Читать книгу Regency Scoundrels And Scandals - Louise Allen - Страница 40

‘Good morning, my lady. You had a proper night’s sleep at last, I am glad to see.’

Bel opened her eyes on to bright sunlight and the sounds of Philpott in the next room briskly organising her wardrobe for the day.

She scrambled up into a sitting position and stared wildly round the room. Where was Ashe? Beside her the bed was neat, the far side tucked in tight as she tugged on the covers. The pillows were smooth. There was no litter of male garments across the floor, her poetry book sat chastely on the table where she had put it last night and the candles had been carefully pinched out, not left to gutter and burn away.

It had all been a dream? It must have been. No man would accept an offer to a lady’s bed and then simply cuddle her, make the bed again and silently slip away while she slept. Which meant that she had dreamt a safe ending to her fantasy. Had she even dreamed asking Ashe to be her lover?

Confused, Bel turned to run her hand over the pillow beside her and saw it. On the embroidered linen was a single blond hair. She picked it up and it curled in her fingers, the one strong filament conjuring up the image of a whole head of hair: golden, thick, curving over-long into his nape.

Ashe was here last night. I did not dream it. And he had come to bed in his shirt because she was shy, and he had let her sleep in his arms because she was tired and he had made the bed, quietly, so as not to disturb her or betray that he had been there. Behind her eyes something prickled. Bel scrubbed the back of her hand across them as her dresser came back into the room, her arms full of petticoats.

‘Are you quite well, my lady?’ Philpott frowned, anxious. ‘You look a trifle emotional.’

‘No, I am quite well. My eyes are watering, that is all. Just the after-effects of such a long sleep, I expect.’ Ashe had been gentle and kind and tolerant. But he was not going to come back, that was certain. Male pride, she knew from observing every male of her acquaintance, did not take kindly to rejection, and rejection did not come in more comprehensive form than a woman falling asleep in a man’s arms when he was intending to make love to her.

She felt fidgety, unsettled and sad. A strange combination of emotions. She was going to have to write and apologise. What on earth could she say to excuse her behaviour? But at least she could do something about the fidgets and perhaps later she would know what to say in her note. And there was that kiss to remember, always.

Bel threw back the covers and went to her little desk in her bare feet. ‘I will drive in the park this morning, Philpott. Please have this note taken round to Lady James Ravenhurst’s London residence immediately and tell the footman to wait for the reply.’

There was only one woman in London she felt she could safely be with at the moment without betraying some clue as to her inner turmoil and that was Cousin Elinor. Elinor would not notice anything amiss unless a Greek charioteer drove through Hyde Park, or St Paul’s Cathedral sprouted minarets, she was certain of it.

Miss Ravenhurst’s note gratefully accepting the offer of a drive and luncheon was returned promptly and Elinor was equally prompt when the barouche drew up outside the house. When Bel thanked her for not keeping the horses standing, she brushed it away with a shake of her head in its plain straw bonnet. ‘I did not want to dally, believe me! Mama is sure to have thought of some piece she wants me to transcribe after all and really, this is far too lovely a morning to be shut inside.’

‘You help my aunt a great deal with her researches, then? It must be fascinating,’ Bel added mendaciously, thinking that, unless Elinor was as committed as her mother, it must actually be quite ghastly.

‘It has a certain interest. Anything does if you come to know enough about it.’ Elinor folded her hands neatly in her lap, the tight buttoned gloves precisely the wrong shade of tan to go with the mouse-brown skirt and pelisse she wore. Either she was colour blind or her mother insisted she dress to repel men. Knowing Aunt Louisa, Bel strongly suspected the latter.

‘Besides,’ her cousin added, with the air of making her position quite clear, ‘I have to do something with my time. Fortunately there are no elderly aunts who require a companion and I may be thankful that neither Simon nor Anne expect me to dance attention on their offspring. I am not at all good with children and I make a dreadful aunt. So, if one must be on the shelf, this at least has the advantage of being intellectually stimulating.’

It was the longest speech Bel had ever heard Elinor make, and certainly the first time she had ever volunteered her thoughts on her own situation. ‘I do not understand why you should be on the shelf,’ she ventured, choosing her words with caution. ‘You are very pretty, well connected…’

‘I am too tall and I have red hair,’ Elinor contradicted. ‘You are lucky, Cousin Belinda, you are one of the brown-haired Ravenhursts. I am one of the redheads.’

‘Auburn,’ Bel corrected. ‘It is lovely, like conkers.’ Poor Elinor. At least, whatever other problems she had, Bel had never been made to feel plain. ‘Cousin Theophilus has much redder hair than you do.’

Elinor smiled. ‘You are very kind, but I know I have no charm and that is essential to attract gentlemen. I am too practical, I expect. And I have not met Cousin Theophilus for years: Mama says he is a loose fish and a wastrel. Where are we going to drive?’ She craned around inelegantly to see where they had got to, one hand firmly clamped on the crown of her awful hat. ‘Hyde Park?’

‘I thought so. And then shall we go to Gunter’s for ices?’ Eating ice cream in the morning was decidedly self-indulgent, but she felt she needed it.

The carriage made several turns, Bel pointing out the exotic sight of a lady with a pair of elegant long-haired hounds on a leash. Elinor twisted again in her seat to watch them, unconcerned about creasing her gown. ‘I think those are saluki hounds, from Arabia. Cousin Belinda…’ she frowned as she turned back ‘…there is a man following us in a curricle.’

‘How can you tell? The streets are jammed.’

‘I saw the curricle behind you when you picked me up, and he was there again when I looked to see where we were and now he is still behind us. He is driving a striking pair of match greys—I cannot be mistaken.’

‘I expect he is going to the park as we are and our ways just happen to coincide.’ Elinor looked dubious, but Bel was not going to scramble about in the carriage, peering out at the traffic behind them. ‘Why should anyone want to follow us? I do believe you are a secret novel reader, Cousin! I can assure you, I am not being pursued by a wicked duke for some evil end. Perhaps he is after you.’

Elinor blushed so furiously at the suggestion of novel reading that Bel decided that not only must she consume the productions of the Minerva Press avidly, but that Aunt Louisa had no idea and would not approve. ‘I have just borrowed The Abbess of Voltiera from the circulating library, if you would like to have it as I finish each volume,’ she offered. ‘It is quite blood curdling.’

‘That would be very nice,’ Elinor said primly as they entered the park. ‘Oh look, there’s a gentleman waving to you. See? On that horse close to the grove of chestnuts.’

Ashe. Bel followed the direction of her cousin’s gaze and saw Mr Layne approaching them on a good-looking bay hack. ‘Pull up,’ she called to the coachman as her treacherous pulse returned to normal. ‘Mr Layne, good morning. Cousin Elinor, may I make known to you Mr Layne, the brother of the renowned poetess? Mr Layne, my cousin, Miss Ravenhurst.’

He brought his horse alongside the carriage and leaned down to shake hands. ‘A lovely morning for a drive, is it not?’

‘Delightful,’ Elinor agreed. ‘Are you also a poet, Mr Layne?’

‘Not at all, I fear. I can hardly rhyme moon and spoon.’ Patrick laughed, shaking his head in self-deprecation. ‘All the talent in the family is with my sister. I manage my uncle’s estates.’

‘That requires talent also,’ Elinor observed.

Now he would be perfect for her, Bel thought, suddenly struck as she watched them chatting easily. Mr Layne showed no sign of alarm at either Elinor’s despised auburn hair, nor her appalling dress sense. He was a young man with his way to make in the world and, with her connections and excellent common sense, she was just the sort of woman to…

‘Oh, look, Cousin Belinda, that man who was following us has just driven past.’ Elinor pointed.

‘What?’ Mr Layne stood in his stirrups to observe the rear of the curricle that was sweeping away down the carriage drive. ‘Has someone been annoying you ladies? Shall I catch up to him and demand his business?’

‘No! I am certain it was just coincidence that he was behind us for such a way. Please, do not concern yourself Mr Layne. See—he has gone now.’

‘Then let me ride beside you as escort in case he comes back.’ He reined back to one side and matched his pace to the barouche as it moved off, keeping far enough away so as not to appear to be with them.

‘A very gentlemanlike young man, I think,’ Bel observed quietly.

‘Indeed, he is.’ Elinor glanced sideways to observe Mr Layne from under the brim of her bonnet. ‘You are fortunate in your admirers, Cousin.’

‘Goodness, he is no such thing. I must tell you, Elinor, I am firmly resolved against a second marriage and to encourage anyone to have expectations—not that Mr Layne has any, I am sure—would be most unfair.’ No more husbands. And no lover either. Bel repressed a wistful sigh. There was no point in repining; she had daringly given herself an opportunity and it was all her fault it had ended as it had. Lord Dereham could not have acted more chivalrously, poor man.

They trotted along as far as the Knightsbridge gate without further incident. When they reached it Mr Layne came up and touched his hat. ‘Your mysterious follower has gone, it seems, ma’am.’

‘I am sure it was simply a coincidence, but thank you for your escort. We are going to Gunter’s for some refreshment—would you care to join us?’ Bel had hoped for some peace and quiet with Elinor to recover the tone of her mind a little, but she had the notion that perhaps she could matchmake here. After all, she had never heard her cousin utter a single opinion about a man before.

‘Thank you, but I regret that I have an appointment shortly. Do enjoy your ices, ladies.’

Bel and Elinor watched him canter away, Elinor’s face unreadable. Bother—perhaps she was indifferent after all.

‘Gunter’s next, please,’ Bel called up to the coachman and settled back against the squabs. Rescuing Elinor from Aunt Louisa was a worthwhile project, she felt. But how to get her into new clothes? She was never going to attract gentlemen dressed like that, even the amiable Mr Layne. This needed some planning. ‘I am so pleased you could drive with me,’ she remarked as they turned into Charles Street. ‘Do you think Aunt Louisa would spare you again?’

‘I should think so.’ An unexpected twinkle showed in her cousin’s green eyes. ‘I am sure she would think it a sacrifice well worth while if I can provide some chaperonage for you.’

They were still smiling over plans for further expeditions as they walked into the confectioner’s, securing a place in a corner with a good view of the room. Elinor ordered a vanilla ice and chocolate, and, despite her resolution to have only a small lemon ice and a cup of tea, Bel succumbed to the same choices.

‘It is delicious if you chase a spoonful of ice with a sip of chocolate,’ Bel was observing when Elinor sat bolt upright and said in a penetrating whisper, strongly reminiscent of her mother,

‘It’s that man again!’

‘What man?’ Bel had her back to the door.

‘The one who was following us into the park. He is coming over, the presumptuous wretch. Oh, dear, and I do not have a hatpin!’

‘We are in the middle of Gunter’s, Elinor, nothing can happen to us here, you have no need to spear him—’

‘Lady Felsham, good morning.’

Bel dropped her spoon into the saucer with a clatter. ‘Lord Dereham!’ It was Ashe, standing there, large as life, smiling blandly as though he had not seen her since the dancing party. Elinor cleared her throat and Bel realised she was gaping at him in complete shock. Please, she prayed, please don’t let me be blushing like a peony. ‘Good morning. May I introduce my cousin, Miss Ravenhurst? Elinor, Lord Dereham.’ They shook hands. ‘Will you join us?’ He is here, he is smiling, he has forgiven me…

Elinor’s eyebrows rose as Ashe took the third seat at their small round table and clicked his fingers for the waiter. Her lips narrowed. ‘Do you know, my lord, I am convinced that I have seen you before today, several times. In fact, I could have sworn you were following us.’

Bel tried to kick her under the table, missed and made contact with Ashe’s ankle. It was a very small table. ‘Oh, yes,’ Ashe admitted, wincing. ‘I followed you into Hyde Park. Amazing how easy it is to bump into acquaintances, even at this time of year.’ He smiled. ‘I would have stopped to chat, but you were talking to Mr Layne and I did not want to interrupt.’

‘How fortunate you were able to find us here then,’ Elinor observed severely, obviously not believing a word of it. Bel shook her head at her slightly. This was not the time for her cousin to take her pretend role as chaperon so seriously.

‘Was it not?’ Ashe beamed at her as the waiter produced a pot of coffee for him. ‘I could have sent a note, of course, but I wanted to make sure that the problem Lady Felsham is having with the plumbing is now corrected. I could send my own man round if it is not.’ Elinor was looking baffled. ‘Lady Felsham bought her house from me,’ he explained. ‘I feel responsible for the problem she is having with it.’

‘Oh. I see.’ Elinor took a sip of chocolate and subsided, obviously disappointed that this was neither a Gothic horror story nor a case of over-amorous pursuit for her to foil.

‘Or I could have called later, but I am going to be visiting old Mr Horace this evening. Do you know him?’

‘Old Mr Horace?’ Did he mean what he appeared to mean? Bel opened her mouth, shut it rapidly and tried to get her tumbling thoughts into some sort of order. ‘The, um…northern gentleman? The one with the snowy white hair and the problem with his teeth?’ Ashe nodded. ‘And you are going to visit him again?’ Another nod. ‘That is very kind of you, Lord Dereham. I had understood that your previous experiences with the old gentleman were not encouraging.’

‘He is somewhat eccentric,’ Ashe agreed. ‘And a very poor conversationalist. But I derive a great deal of, um…satisfaction from the relationship. And hope to obtain more.’

Now she must be blushing. How could he be so brazen? But it seemed that she was forgiven for falling asleep: she just hoped that he would not be disappointed tonight. She was very certain that she would not be.

‘Virtue,’ Elinor pronounced piously, ‘is its own reward.’ She looked somewhat taken aback when both of her companions collapsed into peels of laughter.

Bel sat in front of her dressing table mirror, brushing her hair. It shone in the candle light, picking up the auburn highlights that all the Ravenhursts had in their hair, even if they were not redheads like Elinor and their cousin Theophilus.

She was quite pleased with her appearance tonight, she concluded dispassionately, studying her reflection. That was a good thing, considering that she had spent the whole evening fretting over it. The good night’s sleep and the fresh air that morning had restored her colour and the smudges had gone from under her eyes. Around her on the stool pooled the silken folds of a new aquamarine nightgown with ribbon ties on the shoulders and at the bosom and not a great deal of substance to its layers of skirt. As for the bodice, Bel was careful not to breathe too deeply. Ashe, she was hopeful, would like it.

She twiddled the earrings in her ears and then removed them, her fingers hesitating over her jewel box before lifting a long, thin, gold chain. She fastened it, observing the way it slithered down into the valley between her breasts. Was she trying too hard? What would he expect? She bit her lip in indecision, then touched a tiny dab of jasmine scent where the chain vanished into shadowed curves.

There. Enough. When she found out what pleased Ashe, then she could be more daring. The thought of what that voyage of discovery might entail sent a shiver up and down her spine as the landing clock chimed the three-quarter hour. Soon he would be here.

The minutes dragged as she sat waiting, elegantly disposed in the armchair, her volume of Byron open and unread in her lap. When the scratch on the door came she was so tense that the book fell to the carpet as she jerked upright and she was scrabbling on the floor behind the bed for it when the door opened and she heard Ashe come in.

‘Hello, Horace old chap. Where has Bel gone?’

‘Here.’ She popped up from the other side of the bed, painfully aware that her hard-won pose of seductive sophistication was completely ruined. ‘I dropped my book.’

‘Not playing hide and seek, then?’ Ashe smiled. ‘A pity—I can think of some entertaining forfeits.’

Bel felt hopelessly gauche. Ashe seemed to regard this lovemaking thing, which she had always assumed was a rather serious business, as a game, as fun. ‘I am sorry about last night,’ she said, eager to get that over with. ‘I was so nervous I could not sleep the night before and then when you were so gentle and soothing I could not help myself drifting off. You must have been so angry with me. It is very kind of you to come back.’

‘Don’t apologise, Bel,’ Ashe said shortly, something very like the anger she feared flickering in his eyes. ‘Don’t you dare. Do you think I would expect you to make love when you were tired and apprehensive? I am not your husband, I do not expect anything as my due. We give each other only what we are able to, what we want to. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ Bel lied, unable to believe it. Men made demands in bed, women obeyed them, that was the way things were. The only difference was that some men made those demands more nicely than others and would take the trouble to ensure the woman enjoyed the experience.

He smiled, the warmth chasing away the spark of anger. ‘Tell me what you would like? Shall we read poetry together?’

‘I would like you to kiss me,’ she said, boldness masking the fact she could not stand the tension of waiting any longer. He was probably teasing about the poetry in any case.

‘Very well, my lady. I feel a trifle overdressed.’ Ashe had come in pantaloons and long-tailed coat, not in the formality of knee breeches. As she watched, he heeled off his shoes and shed coat and waistcoat on to a chair, then turned and held out his arms.

Bel walked into them, sliding her palms up his chest, feeling the heat under the fine cotton, catching her breath as they passed over his nipples, hardening under her touch. As she looked up, his lids lowered in sensual pleasure and his arms came round her.