Читать книгу A Regency Earl's Pleasure: The Earl Plays With Fire / Society's Most Scandalous Rake - Isabelle Goddard - Страница 10

‘It’s time I took you home, Domino.’

Richard’s tone was decisive. Once Christabel had left, he had no inclination to remain at Almack’s and was anxious to return the girl to her aunt’s care. Loretta Blythe had been suffering from a chill for some days and this evening had finally succumbed to a fever and taken to her bed. It was inconvenient. He’d hoped to dispense with his escort duties before now, not least because Domino showed no sign of tiring of his company. He’d expected that once fully launched into the delights of London society she would cease to have an interest in him. Instead, the wider she spread her acquaintance, the more she seemed to cling.

Having reached Lady Blythe’s house, Richard stepped into the hallway and made ready to wish Domino goodnight, but instead of taking the hand he held out, she raised herself on to her toes to reach his cheek and planted a gentle kiss. Seriously disconcerted, he remonstrated with her.

‘You mustn’t do that, Domino. Remember that I stand in your aunt’s place. You must think of me as a friend—an elder brother, if you will.’

‘I don’t see why,’ she exclaimed rebelliously. ‘You’re by far the most attractive man I know!’

‘I thank you for the compliment, but I’m not a suitable partner for you.’

She shook her head as if to block out his words. ‘I don’t believe that. You think me too young to love truly, but you’re wrong.’

‘I am eleven years older than you and my situation is not a happy one.’

‘You mean that you’re still in love with Christabel Tallis.’

Surprise rendered him silent.

‘You see, I have her name at my fingertips. How could I not? She is a truly beautiful woman and I can’t blame you for caring for her still.’

There was a sparkle of tears and her voice was that of a chastened child. He felt a deep sympathy for her.

‘My relationship with Miss Tallis should not concern you,’ he rebuked her gently. ‘The situation I referred to was my father’s death. In a very short while I must return to Cornwall. My mother needs support and I have to get to grips with the management of the estate. It’s been allowed to drift since my father’s death and that can’t continue.’

‘I understand,’ she breathed eagerly. ‘Of course you must go to your mother. But I can wait until you’re settled. Then perhaps you’ll invite me to Madron Abbey. I would love to see your home.’

‘It will be a great pleasure to show both you and your aunt around. But you will come as a guest, Domino, not as a future bride.’

The girl lowered her head, a mulish expression on her face. Baffled by her obstinacy, Richard spoke more bluntly than he intended.

‘I am truly sorry that you have feelings I cannot reciprocate, Domino, but you must be sensible. You’re no longer a child. You have built a fantasy and started to believe in it. For your own sake, you must dismiss it from your mind. In time you will find the man that is right for you.’

‘I have found him,’ she said, gulping down unshed tears, ‘but he is too stupid to see.’

He strode to the front door, but before he could open it, she called out to him from the marble balustrade above, ‘Will I see you at Richmond Park tomorrow?’

‘Richmond? Ah, yes, the Wivenhoes’ alfresco lunch, otherwise known as a picnic.’

‘I believe the Park is charming—such a large space of countryside and so near the city. You are coming?’ she asked anxiously.

He didn’t answer directly. ‘I’m sure you’ll find your aunt a great deal better in the morning and she’ll be looking forward to accompanying you to Richmond.’

He felt too unsettled by their conversation to return immediately to his hotel. He had decided from the outset that he would put up at Brown’s rather than opening the house in Grosvenor Square. A solitary stay amid its lonely expanses did not appeal and the few days he planned to be in London would have meant unnecessary disruption for its skeleton staff. But tonight the hotel looked just as uninviting and he needed to clear his head. He would walk a while in the evening air and then look in on one of the gentlemen’s clubs that lined St James’s Street.

He’d been scrupulous never to suggest that he could be more than a friend to Domino, but he still felt guilty for causing her unhappiness. It hadn’t helped that he’d been her constant escort since they’d arrived in London. If he’d not spent so much time with her, what had been an incipient affection on board ship would have been nipped in the bud. But Lady Blythe had shown herself only too willing to delegate her duties whenever possible and now the wretched woman had taken to her bed. Surely she would be better in the morning.

Richard’s resolve that he would no longer be Domino’s escort was broken almost as soon as it was made. A loud banging at his door early the next morning woke him from a deep sleep. It seemed as though he’d hardly been to bed and his head ached from too much brandy the night before. But the hotel porter, breathing heavily in the doorway from his climb up the stairs, was waving a badly folded sheet of paper under his nose and clearly expected an answer.

‘Who brought this?’ Richard asked blearily. ‘A groom, my lord.’ The porter was disapproving. ‘Whose groom?’

‘That I couldn’t say, my lord.’ The porter held his face aloof, expressing in no uncertain manner that Brown’s Hotel thought poorly of such early morning intrusions.

Richard pulled back the curtain better to read the note and groaned as the morning light flooded the room.

‘Get me some coffee, for heaven’s sake.’

‘Certainly my lord. Shall I tell the groom to wait?’

‘If he wants an answer. But get me that drink.’

He spread the crumpled note out and saw at once that it was from Domino. He knew almost without reading that it would be a plea to accompany her that morning to the Wivenhoes’ picnic. It seemed that her aunt was still not feeling well enough to undertake a long drive. And Domino wanted so much to see Richmond Park. Could Richard please come and this would be the very last time she would ask, she promised. Aunt Loretta had signalled her willingness for Richard to be her escort.

I have no doubt she has, he thought savagely. He hardly knew Domino’s aunt, but from his few meetings with her she seemed to be the sort of woman for whom ill health, as long as it were not too severe, was entirely beneficial.

In an hour he had washed, shaved and dressed, and presented himself in Curzon Street complete with hired curricle. Domino had evidently been watching at the window for she appeared almost immediately, tripping lightly down the front steps, her face glowing with pleasure. Her patent delight in going on the expedition almost reconciled him to the prospect of attending an event he’d hoped to escape.

For Christabel there was no escape: she would have to join the family party. She sat at the breakfast table, listlessly toying with a piece of toast and looking tired and pale in the harsh morning light. Her mother had accepted the Wivenhoes’ invitation on her behalf weeks ago and at the last moment her siblings had been hurriedly included. Her heart felt leaden. She was certain that Richard would be there, squiring his new love and flaunting his happiness. She would have to endure their close proximity for hours without giving the slightest hint of discomfort. It would be necessary to put on a guise not only for her fellows, but also for her family.

Her mother was worried, she knew. Late last night after Sophia had danced her fill at Almack’s and the two had returned home to Mount Street, Lady Harriet had tiptoed into the bedroom. Christabel had pretended sleep and not answered her mother’s anxious query. Instead she had lain silent and still, the tears pricking at her eyes and her heart a confusion of pain. She didn’t understand what Richard was doing nor even why she felt so deeply upset by his conduct. It was evident that he’d not forgiven the broken engagement. But surely his humiliation could not still be so raw that he needed to wage a war against her. Yet that was exactly what was happening. One minute he was angrily haranguing her for past crimes, the next he was caressing her—with his smile, his voice, even his body. When last night she’d danced with him so freely, she had been careless of gossip, careless of her reputation. She had given no thought to guarding her feelings and she’d allowed herself to desire. She’d allowed him to stir emotions within her that she’d schooled herself never to feel again and now today she would have to face him once more. She would have to put on the performance of her life.

‘Where’s the ham?’ Benedict demanded as he breezed into the breakfast room and searched the side table anxiously. He looked fresh and full of energy, despite having slept little.

‘Bel, where’s the ham? Sophy, you’ve eaten it all,’ he accused as his younger sister appeared in the doorway, elaborately dressed in a bright green-velvet spencer over daffodil-yellow silk.

‘I’ve had a great many things to do other than eating breakfast, you stupid boy. If you want ham, ring the bell for more.’

‘Who’s stupid? At least I don’t look like a parrot,’ he said, gesturing to Sophia’s preferred apparel for driving in Richmond Park.

‘Someone should have told you that making personal remarks is offensive.’

‘Someone should have told you that dressing like a pantomime is even more offensive.’

‘Do stop, both of you!’ Christabel’s quiet voice intervened, the steely tone surprising them into silence.

‘Hoity-toity,’ said Benedict half under his breath. ‘By the way,’ he offered as he sat down at the table, his plate groaning with devilled kidneys and a couple of eggs he’d unearthed, ‘d’you know what they’re saying in the clubs?’

‘The rubbish that men bandy amongst themselves is of no interest to us,’ Sophia said haughtily.

‘It might be since it concerns a very close neighbour of ours.’

Both sisters looked at him, Christabel’s face devoid of expression, but even paler than before.

‘Rick Veryan, Richard. You saw him last night at Almack’s?’

‘Of course we saw him.’ Sophia was impatient. ‘He was with that pretty, dark-haired girl. She’s from Argentina.’

‘We know.’ Sophia’s tone was getting dangerous. ‘Bet you didn’t know that the odds are mounting on his marrying the girl within the year. Can’t be any earlier—he’s in mourning—bad ton.’

‘What do you know of bad ton?’

‘It might surprise you, Miss Superior, just how much I do know. Anyway a lot of money was changing hands last night, betting on the marriage. Lucky old Rick, eh? Comes back from some outlandish place and walks straight into a title and now a fortune.’

His sisters looked blankly at him.

‘Loaded,’ he said succinctly. ‘That’s the word. Full of juice and a good looker too. What more could a man ask? I talked to her myself last night. Introduced by the grande dame, Mrs Drummond-Burrell. I think she thought Domino—what a name—was in need of younger company.’

‘She certainly got it with you,’ Sophia said derisively.

‘And she enjoyed it, may I say.’ He ruminated for a while, chewing thoughtfully on the last kidney. ‘Taking little thing, I thought, though she never quite mastered the steps of the cotillion.’

‘And you, of course, are the supreme exponent of the dance.’

Christabel got up swiftly, unable to bear her siblings’ bickering a minute longer. Benedict’s words had washed away her earlier resolve. How could she possibly keep an impassive countenance when she knew for sure that Richard was planning to marry?

She would make her excuses. The family must go without her.

‘What’s the matter, Christabel?’ It was Sophia stopping her at the door. ‘Can’t face seeing your old beau getting wed? Why should it matter to you? After all, aren’t you marrying Sir Julian?’

Benedict gaped. He knew little of the events of six years ago, having been away at school, and had not realised the effect his news might have. But it was Sophia’s words that cut Christabel most deeply. In her spite, her sister had arrowed straight to the question which was causing her such agitation. Why did it matter so much to her that Richard was to marry? She must prove that it did not. She must prove Sophia wrong. There would be no evasions—she would go to the picnic.

It seemed that the Wivenhoes could not have chosen a better day for their alfresco party. An almost cloudless sky and an unusually warm April sun enabled their guests to view the beauty of the park from open carriages. Herds of red and fallow deer grazed undisturbed in a pastoral landscape of rolling hills, grassy slopes and woodland gardens. The fresh untouched green of springtime already clad most of the ancient trees and beneath their light shade shimmered daffodil gold. The company drove leisurely through this sylvan setting before arriving at a central pagoda where they were to be served refreshments.

Christabel, her mother and sister were soon ensconced on its terrace, sitting comfortably on a padded chaise and gratefully sipping tea. Servants bustled to and fro, some bringing additional cushions and blankets for the older members of the group, and others plates of dainty sandwiches and small iced cakes. Sophia made ready to plunder the dish of madeleines left temptingly on their table.

‘What a beautiful place,’ her mother murmured to her hostess as she passed by. ‘And such a wonderful day!’

‘Indeed—it seems that summer is already with us!’ Lady Wivenhoe happily mingled among the knot of people gathered on the terrace.

Christabel hardly heard them. The cream muslin gown she wore, trimmed with delicate chartreuse lace, might pay homage to the season, but her spirits remained locked in winter. She felt frozen in time, yet her mind was never still, never at peace. She thought she might be going mad. For the hundredth time she tried to understand why in that faraway summer she’d acted as she had. Richard had meant so much to her and yet, with hardly a thought, it seemed, she’d returned his ring and thrown herself at a man who even then she’d suspected was not to be trusted. Why, oh, why had she done that? Only the intoxication of first sexual awakening could explain the wilful breaking into pieces of the jigsaw of her life. But it was not quite the first awakening, was it? There was that evening in Cornwall when she and Richard had thrown themselves into the sea together. They’d been just a little crazy and the swim had sparked something deep and elemental between them, or so she’d thought. But almost immediately he’d turned away. He’d not wanted that intimate bond and she’d been left bewildered, ashamed of the physical ache that had taken hold of her. And then the trip to London with all its glamour, all its glories, had pushed everything else out of her mind. Joshua had swum into her presence, a man who was more than willing to set her body alight. She had loved him dreadfully. No, she corrected herself, she had lusted for him dreadfully. And lust had its own shameful penance. She thought she’d paid that price, but now, it seemed, she must continue to pay.

In the distance she could see Domino laughing and prattling with Richard. On occasions he responded in a similar vein, but there was a serious expression on his face which seemed at odds with the frolicking of his younger companion. At length the girl seemed to grow tired of entertaining him and turned to Benedict, who had just then emerged at her side and was making ready to reintroduce himself. When the two young people began to stroll together across the greensward towards King Henry’s mound, the highest point of the park, Christabel thought that Richard looked almost relieved. How strange. But she’d probably imagined it.

Sophia, meanwhile, was maintaining a critical commentary on her fellow guests as they strolled along the intersecting pathways which met at the pagoda.

As each new costume passed beneath the balcony, it duly received the full force of her disapproval. Her own ensemble had attracted a mixed response and she was still smarting from some of the remarks she’d overheard. Her mother, anxious to restore her to good spirits, extended a comforting arm but in doing so caught her hand in the intricate pattern of the lace tablecloth and spilled the contents of her teacup on to the disputed outfit.

‘Mama, just look what you’ve done—how clumsy!’

‘I am sorry for the accident, Sophia, but your rudeness does you no credit,’ her mother reproved.

For once Sophia looked abashed. Her nerves were on end. She had dreamed of making her mark in ton society, but so far society had shown an entire lack of interest. This morning she had tried particularly hard with her toilette, but it appeared that this effort was still not enough. To add to her misery her elder sister sat next to her, seemingly serene and unruffled, but looking effortlessly lovely and attracting frequent glances of open admiration from the other guests.

‘Come with me,’ Lady Tallis urged, making for the small cloakroom at the rear of the pagoda, ‘we must sponge your dress immediately.’

Sophia trailed miserably behind her and Christabel was left alone with her thoughts. But not for long.

The sound of firm footsteps on the stairway leading to the balcony made her look up.

‘I trust I see you well, Miss Tallis.’

‘Thank you, Lord Veryan, I am most well,’ she answered curtly.

‘And how are you enjoying Richmond Park?’ he pursued.

‘It is very beautiful.’

‘You have seen it only by carriage? It is even better viewed at close quarters.’

She nodded briefly, but said nothing, averting her glance. His shapely legs encased in well-fitting breeches and riding boots of dazzling gloss were an unnecessary distraction.

‘If you would care to take a stroll, I would be happy to escort you.’ He was smiling and for once the grey eyes smiled with him.

‘Thank you, but I have already walked a distance around the park,’ she lied.

‘Then you are before me.’ A slight flush crept into his lean cheek as he recognised the snub.

‘It would appear so.’

He had been studying her from a distance, seen the sadness in her face and felt his determination waver. But her flagrant rejection of courtesies hardened his heart again and spurred him once more into attack.

‘I’m surprised by your energy. I would have thought you had little left after last night’s magnificent display of dancing.’

‘I am not such a poor creature.’ And the flash in the emerald eyes was unmistakable. He remembered well that indomitable spirit and once more his heart softened a little.

‘You were never a poor creature, Miss Tallis,’ he said quietly. ‘Far from it, as I recall. I still have the scars to prove it!’

She looked at him, surprised.

‘I spent my childhood following you,’ he offered. ‘Jumping rocks, climbing trees, hacking my way through woods. It was a tough training.’

Her face broke into the shadow of a smile, the troubles of the present for the moment cast aside.

‘And were you always the follower?’

‘Always. I rarely saw more than a tangle of red curls in the distance.’

Her smile broadened. ‘I was always that far ahead?’

He looked quizzically at her. ‘There were times when I got to see the back of two skinny brown legs, but never much more.’

‘Why did you follow me if it meant suffering scars?’

‘Why wouldn’t I? Life was a daily adventure and the scars were simple ones. Childhood was the easy part. It was growing up that was difficult.’

Her smile vanished. ‘How sad it is that we cannot stay children,’ she almost blurted out.

‘Unfortunately we cannot. Nor can we undo life.’

‘But surely we can start again.’ Their reminiscence had emboldened her and her voice now held a definite plea.

‘I fear not,’ he said sternly. ‘We are prisoners of the life we make and we must live with that knowledge.’ His face had entirely lost its earlier warmth.

‘I cannot agree,’ she said vehemently. ‘That would be to underestimate the human spirit and its capacity for change.’

‘I have never underestimated you, Miss Tallis.’

His words were oblique, but she knew well their meaning. Nothing had altered and she felt sick to her stomach. He was still her implacable enemy.

‘Nor I you, Lord Veryan,’ she managed at last.

‘It seems that we are agreed on one thing at least.’

‘It matters not to me whether we agree or disagree. If you will excuse me …’

And with that she rose in one fluid movement, pushed back her chair and was tripping down the steps before he realised her intention. The breeze caught her mane of red curls and tangled them wildly into a fiery haze. He felt a momentary madness to rush after her and take hold of that hair, smooth it, caress it, cover it in kisses. It deserved to be worshipped.

‘Richard? I thought it must be you. I am very pleased to see you again. You were at Almack’s last night, I believe, but there was no opportunity to speak to you.’

Lady Tallis had appeared from the rear of the pagoda and was now standing beside him looking, despite her words, not at all pleased. She had glimpsed the figure of Christabel in the distance walking rapidly away towards the lake and drawn her own conclusions. In her short absence the sky had begun to cloud alarmingly.

‘Lady Harriet! How good to see such an old friend.’ Richard felt genuine pleasure at meeting the woman who for much of his life had been a second mother to him.

‘I have to admit some surprise at seeing you in London,’ Lady Tallis returned. ‘I had no idea you were in the country.’ Her tone verged on reproof. ‘But naturally I am delighted that you have returned safely. I make no doubt that the voyage was a testing one. Your mother must be overjoyed.’

He looked a little self-conscious, but felt there was no point in dissembling.

‘She will have learned only recently that I landed safely.’

Lady Tallis raised her eyebrows. ‘Forgive me, but should you not have apprised her of that fact immediately?’

‘I’ve been a little delayed in London, but intend to leave for Cornwall within the week. By now she will have had my letter telling her to expect me shortly.’

‘I see,’ she said thoughtfully, though in truth she did not. Whatever could have kept him in London? She had heard gossip about a young woman from Buenos Aires, someone he had supposedly escorted to England, but that surely would not have prevented him making for home as soon as he was able.

She fixed him with a severe expression. ‘Anne will be waiting in some anxiety for you.’

She felt strongly that he should be with his mother in Cornwall and almost as strongly that he should not be in London upsetting Christabel. Particularly not at this delicate moment when she was poised to accept Sir Julian.

A sudden clap of thunder shook the pagoda roof and in seconds shattered the gentleness of the April morning. A moment later shards of rain were beating on the woodwork and bouncing off the grass. The party on the balcony hastily decamped to the back of the pagoda for shelter, but Lady Tallis bethought herself of Christabel, under the open skies and without protection.

Richard was before her. He grabbed one of the umbrellas presciently provided by Lady Wivenhoe for her guests and ran down the steps, striding rapidly in the direction he had last seen Christabel heading. On the way he passed a furious Benedict and a joyful Domino. The rain had obliterated Benedict’s carefully crafted hair style à la Brutus to the huge amusement of his companion. Despite being severely buffeted by the sudden tempest, her peals of laughter rang out across the park.

Richard ignored the noisy pair and hurried on. He found Christabel in minutes, standing motionless by the waters of the storm-tossed lake. She was drenched, her skin translucent and gleaming beneath the downpour, and the curves of her lithe figure apparent through the sodden muslin of the once-beautiful dress. She turned at that moment and her face wore such a look of unhappiness that he wanted to take her into his arms there and then and put a stop to the nonsense he had started. But he knew well that beyond the fragility lay pure steel. The deep-green eyes flashed anger at him and bade him keep his distance just as surely as if she had spoken.

Mutely he offered the shelter of the umbrella. Even she had to smile at that ineffectual gesture. She could not become any wetter.

‘Thank you for the thought, Lord Veryan. I fear, though, that you are a little late in coming to my rescue.’

There was more meaning to her words than the social nicety she expressed. He looked at the rain-soaked figure before him, his gaze lingering unwillingly on her form. The long shapely legs and the soft swell of her breasts were clearly visible through the transparent muslin and he knew desperate desire. He moved towards her as though in a dream.

She remained where she stood, unflinching. She saw his arms slowly reaching out towards her and then her long, cold fingers were held tightly within his, sending a warmth coursing through her body until she was tingling from head to toe, from her saturated slippers to the riot of wet curls framing her face. They stood, body to body, for what seemed an age. She felt her pulse beating tumultuously and her limbs tremble as the hard planes of his body pressed against soft flesh. Wave after wave of flaming heat swirled through every small part of her, melting resistance, dissolving protest. His hands were on her waist, pulling her urgently towards him, his body even closer, even harder against hers. Now his hands were sliding upwards and over her breasts, cradling them, brushing at their fullness and sending swirls of shocked pleasure spiralling through her. Onwards and his hands were cupping her cheeks, tipping her face to meet his. She looked into his eyes and drowned, drowned in pools of molten grey.

‘Christabel,’ he began, the soft whisper of his voice flowing through her and reaching to her heart. ‘Christabel, I—’

‘Christabel! Come quickly.’ It was her mother’s urgent tones. ‘We must get you home immediately or you will become ill.’

Lady Tallis was hurrying towards them, waving yet another umbrella. The moment of intimacy was at an end, diffusing itself amid the misty rain.

Christabel’s hands slipped from his and she walked away, leaving him to curse her power and his weakness. This was not what he intended, to be caught in the web of his own spinning. He must subdue this wretched, uncontrollable desire that once more threatened to tear him apart. He must stay aloof even while he continued to entice her into betraying herself. There were only a few days left to accomplish his plan and every one of those must count.

By now Lady Tallis had reached his side and was observing him with disapproval.

‘Miss de Silva is ready to leave, Richard. I understand that you are her escort?’

‘You are right to remind me of my duties, Lady Harriet,’ he replied stiffly and began to make his way back to the pagoda.

Christabel caught his words on the air and was deeply puzzled. Could he really be speaking of his future wife when he talked of ‘duties’? And if he were promised to Domino de Silva, why had he allowed himself just now to hold her so long, to touch her so intimately? During their scandalous dance at Almack’s she’d imagined for a moment that he felt the same attraction as she. But only for a moment. His hurtful rejection had soon disabused her. This time, though, she could not be mistaken. There had been a charge so powerful between them that she was left dazed. Naked desire—that’s what she’d felt. Not even the errant Joshua, in her days as a green girl, had aroused such fervour in her. And it was Richard, a man she’d once dismissed as worthy only to be a friend, who’d provoked it. Nothing made sense. Richard today must be a very different man to the one she’d once known—or maybe she’d never really known him. Perhaps she’d been too young, too inexperienced, to recognise what might have been. The irony of the situation hit her hard. It seemed that she could feel passion for this man, a passion that shook her to the very core, but only now that he was promised to another woman.

She thought back to the moment when she’d first seen Richard on his return from the university. He had grown into a dashing young man, a figure far superior to any of her local suitors and she was no longer the skinny, freckled tomboy he’d known from the past. She’d watched with amusement his stupefied expression when he’d first caught sight of her and knew instantly that she had captivated him. His jealousy of the gaggle of admirers who daily haunted Lamorna was evident and she thought guiltily of how she’d enjoyed playing one man off against another. In her defence she was hardly more than a child and the game was a heady one. The distant cousin who was to present her had fallen seriously ill and her planned come-out had not materialised. The excitement of having young men vie for her favours was a pleasing compensation. Richard’s courtship had been swift. He’d capitalised on their long childhood friendship to infiltrate her life with ease, and in no time he’d succeeded in banishing his rivals and filling the centre of her world. Suddenly she was engaged and unsure of quite how it had happened. It seemed natural to be promising to spend the rest of her life with him, but also something of an anticlimax. She’d been exhilarated by the excitements of the chase and revelled in the handsome and vigorous man he’d become, yet she knew him almost too well. There were no secrets, or so it seemed, no concealed feelings, no hidden fire.

Until, that is, that one evening in the cove. In her memory she retraced their steps that night. They’d walked out together after an early dinner, escaping the last frenetic preparations for the morrow when they would travel to London in company with Lady Veryan. Christabel was to stay at the Veryans’ town house and Richard’s mother was to supervise her purchase of bride clothes, her own mother being unable to leave her younger siblings for any protracted period.

It had been a beautiful evening in early summer and they’d sauntered at dusk towards the sea along a lane already heavy with hawthorn. Very soon the granite rocks and soft white sand of their beloved cove came into view. The sea was flat calm and Richard had begun to skim stones along the surface of the water. She had joined in, trying to make her stones bounce further. It was an old game of their childhood. The competition between them grew fierce and he shouted with delight when he finally made an unbeatable shot. Beneath the newly polished surface, he was still not much more than a boy. With mischief in her eyes, she’d challenged him to another contest from their childhood: who could swim out the furthest without pausing for breath. He’d demurred; they were not dressed for the water and in any case it hardly seemed proper. In answer, she’d stripped off her clothes down to her chemise, leaving Richard staring in wonderment at the lithe, willowy figure standing so close to him. Then he had been seized by the same madness and was stripped and plunging into the cool water before she had time to reach the sea’s edge. They had swum out until they were both exhausted and then drifted lazily back towards the shore, the waters around them silvered by the moon newly risen in a clear sky. She was floating beside him and on impulse it seemed he’d caught hold of her, encircling her waist with his arms and tangling his face in her salt-soaked curls. The feel of his hard, male body against hers took her breath away and she knew a frantic desire to hold him close to her, to meld her body to his. Her legs looped around him and their flesh met in a mutual caress. Even now she grew hot thinking of it.

But the moment was over almost as soon as it arrived, the spark extinguished, and they were scrambling up the beach and into their clothes as though pursued by the Furies, ashamed it seemed of that instant of burning connection. The next day they had left for London and a round of parties, routs, ridottos, balls, such as she’d never before encountered: a kaleidoscope of pleasure which took over her life. As an affianced woman she’d enjoyed the freedom it conferred, freedom to talk unchaperoned with other men, freedom to dance and even to flirt with them, and freedom to meet a Joshua.

A magnificent rout was to be held that evening at the Seftons’ London mansion, a short distance from Mount Street. Sophia, insatiable as always for ton society, was greatly excited at attending such a prestigious event. It was sure to afford her a splendid hunting ground for potential partners. The torrential rain had done Christabel little harm other than a ruined dress, but she was grateful that it served as an excuse for staying home that night. She was more than happy to spend a quiet evening by herself when the alternative was the painful spectacle of Richard and Domino together. She was lying curled on her bed, flicking through back numbers of Lady’s Magazine, when her mother slid quietly into the room.

‘Have you seen these extraordinary models, Mama? They must be at least ten feet tall,’ she said with an attempt at gaiety. The emaciated females depicted were so long and thin as almost to disappear off the page.

Her mother smiled slightly. ‘Extraordinary indeed! They would be quite terrifying to meet in the flesh.’

She sat down on the bed and took her daughter’s hand. ‘I came to say, Bel, that I won’t be going to the Seftons’ rout tonight. There is little need for my presence: their house is within easy walking distance and Benedict can act as escort to his sister for the evening. It won’t do him any harm to take on a little responsibility while he’s enjoying his holiday. And it will give us the chance to have a comfortable coze.’

Christabel’s heart sank; an evening spent alone with her mother was the last thing she wanted. Pressing her hand to her forehead in a gesture of pain, she hoped that she looked convincing.

‘I’m so glad you’re staying home, Mama, I’m not feeling at all the thing. I must have caught a chill in that downpour.’

Her mother looked suspicious and glanced pointedly at the magazines her daughter had been devouring. Christabel redoubled her efforts.

‘I’ve been trying to distract myself with these,’ she murmured, leafing through them with a weary motion, ‘but without much success. I feel so hot—I think I may be developing a fever. It’s best if I retire to bed early and try to sleep it off.’

Her mother’s expression remained sceptical, but without another word she turned to go, quietly shutting the door behind her. It was unlikely that Lady Harriet would believe in her illness, but Christabel was beyond caring. After the day’s events, her mother’s gentle enquiries would be the last straw. Until Richard arrived in London, her future path had been clear, if uninviting. The time had come for her to step out of her sister’s way and there had been a simple choice: wed a good man who loved her or remain a spinster without consequence or respect.

For years she’d kept at bay even the most determined of suitors. A glacial reserve had served her well, but now it had been ruptured. She had begun to feel again. The dance at Almack’s, the encounter by the lake, had begun an unstoppable thaw which threatened to trigger an avalanche of feelings she must not entertain. Today by the lakeside she had known no reserve. She had responded ardently to her body’s impulses, she had throbbed with desire for Richard to possess her. How truly shocking! But his conduct was even more shocking. He was not hers to be possessed and yet he’d sought her out, danced with her as though he could have danced her into bed—she blushed deeply at the thought—embraced her, caressed her, imprinted her with his passion. And at the very same time he’d used every possible opportunity to taunt her with his new-found love, the girl it appeared he was ready to make his wife. It had to be part of his plan to pay her back for betraying him—there was no other explanation. No matter how softly he spoke or how enamoured he appeared, he was intent on exacting a penance from her. The thought overwhelmed her. She felt as though a giant hand had descended out of nowhere and squeezed every vestige of life from her heart and her body. She was no longer the woman who had bid Sir Julian farewell just a few days ago and she dreaded meeting him again.

Sir Julian, meanwhile, was looking in vain for his beloved at the Seftons’ rout. He had despatched his business at Rosings as swiftly as he could and returned to London in time to attend the evening event. He knew that Christabel had been invited and was hoping that he would have the chance to talk privately with her.

He had unfinished business and was anxious to settle it as soon as possible. He had no doubt of her answer—she had made it plain that he was her preferred suitor—and had not her sister called him Christabel’s fiancé, making it clear that the Tallis family expected an imminent betrothal. But he wanted their relationship to be made firm and public. He was a man who liked an ordered life and was looking forward to planning their future together.

‘How good to see you back so soon, Sir Julian!’ It was Sophia, looking a little less exotic this evening in rose-pink lustring.

Sir Julian searched his memory, for he was sure he should know this young woman.

‘Sophia Tallis, Christabel’s sister,’ she helped him out.

‘Why, of course. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance again, Miss Sophia.’ Sir Julian sounded genuinely glad to see her. If she were here, then Christabel would not be far away.

‘And how was your visit to Rosings?’

‘Busy, very busy,’ Sir Julian mused, ‘but nevertheless restful. I find the house has an aura of great tranquillity about it.’

‘Indeed, yes,’ she said encouragingly. ‘I understand that its atmosphere is most mellow. I read in Ackermann’s Repository that it is one of the oldest houses in England.’

Sir Julian’s interest increased. ‘I knew that certainly but I had not realised that Rosings had been featured in such a well-known journal.’

‘You are too modest, Sir Julian. You must know that you own a most famous property,’ Sophia cooed.

Feeling that the subject had now been exhausted, Sir Julian was eager to discover his beloved’s whereabouts.

‘Christabel?’ Sophia responded carelessly. ‘She’s not here this evening.’

‘How is this? Surely she was invited?’

‘Naturally she was invited, but she didn’t care to come.’

Sir Julian’s well-bred eyebrows rose slightly and Sophia saw her chance.

‘You must know that Christabel is invited everywhere, Sir Julian. She is the toast of the ton, I believe. She picks and chooses as she wishes.’

‘I must admit I am a little disappointed. I returned from Rosings today on purpose to see her and was sure she would attend the rout.’ He breathed a small sigh and looked slightly wounded.

‘She probably didn’t give a thought to your being here tonight. She isn’t the most reliable of people.’

‘Miss Tallis has always been most scrupulous about keeping appointments,’ Sir Julian said a trifle sharply.

Sensing that she might have gone a little too far, Sophia carefully backtracked. ‘Ah, now I recall— she was not feeling too well earlier this evening. She must have thought it best to stay at home.’

‘Not well? How is this? She was perfectly well when I last saw her.’

‘There’s nothing to worry about, I assure you. The family attended a picnic today in Richmond Park and we were all caught in the rain. It meant nothing to me, of course, I’m built of stronger stuff, but Christabel is a little fragile.’

‘Yes, indeed, almost ethereal, I sometimes think.’

This was not the effect that Sophia had hoped for, but she recovered quickly. ‘I’m sure her decision to stay home was right. She would not have wanted to attend with blotched cheeks and a red nose.’

Sir Julian looked aghast at this unimaginable picture of his loved one and sought reassurance. ‘I trust that Miss Tallis is not seriously unwell.’

‘She will be greatly improved in the morning, I’m sure. She is some years older than me, you know, and needs a little time to recover her spirits. And if she had come tonight, I doubt she would have had the energy to dance,’ Sophia finished pointedly as the orchestra struck up for a country dance.

The Seftons had decided that though refreshments and conversation were normally deemed sufficient for a rout, their guests would be treated to a little informal dancing if they so wished. Sir Julian, mindful of his duties as a gentleman, immediately begged Sophia to grant him the favour of a dance. She accepted primly and only spoilt the effect by scowling at her brother who was leading Domino de Silva down the opposite line of country dancers.

‘Is that not your brother I see, Miss Sophia?’

‘Yes’, she admitted in a bored voice, ‘he’s supposed to be my escort though he chooses rather to dance attendance on some foreigner.’

The foreigner was putting on a good show of enjoying herself despite an aching heart. Ever since the evening at Almack’s, when Richard’s lack of interest had been made so brutally clear, her happy spirits had been slowly and surely evaporating. The dance came to an end and Benedict, tired of having his feet crushed by an inattentive partner, said hopefully, ‘You don’t want to dance any more, do you?’

She shook her head and looked around the room in search of her aunt. Even her chaperon appeared to have deserted her.

Sensing her dejection, Benedict tried a diversion. ‘Have you ever gambled?’

She opened her eyes wide. ‘My father used to gamble sometimes in Buenos Aires, but he said the clubs were not fit for young girls.’

‘There are clubs like that in London too—’ Benedict grinned ‘—but you don’t have to go to them to gamble. There’s usually the chance at most parties.’

‘Really? You can gamble here?’ She was genuinely taken aback. To be offered gambling in what seemed the wealthiest and noblest of settings was curious.

‘Let’s find out. I think they’ve set up a hazard table or maybe faro in the next room. Would you like to watch the game?’

It was a distraction. She would go and watch until her aunt found her. They strolled into the adjoining card room and saw that a game of faro was in full swing. The bank had already amassed what looked like a fortune in rouleaus and the expressions on the players’ faces ranged from boredom through irritation to downright vexation. It took little time for Domino to understand the simple rules with Benedict as her willing tutor. As she watched card after card emerging from the spring-loaded faro box, heard the click of tokens changing hands and felt the building tension as losses and wins followed in quick succession, she began to forget about the interview with Richard. Gambling, it seemed, was the perfect antidote for a broken heart.

‘I want to play too,’ she whispered.

Looking into her glowing face, Benedict stifled any misgivings and deftly inserted her into the circle. Very soon she was in the thick of the play. Her flushed face and sparkling eyes spoke of pleasure, but Benedict began to feel uncomfortable. She had taken to the game rather too enthusiastically, he thought, and now, looking around the table at their fellows, he didn’t like what he saw. To Domino they appeared unexceptional. The women perhaps were showing too much décolletée, but they were sumptuously and fashionably dressed and hardly differed from their sisters dancing just a few yards away; the gentlemen were very correctly attired in evening dress and treated each other with a jokey politeness that spoke of long-term intimacy. But from Benedict’s limited knowledge some of those gathered around the table were hardened gamesters and whispers of compromised virtue swirled around a number of the women. There was at least one wholly disreputable rake in the room.

Lord Moncaster lazed at the head of the table in charge of the faro bank. It was customary for the wealthiest of patrons to take turns in running the bank and Leo Moncaster enjoyed riches enough to run a hundred faro banks and still have plenty left to indulge his every whim. At that moment his whim was turning to Domino. His weary eyes rested gratefully on her, savouring her youthful beauty and unsophisticated delight in this novel entertainment. As his eyes ran over her assessingly, she looked up from the table and caught his glance. She wasn’t sure what to think of him. He certainly made a splendid figure, looking as though he could have stepped straight out of one of Byron’s poems, but there was something in his glittering gaze that disconcerted her and she looked quickly away. Benedict had seen that gaze too.

‘Let’s go back to the salon and find a cold drink,’ he suggested.

‘Not yet, Benedict. Just one more wager. Next time I’m bound to win.’

‘That’s what everyone thinks, and you won’t.’

‘How do you know that? Just because you always lose.’

‘I don’t always lose—well, not all of the time,’ he finished lamely.

‘There you are, then. It’s my turn to win.’

‘I should take you back to the salon. Your aunt will murder me if she knows I’ve brought you in here.’

‘If you’re afraid of my aunt, you’d better go.’

He was getting heartily bored with this recalcitrant girl. Perhaps if he upped and left she would follow. ‘I’m going, then, and if you’re wise you’ll come too,’ he whispered rather too loudly.

Lord Moncaster raised a quizzical eyebrow, causing Benedict to flush with annoyance and make haste to leave. Once out of the room, he shrugged off any qualms at deserting the girl. She wasn’t his responsibility and he wanted to enjoy the rest of his evening.