Free Beyond Innocence by Emma Holly Page B

something better."
    "I'm grateful for the loan," Florence said, knowing the duchess had worn these pearls when she was Florence 's age. "I shall take good care of them."
    "Know you will," said Aunt Hypatia. The light from a wall sconce caught a sudden glitter in her eye. Was she thinking of her dear departed duke or some other youthful conquest? Assuredly she had had them. The duchess was too self-assured for it to be otherwise. But Florence doubted she would share the tale. Indeed, as soon as Hypatia blinked, the glitter disappeared. Once more in command of herself, the duchess rapped her cane against the footman's calf.
    "Well, John," she snapped to the senior man, "have them bring around the carriage."
    "Yes, your Grace," he said in his eerily drawn-out voice, as if being struck by his mistress were an everyday occurrence.
    It made Florence wonder what she'd gotten into when she let the duchess take her under her wing. If she failed to live up to Hypatia's plans, would her calves be stinging, too?
    * * *
    Her heart find plenty of time to flutter before their coach crawled its way up the line of carriages to the door. Such dresses she saw as they waited! Such silks and jewels and clouds of expensive perfume! For once, she was glad Madame Victoire had spared no expense on her couture. She would at least look as if she belonged.
    When they reached the fancy overhang of the porte cochere, Edward lifted her out of the carriage. The clasp of his hands made her even more breathless than the corset. She hadn't supposed a man could be that strong. She seemed to weigh nothing in his arms. As he set her on the pavement, their eyes locked. Edward's shone like hot blue flames, intense but mysterious, and completely focused on her. Warmth spread over her breasts. Wish though she might, she could not quell the reaction. Embarrassed, she touched the tulle that swathed her bodice. Edward looked away.
    "Watch your train," he said, as gruff as ever, and helped the duchess down.
    When she was settled, they ventured together up the stairs. Grateful for the distraction, Florence could not contain her curiosity. She'd never been in a house this grand. To her it seemed a palace. A pair of torches shaped like nymphs, with gas globes balanced on their shoulders, lit the reception area inside the door. While the liveried footman announced their names, Florence goggled. The nymphs bore no more covering than a gauzy, scarflike cloth which seemed to have blown across their privy parts. Their breasts were bare and topped with swollen nipples—not stiffly swollen, as if the nymphs were cold, but soft, as if the breeze that blew the scarves had gently kissed their skin.
    An irrational yearning pulled her closer. She would have liked to touch that polished bronze. Even more puzzling, she would have liked to stand in the nymphs' place, equally bare, to be kissed by the balmy breeze and admired by passersby. A statue could not be shy, after all. A statue could only be adored. She touched the metal plinth, surprised to find it cold.
    " Florence ," hissed the duchess.
    She hurried after her with a gasp. What was she thinking? Without a doubt, her recent fears had disordered her mind!
    * * *
    In its way,the Vances' home was as confusing as Euston Station. The mansion in Knightsbridge had been designed by Robert Adam in an opulent, classical style. Every public room—and there were many—boasted marble columns and gilt and inlay and magnificent stuccowork ceilings. The paintings were as fine as any she had viewed at the Academy. With difficulty, she tore herself past Gainsboroughs and Reynoldses and followed a female servant up the stairs to the women's cloakroom.
    In this bustling boudoir, an obliging lady's maid took her wrap and smoothed her hair and, best of all, showed her a quiet corner where she could sit. There, behind a sheltering screen of potted palms, with the sweet night air flowing in through an open window, Florence shut her eyes and tried to