"Russell,.Sean.-.Darkness.1.-.Beneath.the.Vaunted.Hills.e-txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Russo Richard Paul)

The woman, pressing her arm into Erasmus, leaned close to his ear and made a rather outrageous suggestion. Erasmus disentangled himself. "Ah, 'If it were not a phantom moon, and your affections, Lady, were but true.'"
She looked at him, confused.
"Denis," Erasmus said. "The Prince Alexander." And seeing that this information did not help, he added: "It's a play, my dear."
She released him, her look of confusion not fading, and Erasmus set out into the fray. Tight little alleys opened up in the knots of people, and he pushed his way down these, awash in the scents and sounds, the colors and shapes.
He jostled someone accidentally and a rather poorly dressed young man shot him a look.
"Erasmus?" the young man said. "Farrelle's ghost, Erasmus!"
"Samual?"
The young man put a finger to his lips. "Don't say it so loudly." He looked truly frightened, shrinking down a little so as not to be noticed.
"Hiding from a fiancщe, are you?" Erasmus smiled.
"No, nothing like that. Far worse, in fact." Samual Hayes looked about him quickly. "I'm hiding from the law, Erasmus."
Erasmus almost laughed, thinking it a joke-Samual Hayes in trouble with the law!-but then he realized that the young man was completely serious. "Martyr's blood, man, what have you been up to?"
"Nothing," Hayes said quickly, "I swear. Yet I am being pursued all the same."
"Mr. Flattery?"
Erasmus turned to find a naval officer approaching, smiling. The navy men were always extremely amiable to him, not for anything Erasmus had done, but because a recent ancestor had been an admiral and something of a war hero. Odd how the accomplishments of one's family seemed to somehow rub off on a man.
"Captain Adelard James. We met once at the duke's country home. At a dinner, this two years past . . ."
"Of course. A pleasure to see you again, Captain. You were off to Farrow, wasn't it?"
The man looked pleased that Erasmus would remember. "That's it exactly. Yes, we talked much about the island. Have you been back since we last spoke?"
Erasmus shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not." He turned to introduce Hayes, but the young man had disappeared. They talked for a moment about nothing much in particular, and then parted. Erasmus stood wondering what in the world Hayes had been on about.
Barton reappeared suddenly. "Finished with that little bit already?" he asked, speaking too loudly. "Well, never mind, there's always more here, Ras. Do you know, I've just been told that the Countess of Chilton is in attendance? Can you believe it? I'm dying for a glimpse." He raised a bushy eyebrow comically. "Come along, old man, and we'll see if the rumors are true. See if a dart of pure desire strikes right to our very hearts."
They had taken an astonishing length of time to make their way to this room, searching as they went. Hoping for a glimpse of the woman said to be the most beautiful in the known world. Barton touched Erasmus' arm suddenly, and he turned to look in the direction his friend was staring. There was someone there, no doubt, in the middle of the press of both men and women-like a queen bee surrounded by her attendants. And the similarity seemed very apt to Erasmus. It was as though they all hovered about, rubbing antennae, caught up in a collective orgy of adoration.
He could not see the woman who was the focus of this adulation, but he could see the reactions of those around. They were transported, foolish with delight at finding themselves in the company of this woman. And it was not just the men. The women seemed hardly less affected. Erasmus felt it himself, and he still had not caught a glimpse of the countess.
"Can you see her, Barton?" Erasmus asked, for Barton was a good half a foot taller and looked over virtually everyone's head.
"Almost," he answered, not shifting his gaze away from the spectacle.
Suddenly someone in the throng moved to one side and Erasmus thought he caught a glimpse of a beautiful smile.
"Now, now, gentlemen. Not polite to stare. Actually, the countess has gone, and what you see there are merely the people who were so unbelievably fortunate as to actually have spoken with her."
"Sennet," Barton said, turning to a dapper young man who looked on in vast amusement. "Do you know Erasmus Flattery?"
"No, but certainly I know your brother, the duke. Your servant, sir. And I should add that I know you by reputation. I'm not an empiricist myself, but, even so, one cannot help but hear the name of Erasmus Flattery. Not these days."
Erasmus never knew how to respond graciously to praise, and as usual changed the subject. "Were you serious?" Erasmus asked. "Are these merely the people who spoke with the countess?"
Sennet bobbed his head, his long, rather sharp nose performing a precise arc in the air. Erasmus thought the marquis-for this was undoubtedly the Marquis of Sennet-was the most oddly formed man. His chin seemed to have been drawn out too far, his forehead sloped back. Freckles of vastly differing sizes were scattered over his face, and yet all of this seemed to be offset by the most kindly eyes, large and filled with humor, with deep lines at their corners from much laughter, Erasmus suspected.
"Yes," Sennet said, his amusement apparently growing. "Isn't it wonderfully absurd? It's really a madness. A collective madness." His look became just a bit more serious, as though something in this disturbed him.
"I've never actually seen the countess myself," Erasmus said, wondering if there was as much regret in his voice as he heard. "Is she as beautiful as everyone claims?"
Sennet tilted his head to one side. "One would have to say yes, I think. It is very odd. I actually believe there are other women in Avonel just as beautiful-perhaps even in this room-but they do not have the effect of the Countess of Chilton. It is a force of personality . . . I don't think I know a word to describe the effect, for she is more than enchanting." He shook his head and laughed. "Well, you see, I am as besotted as everyone else. Though I shall not duel with others who do not declare her the most beautiful woman who has ever lived, which apparently happened this week past."
Erasmus thought this a good thing. He seemed to remember hearing that Sennet was a formidable swordsman, and had once won a duel with the master of Avonel's principal fencing academy. A feat that had given him something of a reputation these past three years.
"No, I make it something of a rule," Sennet said. "Never risk your life over a woman who cannot remember your name. Sensible, don't you think?"
Erasmus' answer died on his lips, for he saw Samual Hayes half-hidden behind a column, trying to catch his attention.
Erasmus excused himself and made his way over to the young man.
Young Samual was the only son of neighbors of the Flattery family. The Hayes family were kindly if not terribly competent people, who had lost their estate not too long ago from bad investments and profligate spending. Not an uncommon story, unfortunately.
"I have to get out of here," Hayes said as Erasmus came near. "It's the navy men; they're after me." He paused, avoiding Erasmus' eyes. "But I have no place to go."
Erasmus reached out and took Hayes' arm. Better to find out what went on here. He owed it to the young man's parents. "Come along, then. You can hide at my home-at least until you've told me what's happened. Don't look so frightened, Hayes; unless you've murdered the prince royal, it's unlikely agents of the navy will try to wrest you from me without a proper warrant, and I rather doubt the officers present this evening have one in their pockets. They have other things on their minds."
Erasmus steered Hayes toward the door, wondering if he would miss anything that evening, but then decided that he had only come out of boredom. An unhealthy reason in the first place. The rescue of a family friend seemed infinitely preferable.

Chapter Two
IT was not a secret in Avonel that the Earl of Skye had a preference for a certain type of woman-petite, white-blonde, green-eyed, and young. An Entonne accent was desirable but not absolutely necessary. For a man of surpassing intellect, his tastes were hardly extraordinary.
The woman who answered the door, however, was not only a complete stranger, but she had none of the characteristics that Skye expected. In truth, he thought her a rather unusual-looking woman. Not more than twenty-three, he guessed, but he had seldom seen a woman so . . . faded. Her hair, her skin, they appeared to be drained of color. The hair was red, but of such a lifeless variety. If anyone were to return from death, Skye thought they would look like this-as though part of their life had been drained away. Yet her eyes had the gleam of youth and even standing there, holding the door, he sensed a vivacity about her.
She curtsied with grace. "Lord Skye, it is an honor. Please, come in," she said pleasantly. Whoever she was, she was no one's maidservant.
He hesitated on the doorstep. "This is the right address?"
"You've come to visit Miss Finesworth?" He nodded and she beckoned him in.
"You have me at something of a disadvantage, Miss . . . I do not know your name."
"I am a friend," she said, and smiled as though she had been put up to this and found his reaction rather amusing. "Come up, sir," she said, not offering to take his coat or cane, nor was there any servant to do so.
It was turning into something of an odd assignation, Skye thought. Where was Miss Finesworth? She had assured him the house would be empty.