Her voice had been
calm, even amused, as she spoke and she wasn't sure if that was what
had annoyed him most, or if he had simply been insulted by her words.
Either way, she considered her goal to have been achieved.
The triumph she felt at
having so obviously riled him made her hide her own fury with a
veneer of supercilious contempt for his shallowness, his lack of
empathy and his poor education. He, in his turn, later confided to
her that it wasn't that she had dared to address him in that way –
although it was an easy shield at the time – but that she had so
effectively displaced the selective blindness that had kept him in
ignorance of the hardships of so much of the population simply
because it was inconvenient to admit that British society had the
same problems as the French had experienced prior to the Revolution.
He hadn't, and many of his peers had similarly not, wished to admit
that their position, their wealth and their comfort was precariously
balanced upon both the suffering and the lack of action taken by the
members of the mass populace.
He was badly shaken by
her attack and she felt an urge to follow up her advantage. He had
clearly come to discover her intentions with her French adventures,
as he called them (and in her mind it sounded like nothing so much as
a euphemism) and possibly stop her. Andy's failed attempt had not
discouraged her and she already had a plan half formed to locate the
older Andy and make a second rescue attempt. So far, her plan had
been formed from the reports of French troop movements through France
as they appeared in the daily newspaper. From the movements reported
outside Paris, she was able to project a short way to the south west
where a town renowned for its smithing was based. If a man was to
develop musketry, a smithy would be vital. He was no longer in the
environs of Paris – that much had been established on Andy's
previous visit.
She intended to send
Andy and James back the following day, after he had sobered up
fractionally, to find out if that was where the army had moved the
older Andy and establish if that was to be their base for any
extended period of time. If both were true, Andy was to return and
they would work out a plan to rescue the elder. If they hadn't taken
the elder there in the first place Andy was to return immediately and
if they were moving on shortly, he was to attempt to follow them to
their next station, scope it out then return to make plans.
In the meantime, she
could have a little fun. She eyed her companion speculatively and
decided upon a surprise attack:
“Ask me to dance
again.”
“I beg your pardon?”
he unconsciously parroted the words she had used earlier and she
smiled, under her mask.
“In most societies it
is frowned upon when one casts oneself uninvited into the embrace of
another. In this society it is positively scandalous and I should
never dare risk it.”
“And you fear scandal
so greatly?” His tone was sceptical and she smiled, acknowledging
the truth of his sardonic query.
She turned to face him
and he automatically inclined his head to ensure he heard her words.
Instead of speaking she took his right hand in her left and placed it
on her waist. Then she ran her hand up to his shoulder, drawing her
body closer to his as her arm moved upwards. He was frozen, shocked,
but not rejecting her. Her hand crept to his neck and rested there
while her face – particularly her lips – neared his ear. She
murmured, in a low husky voice that had a tendency to succeed with
men:
“There is nothing
worse than scandal.”
Moments later she
caught her breath as she felt his arm tighten around her and his
tension dissolve into purposeful gliding motion as he steered her
onto the dance floor. For her, it was the most exciting dance she had
experienced since her arrival. The others had been with men who
weren't interested in her and were doing it to meet their social
obligations at high society events, or with men who were convinced
she was a sure thing and had little finesse or sensuality in the
dark, behind a mask at a masquerade.
This dance was
different. His body moved sensuously near hers, but was not
aggressively overt. Instead of feeling bored by the familiar groping
closeness the other men of the time had exhibited, she was tantalised
by the suggestion of intimacy that occurred when he turned her and
felt herself looking forward to those brief moments of excitement.
His rhythmic dipping and turning was confident and he steered her
capably around the floor. It was her first dance where she truly let
herself relax into the flow and simply enjoy it.
After the first few
turns of the floor, she had become more aware of the curls of hair
millimeters away from the fingertips resting at the nape of his neck
and began unconsciously running her fingers through them. Her hands
were chilled, due to the frosty night air, and she could feel the
warmth emanating from him. The hair was curiously cold in comparison
and silkily dragged over her fingers. He shifted and pulled her
fractionally closer in response to her intimate motion.
All too soon the dance
was over and the two of them separated. He bowed, she curtseyed and
they departed the dance floor at opposite ends.
She found her unmarked
carriage easily enough and went home to dwell upon the excitement of
the night. She loved this kind of encounter – one where the
sensuality was exciting but not the whole tale. A man who knew how to
lead her and tantalise her in that way was a man whom she could
fantasise about all winter, even if nothing occurred in reality. For
the rest of the night she lay wide eyed in her bed, staring into the
fireplace, remembering the heat of him, his raspy voice and subtle
fragrance.
The next day her plans
for Andy were described to him. She didn't tell him about her
encounter; in truth the conversation that had triggered it was so
far from her mind that the omission did not seem to be pertinent.
Andy was enthusiastic to return to France – he had enjoyed his
first journey and the company of his friends. Also, having been
raised in the French Empire of the 21st century, early
19th century France seemed more homelike to him than
England did and he had felt more relaxed there. The additional
adventure of scoping out an army and plotting to save a man added an
edge of spice that he delighted in.
He left that evening,
he and James riding to a yacht moored on the Thames, ready to take
them into France at short notice. She remained in London, attending
ball after soiree after masquerade; dancing into the night, dallying
at cards and flirtation. She had the time of her life in public, and
in private she was developing her plan to provide aid for the
abandoned girls of London. Mary had made one or two suggestions and
Melissa had pushed them forwards with typical enthusiasm. It was that
activity which had kept the attention of the rather serious men
surveying her actions and they received their report from France at
the same time she received a visit from James, who called upon her as
soon as he was in the vicinity. He hadn't bathed on his return
journey, nor had he dressed well leaving France. He was bloodstained,
saddle sore and clearly exhausted.
The second she saw him,
Melissa rang a bell for Mary and that good woman provided a bath and
a dressing gown in one of the guest bedrooms without hesitation or
query. He refused to attend to his own comfort until he had
unburdened himself of his bad news.
He and Andy had gone to
the town as instructed and found his other self there. They had
discovered that the army was firmly entrenched and he was developing
the Emperor's new tools of war with reckless abandon. Within the
first day they had realised that Andy was a regular patron at one of
the inns – it appeared the older Andy was something of a drunken
sot at this time. He had been picked up by the French due to his
boastful drunken demonstrations of the amazing things he could do and
how he could lead the Empire into victory. He had been summonsed for
execution for announcing that without a genius like him to develop
their weapons the French Army would surely be crushed by the glorious
British empire.
However, on the day of
his execution, Bonaparte himself had intervened and had the man
removed from Paris to this small town where he was given the
opportunity to prove the truth of his statements.
James had been
disgusted at this description of the man. Andy had merely laughed and
called that it was a great adventure. He had immediately decided that
such a creature should not wait and rot and, informing James that all
was well for he would never die, he charged into the inn to separate
his other self from the French armies. His boisterous drunken antics
had so closely mimicked what the French had grown to expect of their
Andy that for a few minutes they hesitated – long enough for Andy
to reach himself and explain, loudly and at length, how he was going
to rescue the other man, because if he didn't the French would
destroy the world. Despite the heavy drink induced slurring, the
French soldiers understood clearly and Andy was shot six times.
He'd staggered and
laughed as he announced he couldn't die and it was a waste of
ammunition. He'd continued talking and laughing as he slumped, in his
own embrace, to the floor, where he passed out and died moments
later.
Melissa had been
parading the room as she listened to his tale and at its culmination
she was positioned by the mantlepiece, leaning over the fire. Despite
her expectation, she was unable to refrain from clenching the mantle
convulsively as he described the death of her friend. Her teeth
gritted and her mind cascaded every possible reason why this could
be. None made sense except one that the older Andy had been wrong to
suppose that the safety of the device could be extended to anyone,
even a genetically identical individual.
She spoke to James for
a few moments about what he had achieved in returning safely with the
information he carried and sent him abruptly to his bath. She was not
alone for long before a visitor was announced. “Lord Penthvere to
see you Madam.”
She eyed the
approaching gentleman with some confusion, before her mind made the
connection. He had no stubble visible in this light at this distance,
but he clearly knew her and was about the right size. In this light
she could see that his hair was as dark as she had supposed, but his
skin less pale – the night lighting had washed out his skin tone.
In reality he had a slight tan, suggesting a frequently active
outdoor life compared to the pallor of the boys in Andy's circle from
night after night of carousing followed by days in their beds and
only a short sojurn into daylight at a time.
His eyes were, however,
as dark as the mask had hinted. There was no distinction between his
iris and pupil, leaving a quite unnerving sensation of being under
fixed scrutiny at every second. He reached her and bowed over the
hand she delicately extended. As he stood, she gazed up at him. In
her house shoes she barely reached his shoulder and, without the
domino to add to her own size, she felt frail and waifish next to his
solidity.
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