Paragon Walk - Anne Perry [78]
Charlotte was confused. She was unprepared to discuss reality with him. In fact she was not sure even now whether he was speaking seriously, or merely playing verbal games. She searched for an answer that would not commit her.
He waited, his eyes soft, Latin dark, but without the overt sensuality she always associated in her mind with Italy. They seemed to look inside her without effort, to read her.
“How do you know she has no need?” she asked.
His smile broadened.
“My dear Charlotte, I know what she is afraid of—and it does not exist—at least not here in Paragon Walk.”
“Then, why don’t you tell her so?” She was angry, feeling for Phoebe’s panic.
He looked at her with patience.
“Because she would not believe me. Like Miss Lucinda Horbury, she has convinced herself.”
“Oh, you mean Miss Lucinda’s apparition?” Suddenly, she was weak with relief.
He laughed outright.
“Oh, I don’t doubt she saw something. After all, if she will go poking her virtuous nose into other people’s affairs, it is too much temptation for someone to resist putting something there for her to sniff at. I imagine it was very real, her green monster—at least for the occasion.”
She wanted to disapprove, but even more than that she wanted to believe him.
“That’s quite irresponsible,” she said, in what she imagined to be a stiff voice. “The poor woman might have had a seizure with fright.”
He was not fooled for an instant.
“I doubt it. I think she is a remarkably durable old lady. Her indignation will keep her alive, even if only to find out what is going on.”
“Do you know who it was?” she asked.
His eyes widened.
“I don’t even know that it happened at all. I have only deduced it.”
She did not know what else to say. She was very aware of him standing close to her. He did not need to touch her or to speak for her to be conscious of him above and beyond everyone else in the room. Had he attacked Fanny, and then Selena? Or had it been someone else, and Selena had merely wished herself into believing it was he? She could understand that. It removed the assault from the realm of the sordid and humiliating to something dangerous but not without thrill.
To pretend, even to herself, that his company was not without deep and rather disturbing undertones of excitement, a kind of dominance, would be dishonest. Was it unconscious perception of violence in him that fascinated her? Was it true that women in some primitive depth they must deny, actually longed for rape? Did they all, even herself, secretly hunger for him?
“Woman wailing for her demon lover”—a line of verse, ugly and appropriate, intruded into her mind. She shook it away, forcing herself to smile, although it felt artificial and grotesque.
“I can’t imagine anyone dressing up in such a ludicrous fashion,” she said, trying to be light. “I think it was more likely to have been a stray animal, or even the branches of some shrub or other in the gaslight.”
“Perhaps,” he said gently. “I won’t argue with you.”
Indeed, they were prevented from continuing with the subject any further by the arrival of the Misses Horbury themselves and Lady Tamworth.
“Good evening, Miss Horbury,” Charlotte said politely. “Lady Tamworth.”
“How resolute of you to come,” Alaric added, and Charlotte could have kicked him.
Miss Lucinda’s face flushed for a moment. She disapproved of him, and therefore disliked him, but she could not refuse praise.
“I knew it to be my duty,” she replied soberly. “And I shall not return home alone.” She looked at him pointedly, her pale blue eyes wide. “I would not be foolish enough to go unaccompanied in Paragon Walk!”
Charlotte saw Alaric’s fine brows rise very slightly and knew precisely what he was thinking. She felt a desperate desire to giggle. The idea of any man, least of all Paul Alaric, willfully accosting Miss Lucinda was preposterous.
“Very wise,” Alaric agreed, meeting her challenging look squarely.