Читать книгу Those Scandalous Ravenhursts Volume Two: The Shocking Lord Standon - Louise Allen - Страница 16

Chapter Ten

Gareth lay naked on his back on the bed, looking up into the shadows as the firelight sent them dancing over the ceiling and cornices. It was past one in the morning, but he felt too indolent to get between the sheets, too awake to snuff out the candles and sleep. He turned his head, restless, and saw the light catch the gemstones in the open boxes he had left on the bedside stand.

He had enjoyed choosing jewellery for Jessica, wished that he could see it at once displayed against her white neck, on her slender wrists. He smiled at the thought of her pleasure when she tried each item on for the first time. The smile broadened as he remembered the chill in her eyes when he had first mentioned buying her jewellery and the mischief as a purely feminine desire both to tease him and to wear such baubles overcame her.

It was amusing having Jessica to talk to, he mused, like having an unconventional friend—if one could be friends with a woman. Maude was like a younger sister, a beloved, charming, worrying responsibility. Miss Gifford was his responsibility, too, but in quite a different way. For a start, his feelings for her were not brotherly. He was not quite sure what they were—those of an employer? A guardian? No, neither of those fitted. He would have to settle for friend.

He dragged himself up against the pillows, reached for the boxes and picked out the pieces, one by one. A pair of emerald drop earrings, edged with diamonds. Good stones, but not over-large. Tasteful and appropriate. He dropped them and lifted a thin necklace of diamonds, supple and snakelike as it flowed over his hands. Matching ear bobs. A pearl set. Aquamarines for day wear, two silver gilt wrist clasps and a gold chain.

Yes, a suitable collection of respectable jewellery for a widow with good taste, hinting that she would appreciate something better. And he did have something better.

It had been ridiculous to buy it, Gareth told himself as he reached out for the red morocco case and thumbed the catch. The lid fell back and he blinked at the fire reflected from the diamonds, the almost fierce green glow of the emeralds. It was a full parure: necklace and armlets, rings and earrings, a tiara—the sort of jewellery a nobleman bought for his wife, not what a lady such as the fictitious Mrs Carleton could ever hope to wear.

But he had seen it, seen Jessica’s eyes in the shimmer of the stones, and the compulsion had gripped him and he had bought the set. Madness. He could always resell them. They were of the best quality, an investment.

Gareth set the case down and lifted the finest piece from its setting. A great diamond-cut emerald designed to be a brooch or to sit in the front of the tiara or to fasten to the necklace. It lay in his palm, the colour of Jessica’s eyes when she was angry.

A glint of gold caught his eye and he looked down the length of his naked body. It was scattered with gems where he had discarded each piece. The earrings lay on his flat belly, twinkling indecently amidst the central arrow of dark hair. The diamond necklace snaked over his thigh, an unsettling contrast with hard, masculine muscle. A gold chain slithered down his chest as he shifted and he started as it caressed his left nipple.

His fist clenched over the great gemstone as he stared down, uncomprehending, at the blatant evidence of his own arousal. Bloody hell. What had brought that on? He was as rampant as a stallion and he had not even been thinking about sex. Surely to God he was not aroused by handling jewellery? That was a perversion he had never heard of before and had no wish to contemplate now.

There was a pain in his palm, as sharp as the insistent nagging in his groin. He opened his hand and glared at the emerald as though it could answer his puzzle.

‘Oh, no.’ The words were a whisper. The stone did not speak, but his imagination did, taking the image of the parure, decking his memory of Jessica’s white, naked body with it. Only it was no memory, this was impurest fantasy, for the Jessica he could see now was not a desperate, cold fugitive. She was warm, smiling, turning to him, holding out her hands…

‘No!’ Gareth swept the sparkling ornaments to one side and rolled off the bed, pacing across the room as though to shake off an incubus that had descended upon him in his sleep. How could he? It was dishonourable, disgraceful—and downright painful.

Up until two minutes ago he would have sworn an oath on everything he held most dear that his intentions towards Jessica Gifford were chivalrous and good. He would protect her through this masquerade and then, from a distance, ensure her well being in modest comfort and security for the rest of her life. Yes, he had kissed her, but in anger—and he had not enjoyed it. Much. And she had understood about that. He hoped.

Gareth made an abrupt turn and paced back again, swearing as his naked left instep made painful contract with an earring. He enjoyed flirting with her a little as he tutored her in the arts of seduction. Of pretended seduction, he corrected himself. But mild flirtation was almost second nature to him—and she gave no sign of being either alarmed or confused by it. No, rather she appeared amused by the entire exercise.

It was simply that he was unused to being so close to a woman, yet not sexually involved with her, that was all. And certainly not a woman he had seen naked. He winced as his right foot made contact with the other earring and he bent to scoop them up and toss them into their case.

He hadn’t had a woman for a while, that must be it. His restless pacing brought him up in front of the tilted cheval glass and he stared critically at his reflected image, glaring at his offending penis. It had, thank Heavens, subsided somewhat. How long was it since he had made love? Too damn long. The treacherous member stirred hopefully and he snarled at it as though it were an uncontrollable wild animal, not part of his own body.

Common decency insisted that he stop thinking about Jessica like that. All it would take was a little self-control. And that, of course, he had in abundance. Of course.

* * *

Jessica was sitting eating a particularly succulent slice of ham when Gareth finally arrived at Half Moon Street for his breakfast. She had risen early, having succumbed to the first clear, sharp morning for days and taken a brisk walk around Green Park with a footman trailing with reasonably well disguised resentment at her heels.

Now she was eating with an appetite, contemplating her surprising new life with some pleasure. The shock of her adventure had subsided, she was amused and stimulated by her lessons in flirtation. Maude was proving a true friend, if a worrying one. Her nerve-racking imposture had not yet begun and Jessica realised she felt as though she were on holiday.

‘Good morning,’ she said, observing that Gareth flinched at the brightness of her greeting. In fact, now she looked more closely, he appeared to have spent a night of either severe insomnia or indulgent dissipation. Or possibly both. ‘Would you like to sit down and I will fetch you some breakfast?’ He appeared to drag his gaze to her face with an effort. ‘You seem a little tired.’

‘Yes. Yes, I am. Tired.’ His eyes roamed over the buffet, then back to the table. ‘I will have coffee, thank you. Nothing more.’

She lifted the silver pot and poured, adding a dash of milk and no sugar, just as he liked it. ‘Would you like some toast?’

‘No. Thank you.’ Gareth took the cup and sat opposite her. ‘There is no call for you to wait upon me.’

It was not said with a smile. Jessica felt the sick knot of embarrassment tighten in her stomach and knew she was colouring up. She had presumed upon her position, one of the unforgivable sins for a governess. She was treating this breakfast table as though she was truly mistress of the household and not an amateur actress incompetently learning to play a part. And she had summoned Gareth to come to breakfast without a second thought. There were doubtless all kinds of ways in which she had offended and now Gareth—Lord Standon—was displeased.

‘I beg your pardon, my lord.’ She folded her hands in her lap, dropped her eyes to her plate and wondered how soon she might slip from the room.

‘What the devil?’ He grounded his cup with enough force to crack porcelain. Jessica winced. Causing him to shatter Bel’s Spode morning service would simply be the last straw. ‘What are you apologising for? I’m the one behaving like a bear with a sore head.’

‘I was presuming too much upon my position, my lord. I should not have asked you—’

‘Your position? Your position is the mistress of this house and as a lady—and the only one in residence—I would hope you would feel free to take charge of any meal in it and order the servants as you see fit. And what is this my lord nonsense?’

‘I thought you were offended by my presumption. And asking you to call was indiscreet.’ He smiled and the knot unravelled itself and she unclasped her hands. It was all right. And in any case, she had to get used to being liberated from the restricted position she had disciplined herself to accept in the past. She had a personality, opinions—and she could give herself permission to exercise both

‘It was a touch unconventional, perhaps, but I came in through the mews and the back garden.’

‘You are not usually so…tense,’ she ventured. ‘Or at least, not in my short acquaintance with you.’

‘I am usually too lazy to be tense, is that what you mean?’ His smile was wry. ‘Indolent, perhaps? Normally I see little merit in losing one’s temper or becoming fraught over problems. A little thought, a little calm planning and most things resolve themselves. At the risk of labouring the point, Jessica, I am angry with myself because I have miscalculated over something, not with you.’

‘And that cost you a night’s sleep?’ she asked sympathetically, nudging the plate of toast and the butter in his direction and controlling the quirk of her lips as he reached out and took them. She risked pushing the ham across as well, then topped up both their coffee cups.

‘It did. That and a…friend of mine who has a mind of his own and appears set upon directing mine along quite the wrong paths.’ Gareth cut into the ham and bit into his toast with a fierceness that made her glad she was not the object of his displeasure.

‘A close friend?’

‘Very. A lifelong one, you might say. We are attached.’ He shifted in his chair and silence fell. Jessica tactfully busied herself with buttering toast and mentally reviewing how she was going to tell him about Maude’s sudden fascination with the completely ineligible Mr Hurst.

‘Why are you still dressing like that?’ Gareth demanded, making her jump. ‘Have your new clothes not arrived?’

They had, a collection beyond her wildest dreams, gowns for every occasion. Bel and Eva might have assured her they were entirely appropriate for her apparent station in life and were not at all extravagant in comparison with others she would see, but to her they were simply luxury made manifest.

‘Yes. They are all in my room.’

‘Then why do you continue to dress like a governess? And your hair—you are doing your very best to turn a dashing crop into a prim nothing. You dress like a governess; no wonder you feel you should behave like one.’

‘I am one, and I am not ashamed of it. No, please listen.’ He closed his mouth again as she held up a hand. ‘The masquerade has not yet begun. When it does, you will meet Mrs Carleton, for the first time, in public. You cannot risk showing you are familiar with her—I must be as much of a shock to you as possible.’

She had thought it all through as she had twisted her elegant new ringlets into stiff braids, and she knew she was right. And she also knew that she wanted to flaunt herself for him alone in her new satins and laces and watch his face, see the hot, wicked darkness come in to his eyes again as it had when he had kissed her. And that was dangerous madness, even if all it meant was that she needed approval and reassurance.

‘Very well.’ He sipped his coffee, then added, ‘I will send round the jewellery.’

‘Oh, thank you. My scent is being made up; I enjoyed that very much, although I did not have much to do—Mr Todmorton simply inhaled the air about two inches above my wrist and pronounced!’

‘You mean to say you did not ransack his shop?’ His mood seemed improved now, perhaps he was simply one of those men who needed several cups of coffee in the morning. Jessica nudged the jam across and rang for more toast.

‘I did not. Maude did. Um…’

‘Um?’

‘While we were there, a gentleman came in.’

‘You were veiled?’

‘Oh, yes, there is no risk he could recognise me again. No, it is Maude. I am sure I should not tell you this, but I fear I have absolutely no influence with her and—’

‘Who is it?’ Gareth said with resignation. ‘I would not worry. She will flirt, but then she is not going to come to any harm with most of the men she will meet this Season.’

‘I doubt she will meet this one at Almack’s,’ Jessica worried. ‘His name is Hurst and he owns theatres, the Unicorn included.’

Gareth cast up his eyes. ‘Oh, Lord. She has always been fascinated by the theatre. Not that she can act for a groat. Whenever we are at house parties and someone suggests a theatrical entertainment, Maude has to be persuaded to be the prompter or look after the costumes.

‘All of us Ravenhurst cousins seem to have an ability as actors—purely amateur, with the exception of Sebastian, Eva’s husband, who was a government agent and had as many faces as Edmund Kean—and Maude says she is jealous of our skill. It is just the glamour of the theatre, that is all. It will wear off.’

‘I do not think it will be so easy. She was struck dumb just at the sight of him. I suppose he is probably the most handsome man I have ever seen.’ Gareth’s eyebrows rose. ‘If one finds icicles attractive.’

‘In that case she will get frostbite.’ Her worry must have shown for he smiled, the old, lazy smile that should have reassured her and instead made butterflies dash madly about in her chest. ‘Don’t tell me—we are going to be making up a party to whatever is showing at the Unicorn at the moment?’

‘I fear so.’

‘Well, Maude will have to concentrate all her dubious thespian abilities on extracting herself from our so-called engagement before she can focus on persuading Lord Pangbourne that he wants a theatrical manager for a son-in-law.’

‘True. I am refining too much upon it, no doubt. Gareth…’ She found herself suddenly, ridiculously shy. He sat, politely waiting for her to speak. ‘My final two lessons—sight and sound? How are those to be achieved?’

‘Sight we will do today, this afternoon. I intend despatching you with Bel and Eva and Maude for a nice drive in the park. London is still a little thin of company, but there will be enough for you to work upon. When you return I shall expect a report detailing which ladies you consider to be rivals, which you should cultivate and which may be safely ignored. But, more importantly, I want you to be Mrs Carleton inside your head. I want you to look—really look—at all the men you see. Sum up each one with a view to seduction. Fix them in your mind. What might be their weaknesses, what attracts you to them, how will you approach them, how you would set out to seduce each one and how dangerous each is.’

‘Gareth!’ She stared, shocked. ‘In cold blood, just like that? You want me to look at men and…’

‘Assess them. Yes. You did a good job summing up Mr Hurst, the handsome icicle, did you not?’ He drained his cup and stood up. ‘Thank you for breakfast, Miss Gifford. Enjoy your drive.’

Jessica sat staring blankly at the Dutch still life hanging on the wall opposite. There had been a sardonic note in Gareth’s voice, a set to his mouth that somehow told her that he did not exactly relish setting her that task. On the other hand, thinking about it, it was certainly good tactics to familiarise herself with the prominent players on the stage she was to inhabit for the next few weeks.

The ladies arrived in Bel’s barouche with the top down, all well wrapped up and with hot bricks at their feet and lap rugs over their knees. Maude handed an enormous muff to Jessica as she climbed in. ‘This is for you, I saw you didn’t have one. They are all the crack.’

‘Thank you!’ Jessica struggled to control the fur muff that was about the size of a medium dog, although mercifully lighter. ‘What a lovely day.’

‘It is ideal for the task Gareth has set us,’ Eva shifted in her seat, allowing Jessica an even better view of her pelisse with its fur epaulettes, collar and cuffs. Another Paris fashion, she guessed. ‘Everyone who is anyone will be out in Hyde Park with the sun shining like this.’

Reluctantly, for she was enjoying the crisp air and the sun on her face, Jessica settled her veil securely and they set off. ‘If necessary, I shall introduce you, rather vaguely, as Miss Smith,’ Bel explained. ‘Just bow slightly. People will assume you are a companion, or a visiting relative.’