One Forbidden Evening. Jo Goodman

smiled slightly. “That is done more often.”

      She made no response to this last but allowed him to resume their tour of the gallery. The other couples in the room were moving on as well. The wizard Merlin entered not long afterward, accompanied by Pocahontas and a shepherdess.

      “She is not the shepherdess I’m seeking,” Boudicca said.

      “I know. She’s Mrs. Edward Branson, better known to me as my sister Imogene.”

      “I had not realized. I was introduced to her earlier, but I did not understand she was a relation.”

      “Then she is not the one who placed you on the invitation list.”

      Boudicca gave him a sidelong glance. “I think your lordship is fishing for my name. I will not take the bait, you know. I am finding anonymity to be in every way to my liking.”

      “As you wish.”

      She smiled a little then. “I did not expect you to give up quite so easily.”

      “Do I disappoint? The truth is I’ve never enjoyed fishing. You are aware, are you not, that there are worms involved. And fish. It’s a messy business.”

      “I think you are teasing now.”

      “Am I?” When she did not reply, he wondered if he had finally disconcerted her into silence or if she was so certain she was in the right of it that no argument was necessary. She was quite correct in one assertion: He had been fishing.

      They paused in front of another portrait that intrigued her, and while he gave her an account of his ancestor’s accomplishments and missteps, he watched her out of the corner of his eye, searching for some feature that he would be able to identify at a later date. The flame-red hair would distinguish her, of course, if it were indeed her own. He was no longer confident that was the case. Skillfully woven, natural in every detail, Ferrin could imagine the wig—if indeed it was one—had cost a goodly sum. He wondered that anyone considered this one evening’s entertainment to be worth such expense.

      He did not voice this thought aloud. She would have found it more peculiar if he had. After all, he’d paid far more to provide tonight’s entertainment, as she was likely to point out. He could explain it as fulfilling an obligation to his family, another responsibility of his station, yet duty was no factor in this night’s work. A rake’s reputation was never served, however, by admitting that there was little he would not do for his family. Netta, in particular, merely had to crook her finger and he would walk through fire. That he was so vulnerable to the whims of his mother and sisters, and only marginally less susceptible to the impulses of his stepfather and brothers, was not an element of his character that he wanted known. He would be exploited to distraction and very nearly helpless in the face of it.

      “Why Boudicca?” he asked.

      “I don’t understand.”

      They began to walk again. “What I mean is, why not Cleopatra? A lady-in-waiting. Guinevere. Or even, Heaven help us, a shepherdess. How did you come to choose Boudicca?” She remained quiet so long that Ferrin thought she did not mean to answer. When she did, he was struck by the gravity of her response.

      “I chose her for her ruthlessness.”

      “I see.”

      She smiled a little at that. “That cannot possibly be the case, for I am uncertain that I understand it myself.”

      “It is rather surprising.”

      “Yes.”

      “You admire ruthlessness?”

      “It would be truer that I have come to respect the need for it.”

      “It has its place.”

      She nodded. “You are more than passingly familiar with it, I expect. A man of your reputation would have to be.”

      “Because I am a pirate?”

      “Because you are accounted by the ton to be a rake.”

      Ferrin glanced sideways, marking her profile. What he could make out of her features appeared to be composed. She had not even the grace to flush at her own boldness. “Is it Boudicca that makes you daring or do you always speak so directly?”

      “Did I misspeak? I wasn’t aware. You cannot be unfamiliar with your reputation in society.”

      “You will allow, perhaps, that it is disconcerting to have it placed so plainly before me.”

      “I didn’t realize. It was not my intention to cause you discomfort, indeed, I thought gentlemen were agreeably flattered by that reputation. Was I wrong?”

      “Some gentlemen are, I suppose.” Ferrin waited to see if she would pose the question to him. She did not, thereby saving him from the complication of a lie. “You are acquainted with a great many rakes?” he asked.

      “No, not at all, else I would be more certain of my facts regarding their character.”

      He chuckled. They were almost upon another couple, so Ferrin slowed his step and pretended interest in the landscape above the mantelpiece. “Tell me more about a rake’s character,” he said. “I am frankly fascinated.”

      “I believe you are more amused than fascinated, but I will indulge you, nevertheless.” She disengaged herself from his arm, though she did not turn to face him. “By the accepted definition, he is a libertine. A rakehell. Someone given to licentious behavior. It is not so much that he has disdain for the conventions of society, but that he is unrestrained by them.”

      “It is a fine distinction.”

      “Mayhap it is.”

      “You will have to say more about these conventions of society—the ones that do not restrain a rakehell.”

      “Now I know you are amused because you cannot be ignorant of them.”

      “There is always the possibility that I have restrained myself unnecessarily. I certainly hope that is not the way of it. I should very much like to hear your list.”

      “Freethinking,” she said. “Libertines are by their nature freethinkers in matters of religion and morality.”

      “Yes, I can see how that could disturb the order of society.”

      “Drink.”

      “Pardon?”

      “Rakes are given to excess in drink.”

      “Oh.”

      She glanced at him. “I do not think it was lemonade you were imbibing in the card room.”

      “You have me there. It was whisky. I am compelled to point out that I am not foxed.”

      “And I am compelled to counter that it is yet early in the evening, by your own admission boredom was upon you, and who is to say that my interruption has not saved you from an overindulgence of spirits?”

      “As you are of the firmly held opinion that I am a libertine, I suppose you will not accept my word on the matter.”

      “It would be foolish of me to do so, would it not? Rakes cannot be relied upon to tell the truth, else how would they manage the seduction of so many females?”

      Ferrin’s brows lifted. “My, you do speak frankly, Boudicca.”

      “Perhaps you think that is only the province of men.”

      Ferrin recognized dangerous waters without having to put his toe in. He chose his words carefully. “What I think is that convictions such as you are wont to espouse should have the support of fact, not fancy.”

      Her step faltered, and she held back, drawing Ferrin up short as well. “Then you are not, in fact, a rakehell?”

      He turned slightly, facing her. His superior height and position drew her eyes upward.