Chapter 5

The candle burned low, and the only sound was the soft whistle of wind against the window. Victoria sat at the small writing desk in her room, pen in hand. A blank page waited before her, and she heard in her mind Lord Bedford's calm insistence that writing a bad play and mending it was better than trying to write a perfect play from beginning to end.

A rake was not a man who could be trusted with a lady's heart, but perhaps he knew a little about plays. After all, he was right about Jonson's The Alchemist. Victoria let out a mournful sigh. She would have liked to have danced with him and talked with him longer about her favourite plays. "He was so terribly handsome," she mumbled.

She liked to talk when she worked. Victoria felt that it helped her articulate her thoughts more clearly, and she desperately needed that articulation. Lord Bedford was a devilishly handsome man and, according to Lady Norwood, as wicked as a devil, too. It was unfortunate, and Victoria knew that she would be wise to cast aside all feelings for that man.

That was easier said than done, however. When she closed her eyes, she still smelled the sweetness of his cologne, and everything inside her grew tight and warm when she thought about his handsome face and the intensity of his dark eyes. There was even something alluring about his voice.

"This is not good," Victoria said.

She knew about rakes, of course. They were often handsome men, much like Lord Bedford, and they lured young ladies down a path of vice and ruin. Even if Victoria enjoyed reading about passion, including the very occasional amorous congress, she knew pragmatically that she was not to participate in such activities. Until marriage, that was a world that she must only explore through the pen and art.

The whole situation called to mind Loralie's performance as Hermia, especially the scene where her lover Lysander—enchanted by a love potion—declared his affections for another woman. Victoria remembered the longing etched in every syllable of Loralie's speech, the desperation on her face, and the way she arched her body forwards—begging, sobbing, imploring—her lover to come to her.

Lysander, played by Henry, had refused and clung instead to Helena, who Abigail was playing. It had all been rather dramatic, but Loralie, as usual, was the shining star amongst them all.

Victoria pulled her leg up and let her chin rest atop her knee. "It is a pity that my charming prince has turned into Mephistopheles," she said, morosely looking at the blank page. "What now?"

Victoria paused, considering the contrast she had spoken into existence. It felt as if it were the beginning of something, although she could not determine the precise shape of what. Perhaps her characters ought to be …

She carefully penned her heroine's name: Constance.

Victoria pursed her lips together, thinking. She thought of Lord Bedford, and her toes curled. How strange that she could feel such a strong attraction to such a terrible man! This must be passion, surely, in its most destructive form.

CONSTANCE stares across the ballroom. She sees—

Victoria paused, thinking. Lord Bedford would be the perfect hero for this, the handsome man who made her feel warm and bright all over. It was as if something deep inside her had awakened. Desire, she was not so sheltered that she did not recognize it. Lust. Her breath shuddered in her chest. Her fingers ached to write.

Her hero. He could not be named Lord Bedford, but the rakish lord could still serve as her inspiration.

CONSTANCE stares across the ballroom. She sees LORD BELMONT, a handsome and rakish man.

CONSTANCE: Be still, my heart! Oh, what are these sensations that have swept over me? I feel as though I have been in darkness for so long, and everything now fills with light! [Her eyes lock with LORD BELMONT. The two slowly approach one another as if enraptured at once. There is no denying the strength of their connection.] But this cannot be! I know that the lord is a notorious rake!

LORD BELMONT: Lady Constance—

Victoria frowned and crossed out the line. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Perhaps she could not be with her rake, but that did not mean that Constance could not have hers.

LORD BELMONT: It is the height of impropriety for a man to approach a lady without being first introduced to her, but you are so lovely that I fear I cannot restrain myself. Will you forgive me?

Victoria furrowed her brow, trying to recall her reply. It drifted away, though. Well. Constance needed something witty to say, so Victoria tried to imagine what Loralie would say and how she would deliver the lines. Any time Victoria imagined her plays on the stage, she imagined Loralie as the leading lady.

CONSTANCE: I suppose such behaviour is expected of a rake, My Lord. Your reputation precedes you.

LORD BELMONT: Does it? I hope you have heard well of me, for I have heard well of you, Lady Constance. [He bows and offers his hand.] Shall we dance?

CONSTANCE: [She looks shyly at LORD BELMONT, but there is a slyness about her expression, too. She is secretly delighted at being asked to dance, unable to deny the attraction between herself and the young lord.] I accept, My Lord.

Victoria bit her lip, thinking about Lord Bedford. She had not touched him, but she imagined feeling the warmth of his hands through her silk gloves. She imagined that he would hold her tightly and that small point of contact would make her arms tingle. Victoria dared to imagine him placing a hand on her back or her hip, guiding her through the dance with a confident smirk.

Her breath quickened, and Victoria noted with a distant sort of attention that her face and chest were warmer. Her skin had pinkened. Victoria carefully read the scene again. Now, what?

Victoria tried to remember the last time she had danced with someone, but all she recalled were the dances of her childhood with her father as her partner. What would it be like to dance with a man as a young woman? A man who was as handsome as Lord Bedford?

She yawned and rubbed her eyes, tired despite the new sensations coursing through her. Because Victoria did not know how the dance would continue, it was best to leave her writing for just a little while. She blew out the candle and quietly padded into her bed, moving aside the bedclothes.

Victoria buried herself beneath the covers and stared into the darkness, thinking of Lord Bedford's dark eyes and hair. He was so very handsome. When Victoria closed her eyes, she saw his face still and remembered the soft rumbling of his voice.

***

Victoria's last thought before succumbing to sleep was of Lord Bedford. When she awoke, he was her first thought. She lay in bed, thinking about Lord Bedford and how his hands would feel on her.

What did rakes do? Did they engage in amorous congress with ladies upon meeting them? Would a man like Lord Bedford be willing to engage in something so intimate with a lady after only a single dance? It was true that rakes had a reputation, but Victoria did not know precisely how quickly a rake would be willing to join a lady in her bed. Perhaps it depended on the lady in question.

What would Constance do?

Victoria pursed her lips together, thinking. Constance was a passionate character with powerful desires. She would want to engage in something exciting with a rakish man, but she was still a cautious lady. Constance would not abandon all her resolve after a single dance. She would want her rake to work for her affections, to win them.

She moved aside the bedclothes and hurried to the desk. Victoria swept into the chair, tucking her legs underneath her. She took her pen in hand and drew in a deep breath.

[Light, graceful music fills the air. CONSTANCE and LORD BELMONT begin to dance. She drifts along the dance floor so elegantly that she appears as if she floats. He holds her firmly, his eyes fixed upon her face. The tension between them fills the air.]

CONSTANCE: I must wonder why you wished to dance with me tonight. I hope that you do not mean to take advantage of me, My Lord. I will not be taken by your charms as other women have been.

LORD BELMONT: [He laughs, the sound confident and alluring.] How can you be so certain, My Lady? You have only just met me. You have not yet beheld my many charms.

CONSTANCE: I have heard enough of them from many women. What more can there be to learn?

Victoria paused, pressing her pen against her lips. What would Lord Bedford, the notorious rake, have said? She imagined that he would tell her of his many charms. Surely, it would be most fitting for Lord Belmont to do the same. He would lean close to Constance, and he would murmur in her ear about all the wonderful things that a man could do with a lady in a bedroom.

Victoria imagined Lord Bedford's breath hot against her neck, and a shiver traced the path of her spine. She could not decide if she was cold or hot; it seemed as if she were somehow both.

Victoria tapped her pen against the paper.

LORD BELMONT: I can show you a world of pleasure that you never imagined, My Lady, if you will only let me. I know all those secret places where a lady likes to be touched. I can make you feel sensations that you never thought possible, my gentle lady.

Victoria's breath quickened. She curled and uncurled her fingers, thinking. The lord's response was not entirely satisfactory. Victoria imagined Henry delivering those lines to Loralie. He would make them sound very sensual. He was gifted in playing roles like that. Still, Victoria wanted her rake's words to be made better with the performance, not dependent on it.

They needed to be more explicit, something truly scandalous. Yes, Constance's romance with Lord Belmont would only be believable if they were equals in some way. Constance needed a man who could challenge her. When Victoria tried to think of how to make the words more scandalous, her face grew hot.

She knew that she must be flushing as bright as a sunset. Even though she had read her share of scandalous works, writing them was another matter entirely. A dull ache settled between her thighs, and Victoria groaned. She knew of this feeling; she had felt it before.

Victoria knew there were ways of relieving that ache, too. She had no notion of how, though. Her breath quickened, and she carefully folded the pages, hiding them in the desk drawers. While Victoria's stepmother did not spend much time in the room, Victoria did not want to take the chance that her stepmother might somehow uncover the pages.

"Oh, Lord Bedford," Victoria murmured. "If I cannot have you, at least Constance may have her Lord Belmont."

When Henry and Loralie played their roles on stage, Victoria would see in their performance how her own romance with Lord Bedford might have happened. It would not be as glorious as the real thing, but it would be enough. It would be the best that could come from that encounter.

After leaving her writing, Victoria dressed herself. She wondered if Lord Bedford was thinking about her, too. Did he regret that her stepmother had prevented them from dancing? Did he regret that he had ruined all those ladies on the continent? If he did, Lord Bedford's regrets were not so great that he would spare the ladies in England from his philandering ways.

Still, the best villains had depth to them. The best tragic heroes, too. For Victoria to continue with her play, she must find some answer to that question: do rakes ever feel guilt?