Читать книгу Regency Scoundrels And Scandals - Louise Allen - Страница 26

‘Your brother? You are Jack’s sister?’

‘Sebastian.’ The flurried and apologetic young woman was gone, replaced by a determined, poised and angry one.

‘I know him as Jack.’

‘Oh, it is the same thing! I don’t care how you—’

‘It is not the same thing,’ Eva said firmly. ‘And I am doing nothing to your brother, and have done nothing to justify your behaviour now.’

‘You have broken his heart,’ the other retorted.

‘Nonsense! Why, that is complete nonsense. Your brother left my house without a word to me a week ago. There had been no disagreement, I had not dismissed him. Broken heart, indeed, what melodrama. If Jack Ryder has anything to say to me, he knows where I am.’ Broken heart? I know whose heart is broken—but I did not leave him.

‘You were lovers.’ It was a flat statement. ‘No, do not bother to deny it. He has said nothing about you, all I knew was that he had been in France, on a mission. Then when he came to see me, he had changed—something inside was hurt.’

Eva discovered that her head was beginning to ache, and so were her feet in their new slippers. ‘Oh, sit down, please, for goodness’ sake. What is your name?’

‘Belinda. Lady Belinda Cambourn. I am a widow.’ Eva nodded—Jack had mentioned Bel. ‘I shouldn’t be here, am still in mourning. But I love my brother very much, and I know him very well. And he is hurting. Deeply.’

‘But—’

Bel waved a hand, silencing her. ‘No one else would be able to tell, except possibly you.’ She shot Eva a look of positive dislike. ‘When he is on missions—when he is Jack—he is cool and calm and quiet, but there is still that wicked enjoyment of life behind those eyes of his. When he is Sebastian, he is the warmest, kindest brother you can imagine.’ Bel directed another withering look at Eva. ‘But now something has gone—the laughter has gone, the warmth inside has gone. He came to see me; he was very sweet, just as he always is. I asked him what was wrong and he laughed and said nothing, just a tiring mission in France.’

‘There you are, then,’ Eva said briskly.

‘So I asked Henry,’ Bel pushed on, as though she had not spoken. ‘And he said that the guv’nor had got himself entangled with you. He said the pair of you were smelling like April and May and—’ She saw Eva’s blank expression. ‘Like lovers, like people in love,’ she supplied irritably. ‘And he had warned Jack that no good would come of it.’

‘If your brother does not choose to tell you about his personal life, I am certainly not going to.’ Like April and May…like people in love. She loved him. But Jack…Surely if he loved her he would never leave her like that?

‘Don’t you care about him? Henry says he saved your life.’

‘Yes. He did.’ Suddenly it was too much, she had to speak of him, about him, and this angry young woman with Jack’s eyes at least cared enough about him to virtually kidnap her in the middle of a Carlton House reception.

‘And, yes, we were lovers. And I have never had one before, in case you think I sleep with every good-looking man who comes my way,’ she added militantly. ‘And I had to ask him, because he was being so damnably gallant and gentlemanlike. We knew it could only last while we were in France—I cannot risk the scandal. We both knew that.’

Bel was watching her in wide-eyed silence now. At least she had stopped glaring. ‘I fell in love with him. I didn’t mean to, I really did not mean to. But I couldn’t help it. I love him so much.’

‘Then—?’ Bel was thinking hard, her brow furrowed. ‘Of course, you thought he was just a King’s Messenger, a glorified bodyguard. No wonder you dismissed him when you got to England.’

‘I knew he was more than that. And in Brussels I found him in the Peerage. But what difference does that make? I’d love him if he was a fishmonger’s son. I told you—I did not dismiss him, he left me. He does not want me, or he would never have gone like that, without a word, just with a message to my son.’

Bel was biting her lip thoughtfully. ‘Was it worth it?’ she blurted out. ‘Was having him as a lover worth all this heartache?’

‘Yes! Yes,’ Eva added more softly. ‘But he never pretended it was anything more than an affaire.’

‘He never said it was anything more, you mean,’ Bel retorted. ‘Did you tell him you love him?’

‘No, of course not. Can you imagine telling a man you love him when you know he does not love you? How humiliating to see the pity in his face, the tact he will have to use to extricate himself.’

‘Not if he loves you, too—how can you be sure he doesn’t? I do not know about love, I was not in love with my husband and I have taken no lover. But I know my brother, and he is hurting. He is missing you.’

‘Then why did he leave me like that?’ Eva demanded. ‘That hurt me.’

‘I expect he thought a clean break was kindest for you. I imagine it must have been difficult to talk intimately in a houseful of servants and with your son there,’ Bel said thoughtfully. ‘Do you want to marry him?’

‘Yes.’ The word was out of her mouth before she could think. Yes, of course she did.

‘And he can hardly ask the Dowager Grand Duchess, can he? I don’t expect it is etiquette. You will have to tell him you love him and ask.’

‘But…what if he says no?’ Eva shut her eyes at the thought of it, every cell in her body cringing. She could almost hear that cool, deep voice, carefully and kindly masking his amusement at such a preposterous idea.

‘What if he says yes?’ Bel countered. ‘You’ll never know until you try, because, believe me, Sebastian is far too proud to plead with a woman who has been making it clear she wants no entanglements. And you have, haven’t you?’

‘Of course! I would never have got him to agree if he had thought I was going to fall in love with him. What are you smiling about?’ she added indignantly. Bel’s mouth was curving into an unmistakable grin.

‘The thought of my rake of a brother having to be asked if he wanted to make love to a beautiful woman,’ she explained frankly.

‘Is he a rake, then?’ He had said as much, but somehow she had let herself think about gaming and clothes and racehorses, not mistresses and lightskirts.

‘Shocking,’ his loving sister confirmed. ‘But somehow I doubt if he is seeking solace elsewhere this time.’

‘Oh.’

‘And, ma’am…’

‘Eva. Please call me Eva.’ Somehow this stranger had become someone she wanted for a friend.

‘Eva. There is something Sebastian would never tell you, but if I am going to trust you with one of my brothers, I may as well trust you with both. Our half-brother—’

‘The duke?’

‘Yes. Charles. He is never going to marry. Possibly one day Sebastian will succeed him—he is ten years the younger, after all. But if you have a son together, the boy most certainly will.’

‘The duke is unwell? Disabled in some way? Er…disturbed?’

‘The duke does not find women attractive. Not sexually attractive. Do you understand me?’

‘Oh. Yes.’ One came across it, of course, although Louis had had to explain it to her. ‘But is that not illegal?’

‘Yes. You see how I trust you.’

‘But in the case I knew of, the man married to get an heir.’

‘Charles has lived, secluded on his Northumberland estate, for eight years, very happily with his lover who, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, is his steward.’

‘Ah.’ Eva thought about it. ‘That makes no difference to me, the thought of the title.’

‘Good.’ Bel beamed back. ‘But it might to Sebastian, don’t you think? Only he would never mention it, because he is so loyal to Charles.’

‘So you think I should just find him and…propose?’ It sounded the most frightening thing she had ever done. She could not imagine what it would feel like if he said yes.

‘I think that I will inveigle him into escorting me to Lady Letheringsett’s masked ball the day after tomorrow, and if you cannot find an excuse to carry him off and do the deed, then I wash my hands of the pair of you.’

‘But I am not invited…’ Bel with a plan was proving every bit as hard to resist as her brother.

‘Then come and let me present her to you. She’ll have arrived by now, I have no doubt. She’ll invite you, never fear.’

‘But if Jack finds out, he won’t come.’

‘Trust me.’ Bel grinned. ‘I will tell him at length how disappointed I am that the fascinating Grand Duchess Eva has declined! He will feel quite safe. Now, let’s see if we can fix your feathers.’

‘Don’t you have to dress up?’ Freddie enquired, obviously disappointed. He was perched on the edge of Eva’s bed, watching while Fettersham dressed her hair to accommodate the half-mask she was to wear.

‘No, just masks. It isn’t a masquerade with fancy dress, but there will be a grand unmasking at midnight.’

The mask was pretty, she decided, holding it up so the dresser could thread the ribbons back into her coiffure to hold it securely. It was covered in tiny golden brown feathers, making her eyes seem a richer, deeper brown in its shadows.

Her gown was amber gauze over bronze silk, the neckline swooping low to expose the swell of her breasts and a generous décolletage. Eva was dressing for Jack tonight. Since that first night he had never seen her in anything but practical clothes. This was going to be a revelation.

‘Jewellery, ma’am?’ Fettersham proffered the selection the jewellers had sent. Diamonds, of course, or citrines or amber to match the dress. Eva hesitated, then chose diamonds set in gold with a diamond aigrette for her hair. She glowed, as she intended to, an offering to a man whose scruples must be overcome. She had seduced him once, on his own turf, now, on hers, the world of ballrooms and etiquette, she felt her confidence building. He would say yes, she had to believe it.

‘Mr Ryder will like that gown,’ Freddie said confidently. ‘I think you look very pretty.’

‘Why, thank you.’ Eva stared at her son as his words penetrated. ‘Why do you think Mr Ryder will be there to see it?’

Freddie sucked his cheeks in and managed to look like a cheeky angel. ‘You are all fluttery, Mama.’

‘Impudent child,’ she scolded. ‘Off to bed with you!’

Fluttery, indeed! The little wretch could read her like a book, even if he did not know the first thing about the relationships between men and women. Just like his papa, she thought. Louis had always been able to read her mind—except when he chose not to for his own ends, like that dreadful day in the vaults. She sincerely hoped her innocent son had not the slightest inkling of the sort of things that flitted through her mind when she thought of Jack.

‘What a fabulous gown!’ Lady Bel pounced on Eva as soon as she had entered the ballroom. ‘And such a lovely mask—I wouldn’t have known it was you if I hadn’t been looking out very carefully. It is so nice to be out of mourning, although I shall be in such trouble if Mama finds out. I have four more weeks to go, really.’ She swept Eva down one side of the crowded ballroom, ignoring the chattering throng, the men with their quizzing glasses scrutinising every masked lady, the towering floral displays and the glittering lights.

‘Is this not a brilliant idea of mine?’ Bel congratulated herself as they arrived in a slightly quieter semi-alcove. ‘Because of the masks, no one is announced, so he will not have the slightest suspicion.’

‘Where is he?’ Eva craned to see. It appeared hopeless, then the crowd moved and there, leaning one shoulder against the pillar opposite, was a tall, dark-haired man in severe evening black, his mask a plain black slash across his face, his white linen the only relief from the starkness. She would have known him anywhere, and known, too, that, despite the relaxed half-smile on his lips, the casual attitude, he did not want to be here, that this evening was a penance undertaken to give his sister pleasure.

‘I left him there and made him swear to wait for me,’ Bel explained. ‘There is a retiring room right behind that curtain, and the key is in the lock.’

‘Do you know the location of every retiring room in London?’ Eva asked, amused despite her tension. ‘You make me suspect you have numerous outrageous flirtations.’

Bel coloured. ‘I am boringly chaste—and unchased,’ she said lightly. ‘Go on, he is all yours. And good luck!’

Eva skirted round to approach Jack from behind. She paused, studying him. His hair had been cut since he got back; she could glimpse the whiter skin at his nape, and the memory of how that skin had felt under her fingers, against her mouth, took her breath.

There was so much noise with voices raised in conversation and the orchestra just trying its first few chords that she knew he could not have heard the soft tap of her slippers on the parquet floor, but as she reached the point where she could have stretched out and touched him, he pushed himself away from the wall and turned.

‘You.’ He kept his voice low, but it reached her none the less. His whole body was poised to move, the tension she had sensed on the quayside in Lyon was vibrating through him. He had hardly had to look at her and he knew her.

‘Jack…’ Eva held out her hand, but he did not take it. ‘I need to talk with you.’

‘This is Bel’s doing, I take it?’ His mouth was a hard line and Eva realised he was furiously angry.

‘Your sister told me you would be here. Jack—’ No, he wasn’t Jack Ryder here. This, in the glamour of the ballroom, in his exquisite tailoring, his signet glowing dark on his hand, this was the other man, the one she had never met. ‘Lord Sebastian. Please, there is a retiring room just here, I believe.’

‘Very well.’ Punctiliously he held the curtain back, opened the door for her and waited while she slipped inside.

‘Will you turn the key? I do not wish to be interrupted.’ She glanced around. A chaise against the wall, two chairs, a pretty little marble fireplace set across the corner, that was all.

‘Jack…Sebastian. What do I call you?’

‘Nothing,’ he said harshly.

‘You left without saying goodbye.’ Eva meant it as a prelude; he took it as an accusation.

‘It was better that way. I had hoped not to have this conversation.’

‘What conversation? How do you know what I want to talk about?’

‘I assumed you have changed your mind about wanting our affaire to end.’ Jack’s eyes were bleak, although his tone was neutral. ‘I do not want it to end, either,’ he added. ‘But I know it is the wise thing. The only thing for two people circumstanced as we are.’

‘No. That is not what I meant to say. I agree with you: an affaire is impossible here.’ That, she was pleased to see, took him aback. ‘But like you, I wish it were not.’

‘Then why are we here?’ Jack asked. The black mask made him seem different somehow, more aloof, more dangerous. ‘In a locked room? Just one more time, perhaps?’ Eva moved in a flutter of silk and gauze, needing to be closer, needing to see his eyes more clearly. She saw his control snap, suddenly without warning, like lightning from a clear sky. She was in his arms, crushed against his chest, his eyes were blazing into hers and his mouth came crushing down to silence her gasp of protest.

Damn it, did she think he was made of iron? She had taken him by surprise, with his guard down, and she came in silks and feathers and a cloud of subtle perfume that enhanced the scent of her and spoke of sin and sweetness and soft, soft skin. He was aching for her, had been aching with the bone-deep agony of something broken ever since that chaste night in Brussels.

He had expected it to get better; it got worse. He had thought it was purely lust and had tried to assuage it in the obvious manner. But he found his feet would not carry him over the threshold of the discreet house of pleasure that had enjoyed his custom so many times before.

If it were lust, then no other woman than this one, the one he could not have, could slake it. But it was not lust. He had admitted it to himself already—now he had to live with the reality of it. Love. He had found the strength to do the right thing and now she flung all that hard-won self-control back in his face, as though it did not matter, as though he would rather have slashed his own wrist open rather than walk away from that house without a farewell.

He had gone to the War Office and made them very happy with the rocket notes and then he made the effort to put Jack Ryder behind himself until this madness at least became a manageable agony. He had his hair ruthlessly barbered into the newest crop. He filled the white nights when he could not sleep with gaming, and won an embarrassing amount of money. He visited his tailor and ordered lavishly. Nothing helped, and, to add insult to injury, the highly fashionable, clinging knitted black silk of his evening knee breeches could not have been better designed to demonstrate the violently carnal effect Eva was having on him.

Then she had moved, bringing her warmth, her scent, to lash his senses, and he lost control.

Anger or lust or sheer desperation? Jack had no idea, and with Eva’s body crushed against his, with her mouth warm and moist and soft under his, he stopped thinking. Her gown, already low over those milk-white breasts, slid away under the pressure of his hands and she spilled into his palms, the perfect weight so familiar, so arousing. He stooped and took one nipple in his mouth, nipping it, fretting it with his tongue mercilessly so that she cried out, gripping his hair, not in pain, but to urge him closer.

Closer? If she wanted closer, then she would have closer. There were buttons under his fingers, then they were free, the gown slipping down, over the curve of her hips, the perfect roundness of her buttocks. Under it she wore only the finest of petticoats, the simplest of corsets. They were no obstacle, it was moments and then she was naked except for her silk stockings and her mask, the effect wildly, indecently erotic. Behind the mask her eyes were wide and soft and fevered in its feathery shadows.

Almost roughly he pushed her down on to the chaise and began to tear off his own clothing. He was so hard for her, so aroused, the clinging silk almost refused to be removed. Impatient, he tugged and heard her gasp as she saw him. Had she forgotten his body so soon, or was this simply the result of the days of abstinence from her?

But Eva showed no fear, not of his anger, not of his size. She reached for him, drew him down to her, wrapped her long, slim, strong horsewoman’s legs around him and pulled him hard to the core of her. She was wet for him, quivering, the scent of arousal fuelling his own state to the point where he thought he would lose all control before he even entered her.

There was no finesse, neither of them sought that, only possession, only oblivion. She cried out as he entered her without any preliminary caress, but the cry was feral, triumphant, demanding and he answered her by driving hard into the centre of her, again and again as she writhed and gasped and called his name, over and over until he felt her convulse around him and he somehow found the strength to wrench himself away before the tremors of her ecstasy sent him over into his.