Free The Masque of the Black Tulip by Lauren Willig Page A

always, your grace, are a Siren, born to fright men from their wits."
    "As well delivered an insult as I've ever heard! And I've delivered quite a few in my day. You always were a smooth-talking rogue, Vaughn. But I'll present you to these young chits, anyway." The duchess waved her cane dismissively at Charlotte, "My granddaughter, Lady Charlotte Lansdowne."
    Charlotte sank into a dutiful curtsy. Lord Vaughn's quizzing glass passed over Charlotte's bowed blond head without interest.
    "Miss Penelope Deveraux." Pen sketched the merest gesture of a curtsy. The quizzing glass rested on Penelope's clean-boned face and flaming hair for a moment, then continued its inexorable sweep onward.
    "And Lady Henrietta Selwick."
    "Ah, the sister of our gallant adventurer." On Lord Vaughn's lips, the word "gallant" sounded more insult than praise. "His fame has reached even the more remote corners of the Continent."
    "I imagine they don't have much else to talk about," Henrietta said tartly, coming up out of her curtsy. "Being quite so remote."
    For the first time, Lord Vaughn looked her full in the face, a flicker of interest in his heavy-lidded eyes. He let the quizzing glass dangle and took a step closer.
    "Would you teach them more interesting topics, Lady Henrietta?"
    he asked silkily, in a tone meant to make a lady's heart beat faster and her cheeks flush.
    Henrietta's pulse picked up—with annoyance. Having grown up with two rakes-in-residence, namely Richard and Miles, she didn't fluster easily.
    "The study of ancient literature is always a worthy pursuit," she suggested demurely.
    Vaughn's quizzing glass dipped in the direction of the neckline of Henrietta's gown. "I prefer natural philosophy myself."
    "Yes, I can see that." Some internal imp prompted Henrietta to say, "I could tell just by looking at the adorable serpents on your waistcoat, my lord."
    Lord Vaughn cocked an eyebrow. "Adorable?"
    "Um… yes." Blast that internal imp. It always got her into trouble. Henrietta cast about for a suitable response. "They're so… slitheringly sinuous."
    "Perhaps your taste in waistcoats runs more to flowers?" he suggested smoothly.
    Henrietta shook her head. Since she had gotten herself into this ridiculous conversation, she decided she might as well go on with it. "No, they're too insipid. What a waistcoat needs is a nice mythical beast. I'm particularly partial to gryphons."
    "How unusual." Lord Vaughn eyed her with a slightly bemused expression, as though trying to ascertain whether she was exceptionally clever or some sort of entertaining oddity like a parrot who could recite Donne. "What are your sentiments regarding dragons?"
    Henrietta cast a pointed look in the direction of the Dowager Duchess of Dovedale. "I'm quite fond of some of them."
    "If your fondness extends towards the Oriental varieties, I have a modest collection of Chinese dragons in my possession. They would be, I am sure, quite different from any you have seen."
    "I will admit my experience with dragons has been limited, my lord," Henrietta hedged warily. Over Lord Vaughn's shoulder, she could see her mother bearing purposefully across the room, looking uncommonly irked. "One encounters so few. They are nearly as elusive as unicorns."
    “Or the Pink Carnation?” suggested Lord Vaughn lightly. “I’m giving a masked ball at my home in two days time. If you would grace the event with your presence, I would be more than pleased to make you known to my dragons.”
    “I hope they’re not in the habit of eating tender young maidens,” Henrietta quipped, hoping to direct the subject back to the general and inconsequential, and away from her putative attendance at Lord Vaughn’s masquerade. “I hear dragons have a tendency to do that.”
    “My dear young lady”— Lord Vaughn’s long-fingered hand stroked the serpentine head of his cane—“I can give you my best assurance that—”
    “Hello!” Miles rudely burst in on the conversation. “Do hope I’m not