”

      “That is my understanding, yes.”

      “How was he called?”

      “Captain Hollings, I imagine.” He could not quite temper his amusement when Boudicca’s splendid mouth flattened. So his queen did not suffer fools, either. It was a mark in her favor, though he kept his own counsel. He was quite certain she did not care for his opinion, good or otherwise. “He was called Christopher Charles Hollings.”

      “As you are.”

      “I am Christopher Andrew, but I think I see where you are going with your inquiry. If I lent him my patch we might be mistaken for twins. You are aware, I collect, that I am also disreputable.”

      “Wholly?”

      “I never do anything in half measures, so yes, wholly disreputable. You should probably not be alone with me.”

      She purposefully looked to the fireplace where a Roman senator and a Greek goddess were admiring the large landscape hanging above the mantel. “We are hardly alone.” Her chin lifted to indicate the clutch of young women still gathered in the center of the gallery. “Although I wish our chaperones were less inclined to titter.”

      “You do not titter?”

      “No.”

      Another mark in her favor, Ferrin thought. “My sisters titter. All of them. My mother also.”

      “That must be a considerable cross to bear.”

      It was her dry-as-dust tone that raised one corner of his mouth. He answered in like accents. “You cannot imagine.”

      Boudicca returned to her study of the first earl. Ferrin could not summon the same interest in it. The resemblance was so profound it was rather like regarding his own face in a mirror, and he did little enough of that. What was the point, after all? Nothing could be changed. His brow would stand as high; his eyes would retain their peculiar heavy-lidded cast. A scar might draw attention away from the cut of his cheekbones and chin, but only a collision with a stone wall or a fist would flatten the aquiline shape of his nose. He had no particular desire to acquire either as pain was a consequence of both.

      His mouth twitched slightly as Boudicca turned from the portrait to make the same study of his profile. “I am unused to such scrutiny. Most people remark on the likeness and have done with it.”

      “I beg your pardon. I fear I have been unconscionably rude. I did not mean to give you discomfort.”

      “Do I strike you as one so easily discomfited? It is more in the way of diverting.” He paused a beat. “And curious. I am wondering if your study would be so open if you were not wearing the mask and the raiment of a queen. As Boudicca, you may say or do as you please.”

      Boudicca glanced at the spear she carried. “It does give one pause, I suppose.”

      “It certainly gives me pause.” He glimpsed her faint smile again, this time recognizing the reluctance of that mien as it crossed her features. She did not want to be amused, or at least she did not want to be amused by him. The possibility that her disinclination was in some way personal intrigued Ferrin more than put him off. “Shall we go on?” he asked, indicating the next portrait. “Or have you seen enough? There is still the matter of your shepherdess.”

      “She will not leave me. I’d like to see more, but you are perfectly welcome to attend to your other guests. I can manage to navigate this room, indeed all of the rooms, on my own.”

      “I have already observed that is the case. Only Moses might be more effective at parting the sea of guests. However, you will be doing me a very great favor by allowing me to escort you. I am discharging my responsibilities as host and no longer in danger of expiring from boredom. Until you stood on the threshold of the card room, I wasn’t at all hopeful that I could do the former without succumbing to the latter.” Ferrin saw that she did not seem to be moved by his request. The damnable mask was not all that was keeping her expression shuttered from him. He suspected that she was as adept at confining her emotions as she was at confining her thoughts. “I understand that you have no reason to grant me such a kindness,” he said rather stiffly. “All the benefits are undoubtedly mine.”

      “What a foolish thing to say.”

      Ferrin’s dark brows lifted. “I beg your pardon.”

      “You tempt me to prick you with this, you know.” She tilted her chin, indicating the spear. “It is you who have done me the favor. I am quite glad of your escort, but it is passing strange to me that you have invited so many guests and express so little interest in them.”

      “The invitation list is not my doing. That detail was left to my sister and my mother.”

      “But this is your residence. Surely they—”

      He stopped her with a shake of his head. “They surely did not. Do not misunderstand. I gave them permission to act on my behalf, so I accept responsibility, but playing host at affairs of this nature is far and away more about duty than personal choice.”

      “You would rather be at your gentleman’s club.”

      “That might suit.”

      “Playing cards and gaming.”

      “Perhaps.”