Читать книгу His Reluctant Mistress - Joanna Maitland - Страница 5

Chapter One

The butler’s discreet cough interrupted what was promising to be a most rewarding encounter.

Lord Leo Aikenhead raised his head from the naked breast of the damsel sitting in his lap and swore fluently. She might be only a member of the muslin company, albeit a highly paid one, but even she did not deserve to have her charms exposed to the gaze of a disapproving servant. Unhurriedly, he began to restore a semblance of decency to her clothing, all the while keeping his back between his light o’ love and the butler. Gibson knew better than to gawp. He would wait by the door until Leo was good and ready to attend to him.

‘Have to excuse me, m’dear,’ Leo said at last, allowing a touch of regret to enter his voice as he retied the final silken ribbon of her bodice. ‘Much as I should like to continue our…um…conversation, I fear that pressing business calls.’ He put his hands to the girl’s trim waist and set her on her feet.

When she began to protest coquettishly, Leo looked up into her lovely face, spoiled now by the mulish curve to her mouth. ‘Go and find William,’ he said easily. ‘You know he’s been ogling you since the day he arrived. He’ll be more than happy to take over where I left off.’

She made no move to obey.

‘Go along now, do,’ he said, rather more sharply, giving her a friendly slap on the bottom. ‘He’s a better bet than I am, you know. Much more of a stayer. And richer, to boot.’

With a sudden giggle, the girl ran from the saloon.

Leo quickly checked the state of his own dress before turning to the butler, who stood impassively by the door, staring straight ahead. ‘You may cast off your puritan blindness now, Gibson. The young woman has gone. For the moment, at least.’

‘As you say, my lord.’ The butler’s tone was clipped.

Leo rose and walked slowly across to the fireplace. In the huge gilt-framed mirror hanging above it, he saw that, although his coat was surprisingly uncreased, his cravat looked as if he had been rolling around in bed. Pretty near the truth, too. He began to straighten it. In the glass, he could see that Gibson’s patience was under strain, for he was almost hopping from one foot to the other. Just what he deserved for that unwelcome interruption. Leo deliberately spent another thirty seconds carefully rearranging his cravat. Then he said into the mirror, ‘Well, Gibson?’

The butler did not make any apologies. He merely said crisply, ‘Your lordship’s brother has arrived. He asks to see you urgently. He is waiting in the small saloon.’

This time, Leo’s curses were even more choice, but he managed to swallow most of them. Leo’s elder brother, Dominic, Duke of Calder, had been sent to Russia on government business some weeks before. That left only Lord Jack, the youngest of the Aikenheads. He was an engaging lad, and both Dominic and Leo were very fond of him, but his scrapes were becoming increasingly expensive. Dominic and Leo, both older than Jack by more than ten years, had indulged their brother for too long, as both would now admit. Jack would soon be twenty-five, an age when he ought to be preparing to become master of his own estate. But he was still far from ready.

It seemed that life, to Jack, was one long, rollicking spree in which responsibility played no part. His problem would be gambling again, no doubt. Whereas Leo’s tastes ran to women—and lots of them—Jack had a fascination for the gaming tables. Sadly, and predictably, he tended to lose much more than he won. Well, if he needed yet another tow out of River Tick, it was perhaps time to refuse. Let the boy struggle a bit and get the feeling of what it would be like to drown before anyone threw him a lifeline. It really was time he began to grow up.

Leo started for the door. Gibson reached to open it for him, but Leo stopped him, slapping a hand flat on the panel. ‘How does Lord Jack seem on this occasion, Gibson?’

Gibson stared unblinkingly past his master’s shoulder. ‘Not…er…not precisely à point, my lord. As if he had undertaken his journey in some haste.’

‘Hmm. Has he not brought his valet?’

‘No, my lord. And no valise either.’

Leo grunted and flung open the door. If Jack had fled from London to The Larches without even taking the time to pack a valise, he was undoubtedly in deep, deep trouble.

His anger mounting, Leo strode down the corridor and into the blue saloon. ‘So you decided to come and join my little orgy after all, brat?’ Behind him, Gibson closed the door without a sound. ‘Good of you to favour us with your company. Planning to remain long?’

Jack jumped up guiltily from the wing chair by the fireplace. There was the beginning of a flush on his neck. He was wearing evening clothes, with silk knee-breeches and hose, and dancing shoes. Totally inappropriate dress for driving well over a hundred miles. Leo let his gaze travel disapprovingly over his brother’s dishevelled and grubby cravat, his creased coat, then on down to Jack’s feet and, finally, back up to his face. Jack’s mouth had opened, as if he were straining to speak. The flush had reached his cheekbones.

‘Valet abandoned you at last, has he?’ Leo said sardonically. ‘Can’t say I blame him. But we can’t present you to the ladybirds looking as if you’ve been dragged through a hedge, y’know.’

Jack’s jaw slackened and his mouth opened even wider.

Suddenly, Leo had had enough of playing games. ‘Oh, sit down, for heaven’s sake, and stop looking like the village idiot at the May fair. You’ve come hot-foot to The Larches, without so much as a spare cravat. So you’re in trouble again. I take it you were planning to tell me what you’ve done this time?’

Without waiting for a response, Leo crossed to the small piecrust table by the window, poured two large brandies and thrust one of them into Jack’s hand. Jack tossed it down in a single swallow and held out his empty glass for a refill. Leo said nothing. He set the empty glass aside and replaced it with his own full one. Jack barely seemed to notice the switch. Shaking his head, Leo took his seat in the wing chair opposite Jack’s and waited for the story to tumble out.

Jack sighed out a long breath, took a large swig of his drink, and then sat forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees, nursing the brandy balloon in his cupped hands as if it were his most treasured possession. He stared at the floor. ‘I’m in real trouble this time, Leo. I don’t think even you can help me out of it.’

‘Perhaps you’d best let me be the judge of that. Well?’

‘I…I played cards at one of the halls, after Lady Morrissey’s ball. With Falstead and Hallingdon and…and a host of other fellows. I was on a winning streak.’

Leo raised his eyebrows, but Jack’s gaze was still fixed on the floor.

‘I won nearly six thousand pounds, Leo.’ Jack looked up then. His eyes were shining. Then, as if a veil had descended, the light of triumph died. ‘But I…I lost it again. All of it. And more.’

Leo waited. Jack seemed to have shrunk in his skin. This was going to be very bad.

At length the silence was too much. Leo’s patience snapped. ‘How much?’ he snarled.

‘Thirty-two thousand.’ Jack’s voice was barely audible.

‘Damn you, brat! D’you intend to ruin us all? Even Dominic couldn’t lay hands on that much. And I certainly can’t. It’s more than three times my income.’

‘I’m sorry, Leo.’

Leo flung himself out of his chair, forcing himself to unclench his fists and to master the urge to plant his brother a facer. Jack deserved it, of course, but it would not do. Leo sucked in a deep breath and went to pour himself a brandy. He needed it now almost as much as Jack did.

‘Who holds your vowels? And how long has he given you to pay?’

‘Er…that’s the problem. It’s—’

Leo exploded. ‘Dammit, Jack, it is not the problem. You are the problem. You and your insatiable lust for gaming. You know you can’t afford it, yet you will persist. You are a fool. And a damned expensive one, too.’

‘I am sorry, Leo,’ Jack said again. He had not moved even an inch in his seat.

‘So who is this problem friend of yours?’

‘No one you know. One of the secretaries at the Prussian Embassy. He’s been summoned back to Berlin. To prepare for the Congress of Vienna, I understand. He’s leaving in two days’ time. That’s why I had to get here in such an almighty rush. I didn’t even have time to—’

‘And this secretary fellow expects to be paid before he leaves, I collect?’ Leo interrupted in icy tones.

Jack tried to reply, but failed. He nodded wretchedly into his brandy.

‘In other words, I have two days to come up with a fortune, or risk having the Aikenhead name dishonoured across Europe.’ It was not a question.

‘I’m s—’

‘Confound it, Jack, if you say you’re sorry just one more time, I’ll wring your miserable neck. Sorry? You don’t begin to know the half of it.’

Jack straightened in his chair. ‘I was going to say that I’m s-sensible of the wrong I’ve done the family, Leo. I will give you my word that I’ll never gamble again, if it will help.’

Astonished, Leo stared at his brother. Jack returned his gaze unflinchingly.

‘By Jove, he means it,’ Leo whispered.

‘I do,’ Jack said, with dignity. ‘And I will keep my word. Though it’s precious little consolation in the circumstances, I know.’

Leo fetched the decanter and added a generous measure to Jack’s glass. ‘You give me your solemn word never again to gamble more than you can afford to lose?’

‘I won’t gamble at all in future, Leo. Not even for chicken stakes.’

‘Don’t say that. I’m not asking for a promise that would be well-nigh impossible to keep. Especially given the fellows you run with.’

Jack dropped his gaze.

‘If you give me your word that you will not play beyond your own means, I will find a way of dealing with this little…er…inconvenience.’

Jack drew in an audibly shaky breath and looked up at Leo with glowing eyes. ‘I give you my word, Leo. You may rely on it. And I will find a way to repay you, I promise.’

Leo laughed mirthlessly. ‘I shall pretend I did not hear that last promise, brat. You know, and I know, that you could no more find thirty-two thousand pounds than you could swim to America. Now—’ he laid a friendly hand on Jack’s shoulder ‘—I suggest you go and get some sleep. I don’t want you appearing in front of my guests, male or female, until you are presentable again. At the moment…’ Leo looked his brother up and down and shuddered. He reached out to pull the bell.

Gibson appeared so quickly that he must have been hovering outside the door.

‘Conduct Lord Jack to a bedchamber, Gibson. And direct my man to provide whatever he may need by way of clothing. Lord Jack is extremely fatigued after his journey and will not be joining us again this evening. He will take a light supper in his room.’

Jack rose and straightened his back. He yawned theatrically.

Leo felt his lips twitch. It was very difficult to remain furious with Jack for long, even when he thoroughly deserved it.

‘If your lordship would follow me?’ Gibson said, opening the door for Jack.

‘Leo, I—’

‘Goodnight, Jack,’ Leo said harshly. Then, more gently, ‘Sleep well, brat.’

As the door closed behind them, Leo’s mask of control shattered. He knew that, if there had been a mirror in this room, it would have shown him the face of a stricken man. Thirty-two thousand pounds! What on earth had possessed the boy?

Leo began to pace, but the room was too small. He needed space, and air. He made his way along the corridor and out on to the terrace. Low laughter from the shadows announced that the terrace had become a place of dalliance. He tried his library. It, too, was occupied. For the first time in the ten years since Dominic had given The Larches to him, Leo regretted having invited his boon companions and their ladybirds to make free of his hospitality. It seemed that nowhere in the whole house could provide the seclusion he craved.

He returned to the hallway just as Gibson emerged from the back stairs. Leo raised an eyebrow.

‘Lord Jack is in the Chinese bedchamber, my lord.’

Leo snorted with laughter. The Chinese bedchamber had been a flight of fancy of a previous tenant and Gibson, it seemed, had been indulging in a spot of retribution on his own account.

‘I am going riding.’

Gibson’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline.

‘Have Jezebel saddled and brought round in ten minutes. And tell the kitchen that dinner is to be delayed by one hour.’

‘Very good, my lord. If any of your lordship’s guests should ask…?’

‘Tell them I have gone out. I am sure they will be able to find some means of diverting themselves until I return.’

Dinner was almost over when Leo made his announcement. ‘Afraid that some unexpected business requires me to return to London. I’ll be leaving at first light.’

His guests reacted with dismay. ‘But we’ve been here less than a week,’ one said, slurring his words a little.

Leo smiled round the table. ‘And you are all most welcome to continue to enjoy my hospitality until I return.’

The ladybird on Leo’s immediate right laid a caressing hand on his sleeve. ‘But it wouldn’t be the same without you, dear Leo. Who shall take charge of our frolics?’ She fluttered her long, dark eyelashes at him and gave his flesh a tiny squeeze.

Leo lifted her hand and set it gently on the polished wood table. ‘Have no fear. M’brother, Jack, shall act as host in my absence. He is fixed here until I return.’

‘Jack?’ The protest came from one of the older men at the far end of the table. ‘No offence, Leo, but I can give Jack the best part of fifteen years. As can others.’ Some of the other gentlemen nodded. ‘We didn’t come to The Larches to gamble with your madcap little brother. If you’re off tomorrow, then so am I.’ There were murmurs of agreement around the table.

Leo was not sorry. He would not show his friends the door, but he was heartily glad they had decided to leave.

‘Quite understand, of course, if you feel you wish to leave. And I cannot, at this moment, say how soon I might return. Apologies for that.’

‘Not your fault, old fellow. Business is business. Besides, the night is still young.’ The man got to his feet rather unsteadily. ‘Since this is to be the last night of one of Leo Aikenhead’s famous orgies, I give you a toast, gentlemen. To our next meeting at The Larches. To beautiful women and flowing wine.’

Chairs scraped across the polished wooden floor. The men raised their glasses to the ladies. ‘The Larches. To beautiful women! And flowing wine!’

By the time Leo returned, ten days later, it was impossible to tell that the house had ever been full of scandalous goings-on. Apart from Jack and the servants, the house was empty. Every bawdy ballad and erotic picture had been banished. The Larches could have been the home of the most upright of clerical gentlemen.

Jack was sitting soberly in the library, reading a magazine, when Leo walked in. ‘You’re back. Thank God!’ Jack sprang to his feet. Then he stood still. He did not ask the question that was clearly on the tip of his tongue.

‘I have brought your man, and some clothes,’ Leo said, looking Jack up and down. ‘My coat may be well cut, but on you it looks decidedly disreputable.’ Since Jack was of a much slighter build than Leo, it was hardly surprising that Leo’s clothes did not fit him. ‘I suggest you go and change. We can have a quiet dinner, and an early night.’

‘But aren’t you going to tell me what—?’

‘We have work to do tomorrow, Jack. The Foreign Secretary has ordered the Aikenhead Honours to Vienna. While Ace is in Russia, I am to take charge. I have already written to Ten. He is to make his own way to Vienna and join us as soon as he can.’ The Ace in the Aikenhead Honours was Dominic, the eldest Aikenhead brother. Leo’s codename was King and Jack’s was Knave. Ben Dexter, the fourth member of their spying band, codenamed Ten, was Jack’s closest friend. Unlike Jack, Ben did not gamble. His father had been killed in a duel following a quarrel over cards.

‘So we’re leaving immediately?’ Jack asked, puzzled.

‘Yes. As soon as may be. Castlereagh has already left for Paris.’

‘Oh. I see. But what about—? I mean—I can’t leave England if—’

‘Forget about it, brat. Your little Prussian friend took ship for Holland over a week ago, with all his winnings tucked safely in his pocket.’

Jack’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened.

‘And now, if you don’t mind,’ Leo said pointedly, ‘I should be grateful for the return of my coat.’

‘Again.’

Obediently, Sophie took a breath, braced her stomach muscles, and began again, humming the top three notes and then opening her throat to allow the volume to increase as she sang down the scale. Her head was buzzing from the humming. Very satisfying. Her voice was placed precisely as it should be.

‘Hmm. Good enough. Now, a semi-tone higher, if you please.’ Verdicchio touched a key on the pianoforte.

Sophie sang the scale. But she had to repeat it three times before her voice coach was satisfied. Then, gradually, he took her up another half-octave until she had reached the top of her range. The sound was good, and right in the centre of the notes. Sophia Pietre was famous as the Venetian Nightingale, the singer who was never shrill, and never sang flat. It had taken her years to perfect that round, gleaming tone. It had brought her wealth, and a certain notoriety. But she remembered, very well, what it had been to be poor, totally dependent on Verdicchio, and never sure whether she would be thrown out on the street for failing one of his interminable tests.

‘Sophie! Pay attention!’ He slapped his hand down on the keys, producing a loud, discordant sound.

‘I apologise, Maestro. I will do better.’ She swallowed. ‘What would you have me sing now?’

He took her through a number of simple ballads, of the kind she sang to entertain the guests at private parties. They showed off the range and colour of her voice, without overpowering the audience as operatic arias sometimes did. After the songs, Verdicchio insisted she rehearse two of the arias from the operatic role she was currently performing. Sophie did not need to practise them, but she humoured him, omitting only the highest notes, as he always advised her to do during practice. ‘Your top Cs, my dear Sophie,’ he used to say, ‘are diamonds of the first water. Not to be squandered. Only to be shared with those who are prepared to pay the price for them.’

He was nodding now. ‘Good, good. Excellent even. Your phrasing has improved here.’ He pointed to a passage in the score. ‘It makes the words clearer and the effect more emotional. You will have the ladies swooning in their boxes tonight.’

Sophie smiled. ‘Let us hope so. For we have only two more performances and no promises yet of any further roles. We live a very expensive life now, Maestro.’ She gestured round their rehearsal room which, at Verdicchio’s insistence, had been furnished with every possible luxury, just like the rest of their Venice apartment. ‘If I am not offered another role soon, we shall be hard pressed to pay the bills.’

‘You do have another role, my child.’

Sophie’s stomach clenched. How long had he known? Why had he said nothing until now?

‘You are to sing for a most august audience.’ He looked up from the pianoforte and smiled into her face. It was a sly, knowing smile. She distrusted it totally. ‘You are to sing at—But, no. Let it be a surprise. We leave Venice on Friday.’

Sophie opened her mouth to protest, but Verdicchio was no longer looking at her. He had turned back to the pianoforte and was idly playing a composition of his own, closely modelled on a Mozart sonata.

She bit her lip. After so many years, he still had her in his power. He controlled not only her career, but also every penny she earned, for he was determined that she should never be able to break free. He was succeeding. For now. The little cache of money she had saved was not yet enough to allow her to flee from him. But it was growing, week by week, and month by month. In another year, perhaps, she would have enough.

‘That was beautiful, Maestro,’ she said dutifully, as he played the final extravagant arpeggio and turned to receive her approval. She hoped he would not notice that she was avoiding his eye. ‘And our new home? I can wait until Friday to learn where we are going, if that is your wish. Though it would perhaps be profitable to allow me to mention our destination to some of my gentlemen admirers. They might wish to follow us, or even to provide a parting gift. Some of them, as you know—’ she lifted her left hand so that the diamonds at her wrist caught the light ‘—have been exceedingly generous.’

Verdicchio frowned up at her. ‘You may be right,’ he admitted at last. ‘The Baron especially. He seems to have more diamonds than an Indian nabob. It would do no harm at all, for our finances, if he strung a few more round your lovely neck.’

Sophie smiled to acknowledge his great wisdom, and waited.

‘Very well, my dear. You will not like it, I know, but the contract is signed. You are to sing before the crowned heads of Europe. At the Congress of Vienna.’

‘Vienna? No! Impossible! You know I cannot go there. Half the German aristocracy will be there. What if someone were to recognise me? I should be disgraced.’

‘You are a singer. So you are disgraced already. And no one will recognise you, in any case. As far as the world knows, you are Sophia Pietre, an Italian singer trained here in Venice, by a noted Venetian master.’ He smirked. ‘Why should anyone suspect otherwise? After all, you are a grown woman now.’

A grown woman, but in thrall to a monster since I was thirteen years old, Sophie thought. But she said only, ‘How then am I to account for my ability to speak German?’

‘You learned it here in Venice, in order to be able to sing the German arias of Signor Mozart, among others. And to converse in their native tongue with the German gentlemen who visit the opera. After all, you speak English almost as well as you speak German, and there are no English operas to perform.’

For once, he was absolutely right. She spoke four languages fluently: Italian, German, English and French. Her ability to speak German like a native probably would not betray the secret of her past. Probably.

But the thought of going to Vienna and meeting Emperors, Kings, and Princes, one of them the ruler of her own country, was more terrifying than the prospect of a whole life ruled by Verdicchio. For, if any of her countrymen should divine who she really was, even the most glorious voice in the world would not save her from ruin.