To Bed a Libertine Read Free

and the most adorable bright yellow phaeton just like Lord Westwood’s. She had gone to the galleries, where she met Mr. Price and Lady Russell.
    Fun indeed. If only she could discover the dark, handsome man she had glimpsed at that window, the one with the intense eyes and the paint-streaked shirt. He looked terribly intriguing.
    “Shall we go in, Contessa?” Mr. Price said as he offered her his arm. “I think the music will be starting soon.”
    “Yes, of course.” As Erato went with him into the drawing room, where everyone was taking their places in the rows of gilded chairs between displays of ancient vases and statues, she glimpsed Calliope and Westwood lurking by a marble pillar, glaring at each other.
    Excellent, Erato thought happily, casting just the tiniest bit of Muse magic their way as she passed by. Arguing was just a form of passion. It was one tiny step to kissing.
    Erato slid into her seat just as Lady Russell made her appearance, the tall plumes of her turban bobbing.
    “Good evening, my dear friends,” Lady Russell said. “I am so glad you could join me on this very special occasion. We will hear for the first time in centuries the strains of music heard in ancient Greece. Using a fragment of manuscript copied from a work by Terence, fortunately preserved during the Renaissance and hidden away in a monastery, we have reproduced a ’Delphic Hymn to Apollo.’ The instruments used tonight greatly resemble the lyres, aulos and citharas seen on this krater.”
    Two servants carried in a large blackwork krater, a vase used in Erato’s world to mix wine and water for parties. This one was in fine condition for its age, featuring a banquet scene of dancers, musicians and drinkers reclining on chaises. The instruments in the image did indeed resemble the bright new ones the musicians behind Lady Russell held.
    Everyone exclaimed over the beautiful vase, but Erato was distracted by a sudden warmth on the back of her neck. A small, hot tingle just at her sensitive nape that signaled she was being watched. She pressed her fingertips to that spot and peeked over her shoulder.
    It was him. The man from the window, the man with the beautiful dark eyes. A spark of excitement took hold deep inside of her, catching into flame. The boredom and uncertainty she suffered at Olympus fled completely.
    He leaned against one of the pillars at the back of the room, watching her. He was handsome, tall and lean, elegant in his black-and-white evening clothes, not a streak of paint in sight. His hair, dark brown touched with gold, was longer than fashionable in this England, falling to his lean shoulders and over his brow. He looked solemn and intense, poetic, and so, so attractive.
    She hadn’t felt like this in such a long time, if she ever had at all.
    Erato gave him her most brilliant smile. His dark brow quirked, but he gave no other reaction. Strange. Most men melted immediately at a Muse’s smile. A challenge made it even better.
    She faced the musicians again, even happier that she had decided to come to England for a holiday. It was just what she needed.
    By the time the interval came, Erato’s mysterious man had disappeared, and Calliope Chase was slipping out of the room. Erato impulsively followed her, curious to see what would happen next.
    Calliope went to a conservatory, a dim, quiet space of high windows, long rows of exotic plants and marble statues that watched the world with blank, uncaring eyes. The air was rich with the damp, earthy scents of the flowers, a warm haven against the chilly night outside.
    Calliope went to a statue of Aphrodite and stared up at her as if in confidence, asking the goddess’s advice. If only she knew, Erato thought. Aphrodite is far too lazy to help anyone.
    Erato slipped behind another statue, a grape-bedecked Dionysus, and watched happily as Lord Westwood joined Calliope there, the two of them speaking quietly with their heads bent together. Perhaps romantic matters were