Chapter 9

A Week or so Later

If you want a masquerade party for your birthday then you should have one, Eva," Io said.

"But Edith said—"

Io flung up her hands. "Good Lord! If I hear the words Edith and said together one more time, I will—"

"I'm sorry, Yoyo," Eva hastily said. "I didn't mean to upset you, it's just—well, there is so much arguing and strife in the house right now that the last thing I want to do is insist on a party that will only cause more trouble."

Io looked into her beloved sister's shadowed eyes and felt like a horrible, selfish shrew. "Oh, darling!" She wrapped her arms around Eva's slender shoulders and squeezed her tightly. "I am so sorry for ripping up at you. The rest of us are terribly guilty for leaving you to bear the brunt of Edith's incessant nagging and infernal demands. But never fear, love. I will see about getting you the birthday celebration you deserve."

Eva's eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "But I don't want to have a masquerade if it really is vulgar and tasteless, Yoyo."

"Of course, you don't, dearest," Io soothed, although why her sister cared what anyone thought, she really did not comprehend. But that was beside the point. "You let me take care of this, Eva. I will talk to Zeus about it."

"But…erm, you have been so angry with him. Are you sure?"

Furious would have been a better word. Io had scarcely spoken to her brother since the night he'd called her on the carpet about her house hunting.

"Are you sure, Yoyo?" Eva asked again. "Perhaps it might be better to have Bal approach him and—"

"Don't worry. I'll see that you get your party. You just start planning your costume."

"Thank you," Eva said, looking as if she might cry.

"I will go and take care of it right now, darling." Io kissed Eva on the cheek and then left her sister, making her way not toward Zeus's study, but to find her twin.

Eva had been right about the tension between her and their oldest sibling. Io was the first to admit that diplomacy was not her strongest suit. She would likely say something thoughtless and rude to Zeus and that would be the end of the masquerade party.

Balthazar, however, had far more tact than Io did.

She smiled as she imagined pigeonholing her brother and making Bal do her dirty work.

What were twins for, after all?

***

"That is so kind of you, Mr. Masterson," Miss Barclay said, her blue eyes enormous behind her spectacles. "Miss Barrymore wants a style that is"—she paused, as if hunting for the perfect word. "One that is classic," she said. "I'm afraid I have not found one that pleases her.

"It is no problem at all," Corbin assured her—not entirely the truth, but he felt sorry for the little mouse. "I will have to remember where I saw them, but there is an entire trunk full of old invitations. Surely something a duchess sent in the past qualifies as classic?"

Miss Barclay nodded eagerly. "Indeed, it should. Please summon me at any time and I will come to wherever the trunk might be." She swallowed. "Even if it is in the attic."

Corbin bit back a smile. "Miss Barclay, have you been listening to rumors about ghosts?"

She laughed and her thin face blushed rosily, making her look almost pretty. "Yes, I am afraid I might let my imagination get the better of me. There is an especially dreadful tale about a—well, never mind. I daresay the servants are enjoying teasing the gullible Americans."

"Yes, I'm sure they are finding us an endless source of entertainment. In any case, if the invitations are in the attic, I will have them delivered to you."

"Oh, that is very—"

A rap on the door cut off her words.

"Come in," Corbin called out, and then wished he hadn't when he saw it was Mademoiselle Laveau, Miss Barrymore's supercilious dresser.

"Excuse me for interrupting," she said imperiously, cutting Corbin a dismissive glance before turning her sharp gaze on the other woman. "Miss Barrymore has been looking all over for you, Miss Barclay. She wishes to dictate the letter to the drapers. Now."

"Oh!" Miss Barclay popped up, reminding Corbin yet again of a startled mouse. "I thought that—but never mind." She turned to Corbin. "Thank you so much, Mr. Masterson."

"My pleasure, Miss Barclay."

She hurried from the room and Corbin turned back to the ledger he'd been working on when Miss Barrymore's cousin had knocked on his door.

He had barely finished three lines when there was another knock.

"Yes?"

This time, it was one of the footmen, Charles. "His Grace would like to see you if you have a moment, Mr. Masterson."

"He is in his study?"

"Yes, sir."

Corbin nodded and then made a mark to save his place before going to see what Hastings needed.

When he entered the duke's study a few moments later, it was to find his friend looking grim. These days that meant Hastings had probably had yet another argument with either his siblings or his betrothed. Or both.

"Thank you for coming so quickly. Sit," Hastings ordered and then stood and went to the table that held several decanters.

Corbin's eyebrows rose. It was barely four o'clock.

"Would you like one?" Hastings asked, lifting the whiskey decanter.

Corbin didn't really want one, but the other man obviously did not wish to indulge alone.

"Yes, please."

The duke returned with two glasses and handed him one.

"Thank you," Corbin said.

Instead of going back to his desk chair, Hastings dropped into the chair next to him and sighed before tossing back the entire shot.

Corbin merely sipped his and waited for Hastings to speak.

"They hate each other," the duke finally said.

"You will need to be more specific."

Hastings's head whipped around, his eyes wide. And then, to Corbin's relief, the other man laughed. True, it was more of a bitter bark, but at least it was a laugh.

"All of them hate Edith and the feeling, I'm afraid, is mutual. The only exception might be Eva, and it is possible that she is just better at hiding her dislike than the others."

Corbin suspected it was the latter. "What happened now?"

"Eva would like a masquerade ball for her twenty-first birthday at the end of next month."

Corbin nodded and waited for the problem.

"I can see by your expression you do not think this is a problem."

Corbin shrugged. "It sounds tedious, but I have attended them before in New York. I know you have, too, because we both went to the one at Astor's house. What is the problem?"

"Edith believes it is a vulgar way to announce our arrival here. It would be our first large function, after all."

"I find it hard to believe that the Mrs. Astor would have such a ball if it were vulgar."

"You make an excellent point. In any case, Balthazar came on Eva's behalf to argue for the party. He roped in Mrs. Dryden—the woman has, after all, been here for years—and she agreed with him. And you." He smiled tiredly. "And Mrs. Astor. So, there will be a masquerade ball at the end of the month. I hate to pile more work on you when you already—"

"I am more than glad to help plan the party," Corbin said, lying for the second time in an hour.

"I am relieved to hear it. Balthazar said he and Io would handle the arrangements—with some direction from Mrs. Dryden—but I suspect my younger brother and sister know as much about entertaining on a large scale as I do about farming."

Corbin took a sip of whiskey. He personally thought that Balthazar was far more interested in Mrs. Dryden than he was in a masquerade ball. As for Lady Io? Corbin could hardly think of a woman less interested in a frivolous activity like party planning.

"What do you know about this harvest festival that is fast approaching?" the duke asked, changing the subject.

"It is the high point of the fall so everyone for miles around will come. There will be booths with food, handicrafts, that sort of thing. There will also be a dance and feast at the end of the day."

"The vicar asked me this last Sunday if I would make an appearance. Of course, I said yes. He told me he would speak to you and let you know what is required of me."

"Yes, Reverend Thomas came to see me earlier this week with a schedule of sorts. There is a squash or pumpkin judging event—although they evidently call them marrows here—and you get that honor. I understand it can be quite contentious," Corbin teased.

The duke chuckled. "Well, that's something I've certainly become more accustomed to of late."

"He also asked if you would open the dance and stay for a few sets before you inconspicuously fade into the night."

"That sounds painless enough."

Corbin wondered if Miss Barrymore would feel the same. While he admired the duke's fiancée in many ways, she was not the most genial person. Still, he imagined most dukes and duchesses were not exactly warm when it came to socializing with commoners. Hastings, on the other hand, had experience leading men and knew how to speak to people from any social or economic class.

"How are my siblings fitting into the neighborhood?" Hastings asked.

"Your brothers are already quite beloved for helping with the harvesting."

Hastings smiled and it was the first genuine smile that Corbin had seen in a few days. "I am very pleased to hear that." His smile dimmed. "And what about my brothers' relations with the local female population?"

"You can breathe a sigh of relief on that score. None of the three are the sort to debauch virgins. Lord Apollo seems more interested in raising horses than chasing women. Lord Ares is smitten with the innkeeper, Mrs. Fletcher, who is well able to handle his attentions. And Lord Balthazar is—"

"Interested in my housekeeper," the duke finished, once again grim.

"He is. But nothing inappropriate has happened. And I don't think your brother is the sort to importune a woman."

"No, of course not." Hastings lifted his glass to his mouth, realized it was empty, and lowered it.

"And Io?" he asked with obvious reluctance.

"She spends most of her time either teaching or socializing with the village teacher, hatmaker, and modiste."

"And her political pursuits?"

"I've seen no sign that she is distributing radical literature or, er, condoms."

Hastings nodded. "I know it is not your job, Corbin, but if you could continue to keep an eye on her? I trust you more than anyone else to keep her out of trouble—or lend a hand if she needs it."

Corbin's face heated at the unfortunate wording and he said, "I will keep an eye on things, Your Grace."

Why don't you tell him about his sister'shand and how it was on your cock a mere week ago?

It was true that he'd kept that exchange from his employer, but the last thing Hastings needed right now was more to worry about.

What a humanitarian you are.

Corbin gritted his teeth and swallowed the rest of his whiskey.

He and the duke sat in silence for a moment.

"Do you think I've been foolish trying to become acquainted with my siblings at such a time?" Hastings asked.

"You mean in addition to learning how to be a duke, moving house, moving countries, and becoming engaged?"

Hastings sighed. "Point taken. But I have dragged them all away from their home so it is too late to do it any differently now." He reached out and put a hand on Corbin's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "Thank God you are here. When everything else is in chaos, at least I know that I can always trust you, Corbin."

Corbin smiled weakly. "Thank you for your faith in me."

***

The Harvest Fair

Corbin sidled up to Lady Io and hissed, "What on earth are you doing, my lady?"

She ignored his question and handed a pamphlet—with a condom tucked inside—to a careworn woman dressed like a farmer's wife. "Here you are, Mrs. James."

Mrs. James swiveled around anxiously before she snatched what was proffered, hastily tucked it into a pocket in her gown, and muttered, "Thank you, my lady."

"You may always come to me if you have any questions," Io said.

The other woman dropped a hasty curtsey, cut Corbin a terrified look, and then scuttled away from the table without answering.

Io turned to Corbin. "You should not stand here. Your stern, puritanical glare will make women too terrified to approach."

"Answer my question, my lady."

"What does it look like I'm doing, Masterson?" she asked, using the curt, challenging tone that she seemed to reserve just for Corbin.

"It looks like you are giving His Grace's people radical literature and prophylactics right under his nose."

"Actually, they serve more of a contraceptive function for most of these women."

"What do you think that woman's husband will say when he discovers she has a condom in her possession—and that the duke's sister gave them to her?

Rather than answer him, she abruptly turned to Miss Temple—who was doing a brisk business handing out more pamphlets and johnnies—and murmured something in her ear.

"Of course, my lady," the schoolteacher said, blushing when she caught Corbin glaring at her.

Lady Io leapt to her feet. "Come with me," she barked at Corbin, not waiting for a response before striding away from the bustle of the crowd.

Corbin trotted after her like a faithful hound, catching up to her with several long strides. "Where are we going?"

She ignored him and kept walking.

He was about to stop her when he realized they were approaching the small schoolhouse where she came to teach a few days a week. She took a key from a pocket in the plain, almost severe, navy gown she wore and opened the door before gesturing him inside.

Corbin paused, wondering where this was going.

She sneered at his hesitation. "Are you afraid to be alone with me, Mr. Masterson?"

He clenched his jaw and stepped inside.

There was a box of lucifers on a small table and she struck one of them and lit the candle beside it before shutting the door on the moonlit night and whirling on him. "How dare you?"

Corbin actually jolted, shocked by the volume of her voice, and more than a little relieved that she had led him so far away from the others.

Lady Io, it seemed, was going to give him yet another tongue-lashing.

Corbin suppressed the inappropriate flare of excitement that blazed in his chest and set his fisted hands on his hips. "How dare I what? Insist that you exercise decorum on His Grace's property? That I—"

"Do you know how many children Mrs. James has, Masterson?"

Corbin shook his head at this bizarre segue. "I'm sorry, who?"

"The woman you just caught me giving a condom to."

"Of course, I don't know how many children she has. I never saw her in my life before tonight."

"But you feel confident about judging her because she is a woman, don't you?" Before he could respond, she went on. "She has nine children. Nine. She had her first at sixteen. She is now twenty-nine."

Corbin was startled. He'd thought the woman was in her forties.

Lady Io nodded, as if he'd spoken. "Her body is worn out and she is not even thirty. And guess what, Mr. Masterson?"

Corbin found that he did not want to guess.

"She is pregnant. Again."

He felt vaguely nauseated by that information but rallied. "That may be unfortunate," he admitted, ignoring her huff at his choice of words. "But how many children the Jameses have is a matter for Mrs. James and her husband, not—"

"She has no say in the matter!" Lady Io shouted. "She is chattel, Mr. Masterson. If her husband wants to breed her to death so he can have more farmhands to work his fields it is his legal right to do so."

Corbin gritted his teeth. "As it happens, my lady, I agree that such incessant childbirth seems…inhumane. But I do not agree with your methods."

She flung up her hands. "How else can a woman like her get help? She works all day, every day. This harvest festival is her first night away from her life of drudgery since the last one. And tonight, when she gets home, there will still be chores to do. More chores and more children until she is dead from it."

The room echoed with her horrible but likely true words.

"Tell me, Mr. Masterson!" she demanded relentlessly. "Tell me what choices she has?"

"She could abstain." Corbin wanted to bite off his own tongue at the stupid suggestion—especially coming from a man with his past—and hastily said, "I just mean—"

"Abstain?" Her eyes threatened to bulge out of her head as she stared at his no doubt reddening face. "Do you have any idea of the range of entertainment available to country farmers with huge families that need to be fed? Do you think they should host a dinner party? Go to a ball? Attend the theater?" she asked, the words dripping sarcasm. "Sexual intercourse is the only entertainment available to people like the Jamses, Mr. Masterson.

He flinched at the word sexual on her tongue. "I do not doubt that what you say is true, my lady. But none of that is your concern. Mrs. James needs to speak to her husband about the matter." Some part of Corbin's brain was aware that he was essentially digging his hole deeper, but he could not seem to shut his mouth. "She needs to convince him that he must curb his desires, that—"

"What about her desires?"

Corbin blinked. "Er, what?"

"Or do women not have any sexual needs?" She took a step toward him. "Is that what you think, Masterson? That women don't like orgasms just as much as men do?"

Corbin was fairly certain that he had never heard the word orgasm spoken aloud. And he was positive that he had never heard a woman say it. He opened his mouth to advise her against using such an inflammatory word in the future, but her next words stopped him dead.

"What you know about female sexuality could barely fill a thimble, Masterson. If I were you, I would not be so eager to advertise my ignorance."

Corbin opened his mouth to protest, but then realized that she was likely right.

"I've seen the way you look at me."

His eyes bulged at this sudden change in tack. "And how is that?" he asked in a pompous voice that made him hate himself.

She stepped closer and Corbin jolted when her hand landed on his chest.

Oh God. She was doing it again.

Back away Corbin. Back. Away.

He stood immobile, barely breathing as her hand slid from his chest to his belly down to his erection.

His eyelids fluttered and he gave vent to a mortifying animal grunt when strong fingers closed around him.

"You look at me like you want to consume me whole," she whispered, giving his length a firm stroke. "Like you want to sink this remarkably fine weapon you are concealing in your trousers into my body and launch an assault."

How are you allowing this to happen again? Tell her to stop!

Corbin leaned into her stroking, held captive by both her hand and her black gaze.

"You look at me like you want to fuck me into submission."

He groaned, sounding like a cow in agony. Corbin knew he should be embarrassed about uttering such an unmanning sound. But—

Her second hand closed around his scrotum. His balls, already as hard as steel bearings, drew up tight to his body.

"I deserve a good fucking, don't I, Corbin?"

He could not have uttered a word if the President of the United States, the Queen of England, and the Lord Almighty had all demanded it of him.

But he could nod. She did deserve it.

"And I will get it," she whispered with a stroke that brought him to the brink of climax.

And then her hand disappeared and she stepped back. "But it won't be you who gives it to me."

For the second time in less than a month, she whirled and left him staring, mouth open, cock hard and wanting.

As battles of wits and wills went, what had just occurred was a savage, utter routing. The sensual equivalent of Gettysburg, with Corbin Lee to Lady Io's Grant.

She had thrashed and humiliated him again. Soundly.

But instead of being ashamed by his ignominious defeat at her hands, all Corbin felt was a crushing regret that she was gone.