Free Mary Jo Putney by Dearly Beloved Page A

asked, "Shall I introduce you around, or would you prefer not to stand on ceremony?"
    "No need to put yourself out," Gervase replied. "I'm sure I know most of the men, and more than a few of the women."
    On entering the large salon, Francis made an immediate line for his hostess, whose curly black head was barely visible amongst her admirers. Gervase lingered in the doorway, scanning his surroundings with the automatic caution of a soldier who has campaigned in hostile territory.
    He had met Harriette Wilson before, and privately considered her to have the manners of a rude schoolboy, though there was an undeniable charm in her exuberant vitality. At the far end of the room, a dark Gypsyish dancer stamped and whirled with a young officer of a Highland regiment who should have known better than to dance on a table in his kilt. Or perhaps he was merely advertising himself in the same way that the women were.
    Then Gervase's casual gaze reached a cluster of people directly opposite the door and he stopped dead, feeling a constriction around his heart. The girl in the center of the group was half turned away from him, and there was a purity in that flawless profile that answered every man's dream of innocence. Eve before the serpent, the virgin who lures the fierce unicorn to her hand, the loving maiden who comes chaste to her marriage bed....
    She was all of those things, and none of them. Even as he stared in helpless admiration, his mind echoed with the harsh words, " 'Tis a pity she's a whore."
    The emotion he felt was a complex mixture of grief and anger that such sweet innocence was a lie and a delusion. What right had this girl with tumbling chestnut hair to imply that dreams could take flesh? Because, of course, she was a whore; in this company, she could be nothing else. There was no innocence in the lush body alluringly concealed and revealed in clinging blue silk, or in her posture, which made it amply clear that she was available if the price was right.
    He put aside anger, reminding himself that he wasn't here to find a dream, a virgin, or a wife, but a mistress. The woman's presence in this place meant that he might have her without any of the complications and disillusion that dreams entail. The primitive male part of him that was so deeply aroused would have carried the girl off like the Romans did the Sabine women. Only slightly more civilized was the impulse to cross the room and ask, "What is your price?"
    But the great courtesans were notoriously fickle and would scorn a man who assumed that money alone could buy them. Just as a beautiful woman was a prize that a man could parade before his fellows, the demireps flaunted their own conquests to each other. Gervase had never bothered with such women, having no interest in playing the flirtatious games required, but as he saw the girl lay a graceful, teasing hand on the arm of a youthful admirer, he decided that this time he would make an exception.
    Then she turned, her deep blue eyes meeting his with an impact that reverberated through his entire body. A beauty, a whore, and a mystery all at once.
    With no further thought he cut across the salon. She watched him come, those incredible blue eyes holding his as if they were the only two people in the room.
    Gervase scarcely noticed the men he pushed between. The girl stood as he approached, her posture erect and graceful as she held out one slim hand. He clasped it for a moment, feeling the coolness of her tapering fingers before he bowed and brushed his lips lightly above her knuckles. A slight tremor ran through her hand and he wondered if she too felt something like the tidal wave engulfing him. More likely her silence was merely clever policy, the queen allowing the suppliant to speak first.
    Retaining his grip on her hand, he straightened and stared down into her face. She was below average height, the top of her head not quite reaching his chin, and she had a slim waist that emphasized the ripe curves of