Читать книгу A Matter of Some Scandal - Daisy Banks - Страница 6

Chapter 1

Prudence blinked. Reflected by gilt mirrors, heat and light from many candles dazzled her vision, smoke from their untrimmed wicks stung her eyes. Inching forward in her seat, she pushed at a strand of hair which had slipped from beneath her wig and tickled the back of her neck. A myriad of fragrances wafting from the little group around the card table sickened her stomach.

How had the evening turned into this gut twisting, nerve-jangling event? Across the small card table, Argyle gave nothing away. His blue gaze lifted to hold hers. She dabbed at beads of sweat on her upper lip which had broken through her powder, the scented lace handkerchief doing little to still her queasy stomach, and plied her fan to disguise her apprehension.

Argyle’s expression remained as it had been all night. He would eat her alive, given half a chance. And heavens, tonight she’d given it whole, set out on a platter. For months she’d kept him at bay, but he’d continued to plague her. This last week, he’d stalked her like a wolf at the tables. Tonight she’d been so annoyed with him, she’d taken him on in a game of Loo. One disastrous hand had followed another. The other players, perhaps scenting the unspoken battle, had withdrawn from the game. Now she faced Argyle alone.

She ignored the coin, the pile of her jewelry, the two written promises she’d penned for him for her house and the lodge. All would be gone, should she lose this hand. He would know she sweated on this, yet still he made her wait. Since their youth, Argyle had ever been a manipulative bastard.

He reached out and took the crystal glass of red wine which always accompanied him at the tables. A small smile played about his mouth as he tilted the glass. He sipped, then examined his cards again. His dark hair, for his vanity not whitened by powder, glinted, glossy in the light. At his hungry glance, she swallowed hard.

“Well, Prudence, ’tis time to see if your luck has turned,” he murmured. She joined with the intake of breath from those who had stayed until the dawn to see this game played out.

“Whenever you are ready, Argyle.” She tried to put every ounce of disdain she could into the words. A dismal failure which hurt more than her memories, or anything he might take from her tonight.

Each movement of his fingers a slow and deliberate torment, he spread the cards on the table. An ace led the consecutive spades. Her heartbeat hammered.

The game was done.

She flipped over each card of her answering hand, a set well short of his. A collective loud sigh followed. Argyle’s smile bit at her like a snake leaping from the grass. He must have known he’d won for an hour or more. What demon had entered her mind to allow him, of all men, to take almost everything she possessed?

His lips took on the most satisfied smile she’d ever seen him wear.

He thought to tempt her with such a smile.

“It seems, m’dear, if you choose to remain at the table you’ll be walking home in your petticoat.” Soft chuckles came from some around the table. Mortified, she fanned her heated cheeks. The corner of Argyle’s mouth rose further. His eyebrow lifted.

She nodded, and to find some kind of solace, traced a finger over the one gem she now wore, a small sapphire brooch still pinned to her gown. His gaze lingered on the lace-trimmed square neckline of her bodice, but she couldn’t tell if he admired the gem or her décolletage. He could see plenty of flesh, for her strings of pearls lay on the table. She would not offer the sapphire for one last hand, indeed would rather die than chance giving it up. The brooch had been his gift to her at eighteen, a token from him in return for the jewel of her maidenhead.

The blue depths of the stone flashed a warning. She’d always been a fool where this man was concerned. “I acquiesce to a lucky player,” she managed, and even smiled. “I’ll expect to see you later...” Outside the window, the sky lightened. “...this day. You can visit to collect the documents of ownership, should you wish.”

Applause broke from the small crowd, but her friend Justine’s visible distress threatened to expose the depth of her losses.

She rose from the padded chair, shook out her brocaded silk gown’s pannier skirts, gave Argyle a sweeping curtsy and made to leave the gem strewn table. He caught her arm. The fine lace of his cuff fell soft on her skin. “Don’t think to run to the country, Pru. I’ll find ye out.” His words were low, and only the knowledge so many might see her lose control stilled her from slapping his face with her fan.

“Damn you to hell, Argyle. You can collect when you wish.” She yanked her arm from his grasp and swept out of the room, trailed by Justine. The moment a liveried servant closed the door behind them, Justine grabbed her hand.

“Pru, how could you? Your jewels and the hunting lodge, the town house as well, to bet them on the turn of a card. Have you become completely mad?”

“Lower your voice. The last thing I want is the world with their noses in my business, but aye, I must have lost my wits. Perhaps they’ll find me a cozy spot in Bedlam. I’ll need it should I wish to come up to town again.” She gave Justine a wry smile.

“Surely Argyle will be a gentleman and squash the debt?”

“Gentleman be damned. He’s not much more than a highway robber, and has been all his life. You may think he looks the very essence of wealth and culture, but he’s a black-hearted rogue. He’ll collect for sure, or make me the offer he knows I’ll again refuse.” She stood still while a pale and sleepy-eyed servant girl came forward and helped her on with her cloak.

They waited, constrained to silence, until the sedan chairs were called. Justine slid a comforting arm around her and stared with tearful brown eyes. “I’d never have thought it of a man such as Clairmonte,” she murmured, and dabbed at her nose with a scrap of lace.

“Please, my dear, be more circumspect. I can’t bear for them to know how much this means.” She lifted her chin. “He’s been out for revenge for years, ever since I married Thomas, God rest his soul. Argyle doesn’t like to be bested and now he’s trying again. You know what they say, ‘there’s more than one way to skin a cat.’” She sighed and rubbed at her temple. “Well, this evening he came very close, but only you and I know it. I’ll send you news as soon as I can. Good evening, my dear.”

At a call from the stairs, Justine kissed her cheek, and Prudence made her way down to where her sedan chair and the link boy waited.

The journey home passed too swiftly for her to dwell more on the disaster of the evening. When she entered the well-lit hallway, she tried to dismiss the knowledge she’d gambled this house away. God damn Argyle!

Bessie came to help her undress and took her cloak, looking more and more bemused that the sparkling aigrette no longer drew attention to her brow, the rows of pearls, tinkling bracelets and diamond earrings were gone. The poor girl’s head bobbed, jerking, her wide forehead furrowed.

“’Tis no good looking so mournful, Bess. T’will be all over the town by the morn, I’m sure. I lost the lot at the tables. I’ve not been robbed directly.”

Bessie’s mouth grew rounded.

“Aye, and there’s more. I have promised the town house and the hunting lodge to Argyle Clairmonte, and there’s naught to be done about it. All I have left is Derry House, and I intend to travel down to Dorset before the end of the week, for I’ve given the gossips as tasty a treat as the king’s mistress.”

“But, madam, ye hate the place.”

“Aye, I do. The need is on me though, and so I’ll have to return to it, at least until the talk dies down.” Perhaps because she loathed Derry House to such a degree, she’d not bothered to offer it to Argyle. He’d probably have turned the ramshackle place down, knowing it as well as she did. Blast the man to hell and back twice. She’d been foolish beyond any ordinary folly to become entangled with him at the tables.

Eyes closed to take in the night’s losses, she kicked off her shoes as she sat. Her maid removed the powdered wig, unpinned the coiled hair beneath it and peeled off the small black silk half-moon patch from below her eye. Once unlaced, the extravagant gown sagged about her.

Bessie helped her out of the folds of satin with great care.

She opened her eyes. Bess was shaking out the foamy lace trim. Once the glossy panels were slipped into the armoire, the maid undid the frame which held out the panels of the wide skirt, then the stays.

Thanks to Argyle, she’d not wear such a confection again. She dropped the petticoats to the floor with a sigh, and peeled off her shift. The despair of the tables rose, rank from the fabric. The lace-trimmed shift landed with the petticoats.

Giving her a tiny encouraging smile, Bess smoothed a clean shift over her shoulders, laced up the lavender ribbons and scooped up the linen to be sent to the laundry woman.

Bess bid her a soft, “Goodnight, madam, I’m sure all will be well on the morrow,” and left the room.

She slid between the sheets, burning with the consequences of Argyle’s deliberate attack on her financial freedom.

Last year he’d set out to tempt her to marriage and she’d refused. Now he’d netted her goods, taken enough to near beggar her, and made her look a real fool in the bargain. But no matter how desperate her circumstances might become she had no need of him. Aye, he’d thought to take all she had, but she still owned the two things he wanted. The sapphire he gave her so long ago and the body he desired. A tiny smile of satisfaction spread across her face, a kernel of warmth lodged in her chest. He’d done near his worst tonight, yet she held onto all he truly wanted.

* * * *

At eleven the next morning, she sat before her mirror in her shift and sipped well-sweetened chocolate. Bessie hurried into the bedroom. “Madam, there is a Mr. Clairmonte to see you. I told him you weren’t ready for company, but he said...” Bessie’s voice dropped lower. “...he said he didn’t care. I was to tell you to be down the stairs straight away, or he’ll come up and it won’t matter should you lock the door.”

A laugh she couldn’t still broke from her. “Pass me my robe, Bessie, and yes, I know the man has the manners of a stray hound.” She bundled her hair up under a small lace house cap, pulled on a petticoat, the flowered robe and her embroidered, painted heeled slippers. Bending, she checked her appearance in the dressing mirror. A sigh escaped her.

She was getting too old for such late nights at the tables. Ah well, Argyle had his own set of wrinkles to think about. Shoulders squared to meet him, she went down to the drawing room, where Bessie had bid him wait.

* * * *

Argyle stood before the fire blazing in the hearth. One hand lay on the new, elaborate painted mantle, a polished boot on the fender. Damn the man. He was early, and looked as rested as if he’d slept through the night like a saint.

His green coat, the best cut in town, enhanced his shoulders. The open gilded buttons displayed an extravagant ornate waistcoat. His neck cloth gleamed, spotless. The tight buff breeches emphasized he’d not gained a waistline to worry about in the years since she’d first known him.

He gave her a bow. “Are you well this morn, Prudence? Did you rest easy?”

She ignored the mockery in his tone. “Have you come to collect this early, Argyle? I’ve not yet sent for the notary. You could have waited at least until after I dined.”

“Aye, but I didn’t.”

“Would you care for port wine or madeira?”

“Neither. You know what I’ve come for.” He held her gaze.

The same shiver of exquisite sensation this man’s direct stare always gave her traced like a splash of iced water down her spine.

“Well, it all will be yours once I’ve informed the notary. Or do you want me out of the house before I’ve even dressed?”

“You know it’s not the bloody house I’m here for.” He stepped forward, and at once she backed away, put the small rosewood card table between them.

“No, I’ll not,” she said.

“By the devil, you will if you wish to stay in town.” His arm coiled ’round her, and the table rolled sideways as he nudged it out of the way with his knee. The heat of his hand on her waist warmed her through her dress.

“I will scream,” she said as he pulled her closer still.

“Bawl your bloody head off for all I care. I’ve waited long enough for you.”

Before she could even whimper, his mouth covered hers.

Dear God, he smelled as wonderful as he had when he was the first man to kiss her.

She tried to pull away, but he held her tight, slid his tongue with aching slowness into her mouth. All the need for him she’d ever known washed through her like a wave. This wasn’t going to happen today, or tomorrow. Not ever!

She yanked her head back and slapped him as hard as she could. Breathing swiftly, she gasped, “Get out. I mean it, or I’ll have the servants throw you out.” She pulled backward so she rocked on her heels, but his embrace didn’t break.

“Be damned you will. I am here for you. If I have to strip everything you own, Prudence, I’ll make sure you fulfill the promise you made me.”

She shook her head. “What? Hold me to the words of a green girl who knew no better?”

“You said you loved me, and I hold the words a promise. As I have done all these years.”

“You’re a fool. I never loved you, never.”

A spark lit his blue eyes and his arms dropped from her. She took another step back from the heat in his gaze.

“I am going to hound you until you admit you do. I’ll take this place, the hunting lodge too, and follow you down to Derry House, where I know you’ll run. Thomas has been dead over a year. ’Tis time you wed again.”

“Hound away. I care not for it, and know this. I’ll not wed you.” The choke in her voice could not be disguised. She hoped he’d think it from temper, not the sorrow for all she’d lost.

A slow smile spread where the reddened tracery of her finger marks faded. “Prudence, which of us is the best huntsman?” She remained silent. “Who lost the most when you wed Thomas?” Again she didn’t answer. She could not own those truths. “You love me. I know it, and if you tell yourself you don’t twenty times a day, you will still love me. I have the fortune now I didn’t have when we met. There is only one thing I want that I don’t have.”

She narrowed her eyes, tried to ignore the desire of her foolish body to have his arms around her again. “You will not have me. I swear it.”

He shook his head, and his smile widened. “M’dear, you have been foresworn on more than one occasion in our lives. I’ll expect you to clear out of the house by the end of the week. There’ll be a full inventory of all goods made this day by clerks I’ve appointed, and I promise you, if I find one pin missing I’ll have you in the assizes for its value.”

“You’re a bastard.”

He nodded, picked up his hat from the green silk cover of the canap, gave her a bow and turned. One hand grasping the gilded door handle, he glanced at her. “Think on what I’ve said. Think on it hard, and remember the rose garden.” The door closed behind him. Heat flooded through her at the memory he’d called up.

That night, fitful light from the moon had shone between towers of cloud as she’d dashed over the lawn to the rose garden. Her heart had pounded, but not from the speed of her steps. Would he be there? He’d promised, but three long days had passed since their last meeting. She’d scanned over the roses, inhaled their sweet night scent. At the sound of movement, she’d turned to her left. There he stood, concealed by shadow. “Argyle,” she’d murmured, and as he caught her tight to him, she breathed him in.

“My love, did you doubt I’d be waiting?” His mouth had covered hers before she could answer. His lips were sweet like the roses, his hands on her, a delight. She’d buried herself in his embrace. The heat of him had been enough to melt her. While an owl hooted and the moon rode high above them, his tongue led hers in a rite of need and desire. This night, they would be lovers. She’d sworn it with him. This special night, she would take, give all she could.

His palm had cupped her breast, and a flash of fire leapt through her, sung in her blood. She’d run her hands over his shirt, enjoyed his solid muscles beneath. When he’d pulled her down onto the grass beside him, a shiver of apprehension and desire had rippled over her. His lips teased down her neck, and a painful kind of pounding had stirred in her loins as he gently sucked at her skin. She knew he would leave no marks. He never had. “Argyle, don’t torment me, not tonight,” she’d pleaded, and run her hand over the hot length of him twitching, throbbing in his breeches.

“I love you,” he’d whispered, and a soft groan had left her as his tongue stroked between her breasts, his warm open mouth sucked at the flesh he could reach.

“You are my love. You are my life. I love you,” she’d murmured as he brushed her skirts up, out of the way, stroked warmth against her inner thigh.

“I want you, Pru. Be mine this night and all the others to follow.”

At the memory of those faithless words, a shudder thrilled through her. Tears threatened. To force them away, she grasped the back of the chair so tight her hands trembled and knuckles whitened. “You’re a liar, Argyle. A conniving, vicious, velvet-mouthed liar!” Her cry tumbled into the drawing room, dragging her along with it.

For she hadn’t been his for the rest of their lives. He’d left her before they took a single step to the altar. A blast of humiliation rose at the memory. Hands shaking still, she let go of the chair and spun on her heel.

She picked up a gilded vase, which had cost considerable coin, and flung it as hard as she could at the wall. It smashed, but her satisfaction scarce relieved her fury.

Damn the man! Damn him to hell.

Teeth clamped tight, she stormed up to her bedroom. She let Bessie tiptoe around to dress her for the day. The final piece of her costume, the small sapphire, taunted her with its unrelenting perfection. The mixture of rage and bitterness her meeting with Argyle had churned rose, choking. Yet the soft warmth of his whisper carried over the years.

Careless of any who might spy them, they had lain entwined for long minutes, hearts wrapped in a love-filled rhythm. “My angel, I have a gift for you.” His words had soothed like his palm as it smoothed over her heated cheek. She’d eased her position on the grass, still awestruck at the pleasure of loving with him, the risk she’d taken to do so. He’d made her a woman with his delicious body so hot and hard.

“I love you without gifts. I’ll love you all my life.” She’d kissed him softly, and the magic of passion had stirred anew.

He’d buried his hand into the deep pocket of his shirt. “This, my love, though you deserve more. You deserve all the pearls in the oceans, but for now this will have to do.” He’d pressed the small brooch into her hand. Through her tears, the jewel had sparkled as the sapphire glinted in the moonlight.

“Why, it’s beautiful, and will be the most precious gem I ever own,” she’d said.

“No, my love, it is my promise to love you always. While I am gone, you will wear it and know I love you.” He’d smoothed her hair from her forehead.

“What do you mean, ‘while you are gone’?” A sickening wave of fear had crept over her.

“I leave here at dawn to go make me a fortune for us to share. ’Tis the only way I can wed you.”

“No, I want you here with me.” Her tears had burned hot.

Well. The brooch shining against her simple day gown was quite the fashion now.

He’d ignored her wishes. Been gone three long, bitter, sorrowful years.

Argyle would never understand the marriage wasn’t her fault. When Papa became so ill, he’d insisted before his death she could spend no more time mooning about, and should wed Thomas Wellbourne.

She’d starved herself for a week, wept until she could weep no more, but Papa remained determined the wealthy, eligible Thomas would be her husband. For once, and perhaps the one time he should have, Papa had not given in to her wishes. The wedding had been arranged without her true consent. And had Argyle cared? Not until far too late.

She’d knelt and prayed the whole night before the wedding that he’d somehow know, appear to take her away, but he hadn’t.

No more. She couldn’t bear thinking on it any longer.

While she’d let the torturous thoughts run, her maid, Bess, had dressed her hair, applied a layer of fine pale powder to her skin and added the rounded patches of vermillion rouge. Almost without seeing, she stared at her reflection and sighed.

The tidal wave of memories he provoked would not let her be. Even here at her dressing table everything seemed linked to his touch. She stroked the pale flower heads in the blue and white vase and inhaled their sweetness.

The richness of lily of the valley filled the chapel on her marriage morning. Her cross-ribboned gown had draped in exquisite folds from her waist to the floor. Beside her, handsome and tall, stood her groom. But when she turned from the altar, only one figure in the congregation had filled her vision. A dark-haired man at the back of the church, who seemed carved from the granite walls.

She’d walked the length of the nave with knees which shook. Her hand, with its shining new ring, lay on Thomas’s arm. She’d smiled for those about her, but her gaze had remained fixed on her unexpected guest. The tan on his skin had only emphasized the brilliance of his blue eyes, etched so deep in her memory. His features brought a choking lump to her throat as she’d moved past him into the white-washed entrance. The joyful well-wishes for long life and happiness from the guests had followed her out into the brilliant sunshine, but she could scarce swallow and had accepted congratulations like a poorly made marionette. The only moment her heart had strengthened in its beat was at his approach.

Argyle’s murmured words, as he held her after several others had offered her the bride’s embrace and kiss, had torn from her the last shred of comfort she might have found in the day. “You couldn’t wait for me, Pru? You have thrown our love away. ’Tis the wickedest crime, and I’ll make you repent it well. You wed the wrong man this day, my love.” His mouth had plundered hers. The noon sun had grown dark above her, and the guests’ chatter became silent. He’d cupped her face in his hands as his lips left hers, stared down at her. Tears had turned his image to a blur. “We’ll meet again under moonlight, Prudence. I swear by my blood,” he’d whispered, sending a thousand shivers through her, then strode away.

Thomas had stared after him. Her knees had given way. The women around her had shrieked, and her father caught her as she slid toward the ground.

Her bridal morn was the only time she’d ever fainted. And Argyle bloody well caused it, the miserable worm.