Лорен Уиллиг - The Seduction of the Crimson Rose

"Right," said Colin. "Serena's always been a little bit…"

"Vulnerable?" I suggested.

"Quiet. Shy. Defenseless. Our family — " Colin broke off with a brisk shake of his head. "That's too much to go into. At any rate, Serena wasn't in a good way. She met Dempster at an arts course. Something to do with authentication. Ironic, really."

"I gather Dempster turned out to be in-authentic?"

"At the time, Dempster seemed like a good thing. Steady, devoted, solicitous."

"What happened?" I had an uncomfortable feeling I knew where this was going. Especially when I remembered the Dempster's plummy voice rolling over the words, I think the answer lies in the Selwick collection.…The memory gave me chills, and not of a good variety.

Watching me, Colin nodded once, as though something had already been asked and answered. "You can guess, can't you?"

I met his gaze straight on. "He was after her for the papers, wasn't he?"

"Got it in one." Colin poked at a small green olive with his fork as though the olive had personally offended him. "He was very clever about it, too. For the first few months it was all art and music and mutual acquaintances. He didn't mention the Pink Carnation at all, except offhandedly, as part of a paper he was writing on iconic representations of great English heroes, or something of that ilk."

"Hmm," I said. That sounded awfully like a line in my dissertation prospectus. That did not please me. "And then?"

"He asked Serena to 'help' with his research by looking for old family papers. She gave him one or two things — not much, but enough to whet his appetite."

That I could definitely understand. Just a glimpse of the yellowing papers in Colin's aunt's flat had been enough to set me drooling, provided the drool didn't damage the papers, of course. To know that the papers were there, just out of his reach, must have been maddening to Dempster, like a brioche dangled in front of a man who had skipped breakfast. Not that I sympathized with Dempster's methods, mind you. But I could understand the impulse.

I wondered what I would have done if Colin's aunt hadn't miraculously offered me carte blanche among her papers.

It wasn't at all comparable, I assured myself. I wanted Colin entirely for his extremely attractive self, not for his access to archives. Even though that had been a very intriguing pile of papers I had left unexplored up at Selwick Hall….

Perhaps Dempster had been initially attracted to Serena in the beginning, too, before archival fever took hold.

"And then what?" I asked, preferring not to follow that line of thought to its conclusion. It was different. It just was.

With the air of a man getting through a necessary but unpleasant task, Colin said briefly, "Dempster applied to Aunt Arabella for permission to see the rest. She refused."

"She didn't refuse me," I said smugly.

Colin raised both eyebrows at me. "Aunt Arabella has excellent taste." As I preened, he added, "Most of the time."

I made a face at him.

"If you're not going to compliment me, you might as well go on with the story," I said resignedly. "I imagine Dempster didn't take the refusal well?"

"To put it mildly. He became more and more insistent. He even asked her if she couldn't just remove a few documents, and return them before Aunt Arabella noticed."

I made appropriate noises indicating extreme horror and shock. The waiter hastened anxiously our way, but having ascertained that the choking sounds weren't caused by an olive lodged in someone's larynx, he obligingly sidled away again.

"Naturally, Serena refused," announced Colin, sounding rather proud of his little sister.

"Naturally!" I echoed.

"When Serena refused, Dempster became abusive."

"Physically?" I asked.

Colin made a wry face. "He didn't need to be. Working on her mind was easy enough. She was ugly, she was dull, she was fat, no one would ever date her if she didn't have him — it was all an attempt to terrify her into doing what he wanted."

"But it stuck," I said softly.

"It stuck," Colin agreed. "It was nothing she didn't already think of herself."

"But she's…" I brought my hands together in gesture indicative of extreme skinniness. "Tiny. Teeny-tiny. Super skinny. And she's absolutely charming," I added, as an afterthought.

"Try telling her that," said Colin grimly.

"I will," I said, resolving to shower Serena with compliments the very next time the occasion arose. It wouldn't be that hard. She really was that charming, in that shy, slightly retiring way that tends to get plowed under when stronger personalities are present (i.e., just about everyone else).

"So that's why," I said. "That's why you reacted so badly when you saw me at your aunt's that first time."

"That was part of it," Colin agreed. "I wasn't feeling too kindly towards academics at the time."

"And now?"

Colin leaned back in his chair, looking at me from under half-lowered lids. "Let's just say I'm willing to admit there might be exceptions."

"How very generous of you," I drawled.

Colin's eyes glinted in the candlelight. "I try to be fair."

The sparks were coming along so nicely that I almost hated to spoil it by bringing it back to Dempster. "So when Dempster greeted me by name tonight, you must have assumed…"

"That you two were in cahoots," Colin finished.

"Wow." I shook my head to clear it. "That would be quite a plot. Dempster, having failed with your sister, goes and dredges up a female to try her wiles on the male half of the family. Since we all know men are notoriously susceptible to that sort of thing."

Colin's eyes crinkled in a way that suggested the joke was on him. "We are here, after all," he said, indicating the half-empty restaurant, with its dim lighting and cozy little tables.

"Right," I said sarcastically, trying to cover the little thrill that went through me at the implication that he might be susceptible to my wiles. "Me as Mata Hari."

For some reason, Colin didn't seem to find this idea nearly as absurd as I did. "Why not?" he asked.

"Did you really think I was interested in you only for your papers?" I demanded incredulously.

It wasn't until Colin raised one eyebrow, looking as smug as Lord Vaughn at his very smuggest, that I realized just what I had let slip.

I cast about for a last-ditch way to talk myself out of it.

"Um, what I meant was…would you like an olive?"

I thrust the little olive plate at him.

Colin took the plate and set it down, possessing himself of my hand instead of an olive. "It's nice to know that it's not just my papers you're interested in."

"Well, yes," I said, as red as the tablecloth. I dropped my eyes in front of his amused gaze. "I'm glad we've got that cleared up."

"Eloise?"

"Yes?"

"You're all red."

"That happens when I drink," I said hastily. "It's the Irish flush. We call it the Curse of the Kellys. Happens to all of us."

"Does it?"

"No," I admitted. "I just made it up to have something to say. Don't ask. I'll just go and get my foot out of my throat now, shall I?"

"Don't let that stop you. I think you're doing quite well," said Colin, not bothering to hide his grin.

"Do you know," I said inconsequentially, "that Pammy wanted me to spend the week practicing seductively spitting out olive pits?"

Colin looked deeply interested. "Is there a seductive way of spitting out olive pits?"

"That's exactly what I said! Pammy said I was hopeless," I added.

"Pammy doesn't know what she's talking about."

We broke off, grinning foolishly at each other, as the waiter arrived with the food that I couldn't remember ordering. It seemed almost a shame to clutter the space on the table between us with the half-dozen little plates that seemed to go with our starters, baby eggplant stuffed and stewed, gooey concoctions of rice and raisins wrapped in grape leaves, something pureed that looked like baby food for grown-ups, with bits of flat, heavenly smelling bread stuck artistically round it for dipping. With all the fuss and clatter, Colin discreetly released my hand, and we settled back demurely on our own sides of the table as the feast was arrayed before us, as if we hadn't just been holding hands like Lady and the Tramp with a strand of spaghetti between them.

Not being of a romantic disposition, the waiter professionally doled out plates and departed, leaving us again to our own devices, without so much as a serenade.

It's very hard to remain sentimental in the face of hot food. Giving in to the inevitable, I took a large spoon and began ladling pureed eggplant onto my plate.

"Why did Dempster want so badly to see the papers?" I asked, handing the spoon over, handle first, to Colin.

Accepting the proffered spoon, Colin raised his eyebrows at me over the eggplant. "Why did you?"

"That's different," I protested, poking a triangle of bread emphatically into the pureed eggplant. "I have a dissertation to write. What does he need it for?"

"Can't you think of more compelling reasons than a dissertation?"

I considered. "At the moment? No."

Colin leaned back in his chair, somehow managing to fill all available space. "Not even money?"

It was nearly a week before Mary saw Lord Vaughn again, but that didn't matter. As Mrs. Fustian had so helpfully pointed out, hating was common, but had Mary been willing to take the time to do so, she might have been disposed to despise, loathe, and revile Lord Vaughn, all of which fell well within the permissible parameters of Mrs. Fustian's lexicon.