Читать книгу Regency Marriages - Elizabeth Rolls - Страница 12

Richard limped up the steps of Winslow’s Jermyn Street lodgings, still wondering what might have inspired the invitation. A servant led him to a snug, if rather untidy, parlour, and his host stood up with a friendly smile, which didn’t quite disguise the frown in his eyes.

‘Blakehurst.’ Winslow held out his hand and Richard shook it.

Winslow went straight to the point as the door closed behind the servant. ‘I owe you an apology. Brandy?’

Richard raised his brows. ‘Oh? Yes, please.’

Winslow looked rueful, as he poured a glass of brandy and handed it to him. ‘Yes. I rather leapt to conclusions the other day. Braybrook put me right.’

Richard couldn’t quite suppress a snort. ‘Don’t refine upon it too much, Winslow,’ he said. ‘By now most of society has leapt to the same obvious conclusion.’ Including the harpy who had penned those poisonous notes.

‘So I hear.’ Winslow gestured to a comfortable-looking leather chair on one side of the crackling fire.

Richard sat down and they sipped quietly for a few moments before Winslow broke the silence. ‘Braybrook gave me some advice.’

Richard looked at him carefully. That sounded dangerous. Julian’s advice was frequently sound and always outrageous. ‘Did he?’ He managed to sound mildly interested rather than suspicious.

‘Yes.’ Winslow swirled the brandy in his glass, and met Richard’s gaze over the rim. ‘Apart from convincing me that if you were hanging out for a rich wife Lady Arnsworth would have married you off years ago—’

Despite the simmering remnants of his annoyance with Winslow, Richard laughed.

‘He also said that you were in the perfect position to help Thea.’

Richard choked on his brandy.

A moment later, after a helpful bang on the back from Winslow, Richard cleared his throat.

‘And just how did he come to that conclusion?’ he asked.

Winslow grimaced. ‘One, you aren’t hanging out for a wife. Two, you’re on the spot. Three …’ He hesitated and then said, ‘Well, I saw that for myself this afternoon. You were always kind to Thea when she was a child. She sees you as a friend. And when Braybrook told me about your run in with Dunhaven last night, he said you wouldn’t ask a lot of questions I couldn’t answer.’

Richard was silent for a moment, wondering just what Winslow thought he had seen that afternoon. ‘Bearing in mind all those questions I am apparently too discreet to ask,’ he said, with only the merest hint of irony, ‘would you care to explain exactly why Thea might be supposed to require my assistance? And perhaps even what you think I can do?’

‘Thea is … disinclined to marry,’ began Winslow. ‘After her—that is, after what happened eight years ago, she does not wish it. Unfortunately, our father sees matters quite differently. He wants her married.’ Narrowed grey eyes glittered. ‘I understand you share my opinion of Dunhaven as a parti for my sister?’

‘I should think it extremely likely,’ said Richard evenly. ‘He’s a wart.’ He tried to ignore the response boiling up inside him at the idea of Thea and Dunhaven. Over my dead body.

‘Quite.’

It took Richard a moment to realise he hadn’t actually spoken that last phrase aloud; that Winslow had merely agreed with his summation of Dunhaven’s charms. ‘There was talk,’ he said slowly, ‘about the death of Dunhaven’s wife.’ He loathed gossip and avoided spreading it, but in this instance he’d make an exception.

Winslow said nothing. Just waited. He didn’t even look surprised, so there was no point suggesting that he mention this to Aberfield. Aberfield knew and didn’t care.

Hell and damnation. ‘You know, Winslow, you really didn’t need to ask. Did you think I’d let an excrescence like Dunhaven anywhere near her?’

‘There’ll be others too,’ said Winslow quietly. ‘He’s the worst, I agree. But if she really does not wish to marry, I don’t want to see our father force her into it.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Richard could not quite believe what he was hearing. ‘Why would—?’

‘Gossip,’ said Winslow savagely.

‘What?’ That made no sense at all.

Winslow hesitated, as though choosing his words carefully.

At last he said, ‘Someone let it out how much Thea’s inheritance is. Our father decided to marry her off to his satisfaction before she became a target for fortune hunters.’

Richard frowned. Winslow wasn’t telling him everything. But then, he hadn’t told Winslow everything …

‘Forgive me, Winslow, but I overheard some speculation last night—’ Seeing his companion’s suddenly narrowed gaze, he said irritably, ‘Oh, for God’s sake! Take a damper! You’ve asked my assistance and I’m more than willing to help, but I need to know what’s going on.’

Winslow subsided and Richard continued, ‘Some of the tabbies were speculating that there might have been a reason other than grief at Lallerton’s death, some indiscretion, that has kept Thea in retirement.’

‘Were they, indeed?’ grated Winslow.

‘Yes. And, no, as Julian informed me at the time, we can’t call them out over it.’

Winslow gave an unwilling crack of laughter. ‘We? Blakehurst, calling someone out on a woman’s behalf is usually reserved for her brother or her husband! Or her betrothed.’

Richard ignored that. To his shock, the idea of calling someone out on Thea’s behalf didn’t feel in the least out of place. Especially if it turned out to be Dunhaven. Banishing the thought, he stuck to the point. ‘It strikes me that, given it was Thea’s first appearance in years, the gossip was surprisingly fast. Even for London. Which suggests that people were talking even before Thea came to town. Is that part of the reason for your father’s determination to marry her off?’

Winslow’s fingers drummed on the table, and again Richard had the impression that he was considering his answer.

Finally, ‘Yes. He doesn’t want any hint of scandal. He’s being considered again for a Cabinet position.’

All perfectly reasonable. But why had the gossip started in the first place? Who had started it? Gossip was part of life in society, but usually it was about current events. Not a non-existent scandal that was eight years old to boot. Not unless someone had an axe to grind …

‘So someone wants to block your father’s Cabinet appointment.’ It was the obvious solution.

Winslow looked arrested. ‘What?’ He caught himself hurriedly. ‘Well, yes. That … that would fit.’

Except that it was so bloody obvious, Winslow shouldn’t look surprised. And where did the notes fit in? And was he going to mention the notes to Winslow? Thea obviously hadn’t mentioned hers. If she had, Winslow would know that he knew. Which answered his question.

‘Blakehurst?’

He looked up. ‘Sorry. Thinking.’

Winslow looked rueful. ‘Braybrook warned me about that too. Said you wouldn’t ask questions, but that wouldn’t stop you thinking them. Shall I ring to have our dinner brought in?’

‘By all means,’ said Richard. He wouldn’t mention the notes yet. The least he could do was tell Thea about his own note before telling her brother. Nor did he consider it necessary to inform Winslow that he had already decided to keep an eye on Thea. Winslow would want to know why, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to give that answer. But he was still curious …

Winslow tossed off the remains of his brandy and tugged on the bell pull.

Watching him narrowly, Richard asked his last question. ‘Why not you? You are her brother. No one could censure you for protecting your sister from a match with Dunhaven, even if your father is mad enough to think it acceptable.’

‘I am afraid, Blakehurst,’ said Winslow apologetically, ‘that that is one of those questions I cannot answer.’

He’d rather thought it might be. Which meant he’d have to find out by himself. And how those damned letters were connected—if they were. And there was another question he hadn’t even bothered to ask—why did Aberfield think Dunhaven an acceptable match for his daughter?

Thea gazed about the rooms Lady Montacute had hired for the evening with a growing sense of confidence. The heavy perfume of hothouse flowers mingled with melting wax, noise and heat. It should have panicked her, and yet it did not.

Madame Monique had sent an exquisite ball gown in a brilliant shade of poppy muslin, trimmed with tiny sprigs of gold and gold lace. ‘A bold colour per’aps,’ madame had said. ‘But you are a leetle older. There is not the need to dress à la jeune fille …’

She had not been convinced at the time, but now she began to understand what Lady Arnsworth had meant about feeling different with a new wardrobe. Somehow the bright gown was like armour. The young girl might be gone, but gone also was the acquiescent creature who had slowly taken her place. In her poppy-bright gown and matching headdress, she felt secure in a fortress. Of course, she thought with a spurt of amusement, the new, perfectly fitted stays might have something to do with that!

And the dainty fan of peacock feathers was the ultimate weapon in a lady’s arsenal … with it one could hold the world safely at bay. And, buoying her courage was the fact that Richard had asked her to save him two dances. Not that he danced very much, Almeria told her. He preferred to sit out and chat to his partners, which suited her perfectly. It meant that she wouldn’t have to waltz. She thought she could manage all the other dances, but the waltz terrified her, the thought of being held in a close embrace brushing ice down her spine.

Waving her fan negligently, she smiled at Mr Fielding. She could do this. She just hoped Richard would appear in time for the first waltz.

‘No, sir, I fear that I am already engaged for both waltzes.’

Richard, entering the ballroom with Winslow, saw Thea at once and his breath jerked in. Standing beside a potted palm, with Almeria seated on a chaise beside her, Thea was the centre of a small group of men, all jostling and vying for position.

‘Damn!’ muttered Winslow. He started forward.

‘Winslow! Might I have word, if you please?’

Sir Francis Fox-Heaton, tall, elegant and frowning slightly, stood just ahead of them. ‘I intended to call tomorrow, but since you are here …’ He cast a faint smile at Richard. ‘Mr Blakehurst. You will excuse us?’

Winslow turned to Richard, his mouth a hard line. ‘I’ll find you later. Would you mind …?’

‘You asked already, if you recall,’ said Richard.

A slight relaxation of the jaw that might have been a smile. ‘So I did. Thank you.’ He turned. ‘At your service, Fox-Heaton.’

Richard made his bow to Almeria and to Thea, exchanging friendly greetings with the various gentlemen attempting to capture Thea’s attention. Most of them harmless, he forcibly reminded himself, and it occurred to him that she was not paying them a great deal of attention. He had the oddest notion that she was, in some way, not really there. That for all her smiles, and polite responses to her admirers, she was otherwhere, and that gently waving peacock fan had something to do with it.

He saw Dunhaven approach and the growling creature within stirred restlessly. Dunhaven was not harmless, in any way, shape or form.

‘Oh, I say, Miss Winslow,’ Tom Fielding was protesting. ‘It’s a great deal too bad! Both the waltzes, and you won’t say who has been granted them, so we can—’

‘Miss Winslow,’ cut in Lord Dunhaven, ‘will be dancing the waltz with myself, Fielding. A prior arrangement, you understand.’

The air of assured ownership had the beast sitting up snarling.

‘Oh?’ Thea’s eyes narrowed and the fan stilled. ‘A prior arrangement with whom, my lord? I fear it was not with me.’

The beast subsided very slightly. Polite, gentle Thea had just delivered a snub one of the Patronesses of Almack’s might have envied.

A smile, and the resumed gentle movement of the fan, served only to hone the edge in her dulcet tones.

Almeria, chatting to Lady Hornfleet, turned her head slightly, clearly listening.

Lord Dunhaven cleared his throat and frowned at her. ‘I felt that under the circumstances—I was speaking to your father this afternoon—’

‘Were you, my lord?’ The cutting edge glittered with frost. ‘And how was he?’

‘Very well, Miss Winslow.’ Dunhaven bestowed an indulgent and proprietorial smile on Thea that had Richard grinding his teeth. Almeria’s head snapped around and she stared at him.

Richard clenched his jaw into silence as Dunhaven continued. ‘He assured me that you would be most happy—’

‘How times change, my lord,’ said Richard, his jaw escaping his control. ‘Nowadays, whatever customs may have pertained in Lord Aberfield’s youth, one solicits the lady, not her father, for a dance.’ With a slight bow, he added, ‘As I did earlier.’ Earlier could mean a great many things, not necessarily that he had been alone with Thea in Arnsworth House that afternoon.

And not for anything would he employ Dunhaven’s strategy of forcing Thea into a position where she must either dance or deal him a set-down. They had not agreed on which dances, but if she wished it …

Over the top of that lethal fan, blue eyes questioned him.

He smiled.

‘Perhaps another time, my lord,’ she said, stepping away from Dunhaven. ‘I have indeed promised this dance to Mr Blakehurst.’

Dunhaven’s eyes narrowed in dislike as he swung to look at Richard. ‘Oh? I didn’t realise you danced, Blakehurst. How very singular!’

The indrawn hiss of Thea’s breath was balm to his cold fury.

‘Of course my nephew dances, sir!’ snapped Almeria.

‘No, my lord?’ Richard looked his lordship up and down with mild curiosity, and the earl reddened with annoyance. ‘Ah, well, there’s plenty of time yet for you to acquaint yourself with all manner of things you don’t know. I do dance. Upon occasion. When I consider the effort worthwhile.’ He flicked a glance at Thea. ‘It’s a little like culping wafers at Manton’s, you know. I only bother to engage in matches with those I know can give me a halfway decent match.’

Over the peacock feather fan Thea’s blue eyes glimmered with silent laughter.

She turned, saying coolly to Dunhaven, ‘Perhaps a country dance, my lord. I have promised both waltzes to Mr Blakehurst.’

Richard uttered a mental malediction. He doubted that his leg would survive two waltzes in one evening.

Dunhaven nodded curtly. ‘Servant, Miss Winslow.’ He nodded even more curtly to Richard, turned on his heel and stalked away. Thea knew a moment’s fear. Richard might be the son, and brother, of earls, but Dunhaven was a powerful man—what if he—?

‘Shall we, my dear?’ said Richard, offering his arm. As she permitted him to steer her through the crowd, he gave a deep laugh. ‘Pompous ass,’ he said.

‘Richard! It’s not funny!’ she whispered fiercely. ‘What if he—?’

‘If he tries anything with you,’ said Richard, in deadly quiet tones, ‘I will take great pleasure in dealing with him.’ All vestiges of amusement had vanished.

‘I’m not worried about me!’ she snapped. ‘I’m worried about you!’

He blinked, patently surprised. And then a quite different sort of smile crept across his face. A tender smile, a smile that spoke of things she had long considered lost to her. Despite the warning bell clanging deep within her, a glowing sensation spread through her, and for a moment there hung between them something almost tangible. She caught her breath … if only—oh, if only!

‘Where shall we sit out?’ she asked.

‘Sit out?’ He stared at her. ‘We’re going to dance.’

‘Dance?’

‘Well, of course! Unless—’ An odd look came into his eyes. ‘Unless you would prefer to sit out?’

Shock slammed into her. He wanted to dance? Actually dance? She hadn’t really believed that he could mean it.

It would be safer not to dance. This shattering awareness of him unsettled her as it was. Dancing, being held in his arms, with music a shimmering web around them, would be twice as dizzying. Like the sudden blaze in the dark eyes as he stared at her.

She had never intended to dance—she had not thought he would want it.

And yet, why should she not? What harm could there be in dancing with Richard? Of all men, he was the one she would feel most comfortable with. She summoned a smile, swallowed the last of her champagne and said, ‘I would be honoured to dance with you, Richard.’

He took her empty champagne glass and handed it, along with his own, to a footman. Then, with another devastating smile, he offered her his arm. ‘Our dance, I believe,’ he said. He steered her on to the dance floor and swept her into the waltz.

She didn’t know what she had expected. Not fear. Certainly not that. And not revulsion. Not with Richard. Never with him. But … the chill … the sense of distance she had learnt to place mentally between herself and anyone who came too close … she had felt it all evening as people jostled around her and she had held them at bay with her fan. Especially with Lord Dunhaven. And now …

Now, in Richard’s arms, adjusting her steps to his uneven strides, the fan dangled unneeded from her wrist, and she felt only warmth, and an enveloping closeness. Whatever she had expected, it had not been this.

Held safely by his arms in the surging rhythm of the dance, she was wildly conscious of his strength, his sheer maleness. It brought only pleasure, a purring, purely feminine delight that he had thought her worth the effort. She felt alive, as she had not in years.

She lifted her gaze to his face. It was as if she had never truly seen him before. Strongly chiselled planes, the deep brown eyes set under dark brows. So familiar. And yet new. New lines, graven she thought, by pain. And he was simply older. More mature. To some his face might look forbidding, yet his smile denied that. And he was smiling now. At her. As though having her in his arms was a pleasure. Her breath hitched and she found herself smiling back.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Not as far as he could recall, anyway. And it was quite some time since he had danced at all, let alone waltzed. In fact, Thea was one of the very few women he had ever waltzed with.

His stride was as awkward and uneven as ever. That wasn’t different. What shocked him was the sheer delight in having Thea’s slender, supple body in his arms completely overrode the increasing ache in his leg. Worse, the delight of looking down into her soft blue eyes, seeing the delicate colour fanned on the pale cheeks, and her slightly parted lips nearly made him forget which leg ached.

And then she smiled up at him. A tentative smile, uncertain, as though unsure of its welcome. His breath caught. Never before in his life had he been conscious of an urge to sweep a dance partner out of sight and kiss her, and himself, senseless. With a shock he realised that if he gave in to the urge, he might forget all about sweeping them out of sight.

The music was like a drug, its rhythm one with their shifting bodies. Never had he been so wildly aware of a woman—as a woman. Never had every sense clamoured for more. To be closer, to breathe her soft flowery scent, to hear the soft hush of her breathing. Never had he known the urge to pull a woman closer in the dance so that her thighs shifted against his, so that her breasts touched his coat. Every muscle hardened savagely in the effort not to just do it.

He knew at once when she felt the change in him. The sudden tension in his arms as he fought not to haul her closer, the added clumsiness in his stride, which owed nothing to the ache in his leg.

‘Richard?’

Somehow he met her concerned gaze.

‘I knew this would hurt your leg! Do you wish to stop?’

‘Not in the least,’ he informed her. It wasn’t his leg that was causing the problem.

‘You are sure it doesn’t hurt?’

‘Quite sure,’ he lied. ‘It’s, er, just a kink. Moving will ease it.’ Only not the sort of moving he was doing at the moment. Or at any other moment in the foreseeable future for that matter.

By the end of the dance they were at the far end of the dance floor from the chaperons. Richard was violently aware that Thea was flushed, glowing and radiant. And that he was heated in an odd tingling way that had nothing to do with the heat of the ballroom and everything to do with the slow heat consuming him. Aware that although the dance had finished, music still sang and ached to every heavy beat of the blood in his veins.

He fought for control, reminding himself that it had been a while since he had been with a woman. Casual liaisons with discreet widows had lost their savour some time ago. Apparently with the inevitable result that desire had conducted an ambush in the most impossible, and unexpected, place imaginable. All perfectly logical, if potentially embarrassing.

She looked up at him and his breath caught as their eyes met.

Good lord! What a place to realise that he desired a woman! Especially a woman as untouchable as his aunt’s protégée and goddaughter. Unthinkable.

Well, no, not unthinkable precisely, since he was thinking about it. But definitely inappropriate.

Carefully he stepped back, his mind reeling at the wave of tenderness that poured over him. At the sight of her smiling up at him, all shadows fled, just as he had wanted. This was different, somehow—more than desire. Oh, he’d always liked his partners—what was the point in going to bed and being intimate with someone you didn’t like? But this shattering ache?

‘More champagne, Thea?’ he suggested, in as light a tone as he could muster. He’d known Thea for so long—not surprising if he felt protective towards her. She was lovely—desire was not surprising either. But this tenderness, this welling up of delight merely to see her smile … to see her smile in his arms—this was different.

‘Good evening, Mr Blakehurst.’

Chill disapproval splintered in the voice.

Richard turned slowly to find Lord Aberfield watching them, his face expressionless. ‘Lord Aberfield.’ He acknowledged the older man with a bow. Beside him, Thea stood motionless. Silent.

The moment stretched as Richard felt the tension sing between the pair of them. He flicked a glance at Thea. No shadows, but the woman he had been dancing with was gone. In her place stood a marble statue, blue eyes frozen to arctic winter.

Then, in a voice that cut like a polar wind, she spoke. ‘Good evening, my lord.’

A perfectly correct form of address … for a perfect stranger. As a young woman’s greeting to her father, it was the ultimate snub. And in that icily correct voice, it was a snub with a sting in the tail.

Not surprisingly Aberfield’s face turned slightly purple.

Thea continued, ‘You are well again, my lord?’

‘Very well,’ he grated. ‘A word with you, Dorothea! In private.’

Her brows lifted. ‘Oh? Yes, I think that is possible.’

Aberfield’s teeth grated audibly at the implication that Thea might have, if she had chosen, refused his request. ‘Perhaps, daughter,’ he said with silky emphasis, ‘you would come with me, then. There is much that I wish to discuss with you. Privately.’

‘Now?’ Her fan flickered open with a swish, and she disappeared behind it. ‘I assumed you meant to call tomorrow at Arnsworth House. Yes, that would be better. Far more scope for privacy there. What time will suit you?’

‘Now would suit me!’ snapped Aberfield.

Thea’s smile was a naked blade. ‘I am afraid, dear sir, that Lady Arnsworth would be sadly inconvenienced were I to steal her carriage and return home now. But I am perfectly happy to hold myself at your disposal tomorrow. Call at whatever time suits you. I promise you shall find me home.’

For a moment it looked as though Aberfield might explode, but he nodded and stalked away.

To say that Lady Arnsworth was unimpressed the following morning to hear that her protégée had undertaken to remain at home all day awaiting her father’s convenience, would have been an understatement.

‘You were to drive with Lady Chasewater, you remember?’ said Lady Arnsworth.

‘I sent her a note explaining,’ said Thea. A very convenient added benefit she had not thought of at the time. ‘I felt my father’s request must take precedence.’

There was no answer to that, and Lady Arnsworth didn’t attempt one, only saying, ‘But he gave no indication of when he might call?’

Thea contrived to look repentant. ‘No, ma’am. He wished to speak to me privately, and at a ball—’ She spread her hands. No need to tell Lady Arnsworth that it had been her strategy to avoid leaving the safety of a crowd with Aberfield. She didn’t trust him an inch.

Lady Arnsworth pursed her lips. ‘Very well, my dear. There is nothing to be done. I must pay some calls this afternoon, and I shall drive in the park afterwards. Naturally I shall give instructions to Myles that he must admit only your father, and any female visitors you might have. No gentlemen, of course, unless your brother were to call.’ A very faint smile played about her lips.

‘Oh, of course,’ agreed Thea.

Lady Arnsworth nodded. ‘Yes. And, dear, if you play chess with Richard again, it might be for the best if you were to leave the door open.’

Thea’s jaw dropped, as her ladyship continued, ‘You may trust Richard, of course, as you would your own brother, but it doesn’t do to give the gossips the least bit of encouragement, you know. If anyone were to call and find you together—well!’ She patted Thea’s hand. ‘Your father wouldn’t like it at all.’