Читать книгу Regency Collection 2013 Part 1 - Хелен Диксон, Louise Allen, Хелен Диксон - Страница 25

Bree emerged from a vengeful daydream of Brice Latymer being exposed as a cheat in front of the entire Nonesuch Club to find herself alone in the room with Max.

‘Where has Piers gone?’

‘I bribed him to leave us alone. Are you all right?’ Max came and sat next to her, pulling her snug against his shoulder before she could protest. It felt so good to lean into the solid strength of him.

‘I am fine now, thanks to you.’ With a determined effort she sat up and moved along the seat, putting a safe distance between them. It had been so easy to slip back into that intimate closeness with him. ‘Is Mr Ryder the enquiry agent you have engaged to trace your wife?’

‘Yes.’ Max looked down at his clasped hands, then up to meet her eyes. She realised, fear pooling in her belly, that she could not read his expression, but that he was about to say something momentous. She should have given up all hope of marriage to him, she knew that, but it still felt as though her fate hung in the balance.

‘Has he found her?’ Her voice shook, just a little.

‘Yes,’ Max said again. ‘We both did. Bree, she died, in Winchester, with her family, just as Ryder thought. We found the verger who recorded the details and have a sworn affidavit.’

‘Oh.’ Bree felt the tears filling her eyes. ‘Oh, poor woman. And poor you. How was it in Winchester? Or would you prefer not to speak of it?’

‘Sad. But, strangely, good. I felt able to say goodbye to Drusilla. At last I know the worst. I have ordered a headstone for them, paid the sexton to keep the grave in good order.’

They sat in silence for several minutes, the soft tick of the clock the only sound in the room. Bree tried to sort out her feelings and found she did not know what to think, how to feel, only that the temptation to turn into Max’s arms was almost overwhelming.

‘Oh, God. Bree.’ Max reached out for her, took her mouth with a savage intensity that fired her blood, swept away her tenuous self-control. Instinctively she knew what it was, this fierceness. He had contemplated death, stood by a graveside, now he wanted to reaffirm the fact that he was alive, that she was here, in his arms.

Max’s hands swept over her, restless, seeking. Now her body knew what his wanted and responded to him, arching against him as her fingers clenched hard on his shoulders. Now she recognised and understood that hot, liquid feeling inside her, the gathering knot of tension, so low down.

‘I want you so much.’ His voice was ragged against the soft skin beneath her ear. His mouth moved on the column of her neck, his lips nipping painlessly until suddenly he bit, very gently, against the pulse.

Bree gasped. ‘I want you too.’

‘We should not.’ He did not sound overly convinced by this virtuous intention.

‘Yes,’ Bree agreed shakily, ruining the effect by experimentally nipping the tendon beneath his right ear. Max rolled her over until she was lying full length on the chaise, his weight on her. Cautiously Bree moved her legs so he was cradled between her thighs. In this position his arousal was unmistakable, rousing an equally fierce reaction in her. ‘Oh!’ Her lips lifted to him of their own accord. ‘This is more comfortable than the drag.’

‘A bed would be more comfortable still.’ The front of her bodice was fastened by a number of tiny mother-of-pearl buttons. Max seemed intent on opening them with his teeth while his hands were wreaking havoc with her hair. ‘We should not,’ he repeated, his voice muffled by the fabric of her chemise.

Bree tried to think thoughts of self-control while writhing under the impact of his tongue—hot, wet—through the thin fabric. ‘Yes.’ His mouth closed round her left nipple. ‘Aah! I mean no, I agree, we should not.’

Silence and a complete lack of movement. Bree raised her head enough to squint down. Max had his chin propped in her cleavage and was regarding her quizzically.

She prodded him. ‘Stop it, you make me want to giggle, looking at me like that.’

He snorted and rolled off her to stand by the chaise and offer her a hand to sit up. ‘That was not my intention, Miss Mallory. I fear you are sadly lacking in romance.’

‘I fear I am sadly amiss in leading you on,’ she confessed, buttoning up her bodice with fingers that shook slightly. The lawn of her chemise clung damp to breasts that seemed strangely heavy. ‘I should not be alone with you without a chaperon.’

‘I will sit over here and behave myself while you do something about your hair.’ He steepled his fingertips and watched her over them. ‘What is that Herrick said? “A sweet disorder in the dress kindles in clothes a wantonness … I see a wild civility do more bewitch me than when art is too precise in every part.”’

‘That is so romantic. I hadn’t heard it before.’ Enchanted, Bree turned from the overmantel mirror where she was re-braiding her hair. ‘Do you enjoy poetry?’

‘I only started reading it when I met you.’

‘Oh. Oh, Max, that’s the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me.’ Bree knelt down beside his chair, her hands on his knees. ‘Max, I cannot regard what just happened. We are both emotional, both upset.’ She sat back on her heels as his hand wandered round to stroke the back of her neck. ‘Stop it, Max! If you start that, goodness knows where it will end.’

‘I know where I would like it to end. Bree, we need to talk again. What I discovered in Winchester changes everything.’

He saw the cloud come over her expression, cursed her scruples, cursed himself for not knowing whether to go slowly with her or press her to agree to marry him.

‘Not now. Max, I am too confused by all of this, too worried about Uncle to give you an answer, at least not an answer that I have thought seriously about. Will you give me until this wretched business with Latymer is over?’

He made himself smile and saw the relief in her eyes. ‘Then you must be off home, because you are far too much temptation here. I’ll ring for the chaise to take you back.’

‘Thank you. And thank you for not pressing me about something which I know you feel, honourably, you should pursue.’

I love you, that is all and it is everything. He almost said it, then caught himself. To press a declaration of love on a woman who was anxious, tired and uncertain was asking for the answer he least wanted.

‘I really should go and write to Uncle, tell him not to worry,’ Bree added. ‘You will let me know as soon as there is any news, won’t you?’

‘It’s likely to be at three in the morning,’ Max said, pulling the bell cord to summon Bignell. ‘Wouldn’t you rather wait until a civilised hour?’

‘No.’ Bree tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as he escorted her to the door. ‘I want to know as soon as possible so I can drink to his disgrace.’

It took three days before Max, Ryder and Lansdowne could set up their trap. Max spent each evening in the Nonesuch Club card room, enduring a certain amount of sly chaffing. Somehow a rumour was spreading that he was enamoured of a lady. No one was so rash as to allude to it directly.

‘I have not seen Miss Mallory recently,’ Lord Huntington remarked with a casual air, pausing by Max’s table to cast a knowing eye over the fall of the cards.

‘Miss Mallory is visiting relatives I believe,’ Max responded quellingly. Bree had agreed to stay at home and not risk running into Latymer. ‘Her brother said something to that effect when I was talking to him about another outing for the Whips with the stagecoach.’

On the third evening, when he was beginning to wonder if he had overestimated Latymer’s arrogance, Nevill appeared at his table. ‘I say, Dysart, I need to speak to you urgently.’

Max finished his hand and followed his cousin into the book room. ‘What is it?’

‘That bounder Latymer has just strolled in, bold as brass. He should be thrown out.’

‘Not by us.’ Max took him by the shoulder. ‘We cannot make a scene without bringing a lady’s name into it. Treat him with the indifference he deserves.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ Nevill scowled. ‘It goes against the grain tolerating the swine, but, as you say, we cannot risk compromising a lady.’ He marched out, looking noble. Max tugged the bell pull, then scribbled a note while he waited for a footman.

‘Take this to Lord Lansdowne’s house with all speed. It is essential it reaches his lordship personally.’

He sauntered back into the card room to choose his ground. His former place had been taken; he found another with a group just arrived and settled down to play.

Latymer came in, paused in the doorway and scanned the room. Max, watching him in a convenient mirror, saw there was heightened colour in his cheeks and that he looked about him with a nervous intensity. But no one paid him any attention beyond a nod when he caught someone’s eye, so he came right in, found a chair at a solitary table and signalled the waiter for a drink.

Max bided his time, glancing occasionally at the clock. As it struck twelve Lansdowne entered, Ryder at his side. They paused close by Latymer’s table. Max could just hear his friend’s voice. ‘If you would like a drink, just tell them to put it to my account. I’m sorry to abandon you the moment we get here, but I’ve some rather urgent business—I’ll be back within the hour. Do you care to play? I could introduce you …’

‘No, I thank you.’ There was a slight hesitancy in Ryder’s voice that had Max suppressing a smile. ‘I’m not a great card player. I enjoy it, of course, but I don’t play in clubs, just socially. I’m sure I’d be a complete bore as a partner for anyone here.’

He settled at a table close to Latymer and began to look around with a kind of shy curiosity that made Max wonder if the man had ever been on the stage. Was Latymer going to take the bait?

Ryder shifted in his seat, caught Latymer’s eye and said, ‘This seems a very pleasant club. I am staying with Lord Lansdowne for a few days and he was kind enough to bring me as his guest.’ He appeared to feel he had said too much without an introduction, and subsided awkwardly.

Max could not hear Latymer’s response, but within five minutes the two men were sitting at the same table and Latymer was offering the cards to Ryder to cut.

By the time Lansdowne came back there was a small pile of money in front of each man. The viscount took up position, leaning negligently against the wall just behind Latymer, his eyes on the play of cards as though patiently waiting for his guest to finish.

Nevill stopped by Max’s table and he caught the young man’s arm. ‘Go and talk quietly to Lansdowne. Watch the fall of the cards. Do nothing, take your cue from him.’

The pile in front of Latymer grew; in front of Ryder it diminished. Soon he was scribbling notes and pushing those across the table. Suddenly, following a discard by his opponent, he froze, looked at his own hand, at the discards and said in a puzzled voice, ‘I say, that’s damned odd.’ He spoke so low that Max almost had to lip read the words.

‘Quiet,’ Lansdowne said softly, taking a step forward, gripping Latymer by the sleeve and bringing him to his feet. ‘Come with me.’

With Nevill on his other side they hustled Latymer out. ‘He’s a bit the worse for wear,’ Nevill said brightly as someone looked up. ‘Castaway, don’t you know?’

Max laid down his cards and excused himself. ‘My cousin may need a hand.’

In the book room Lansdowne was confronting Latymer across a table on which lay the ace of spades. ‘Fell out of his sleeve when I shook it,’ he said grimly.

Ryder, still perfectly in character, stammered, ‘My God! I couldn’t work out what was wrong—I mean, I don’t play all that much, but I’m not as bad as all that. Yet I couldn’t get the slightest edge after the first few hands. But in a gentleman’s club! I never dreamt …’

‘You lying sharp!’ Latymer swung round, his face livid.

‘How dare you insult my guest,’ Lansdowne snapped. ‘I’ve a mind to call you out.’

‘And you won’t get out of this by apologising,’ Nevill said with satisfaction.

Latymer sank down onto a chair and looked at the faces surrounding him. ‘So that’s what this is about. Miss Mallory …’

‘Miss Mallory has graciously accepted your apology, and if you mention her name once more I will ram it down your throat. No, it is not about that.’ Max sat down opposite him. ‘It’s about your most recent bout of sharping in Buckinghamshire. I want all the papers, every IOU—and I want a document from you admitting that you obtained a half-share in the Challenge Coaching Company by fraudulent means. And then we will let you go and won’t tell the polite world that you were caught trying to rook a gentleman in the Nonesuch Club’s card room.’ He sat back. ‘Well?’

‘Damn you to hell.’ Brice Latymer stared back, white to the lips. ‘You’ll ruin me.’

‘Only if you do not do as I ask. We are all prepared to turn a blind eye if the half-share in the company returns to its proper owner.’ Max dug in his card case. ‘Here is the direction of my attorney at law. You will call upon him tomorrow, return all the paperwork and sign an affidavit disclaiming all rights to the Challenge Coach Company. Or you will never set foot in any polite gathering in London again.’

With a snarl Latymer snatched the rectangle of pasteboard and flung out of the room. Behind him four gentlemen collapsed into library chairs and let out a collective huff of breath.

‘Will someone please tell me what is going on?’ Nevill asked plaintively.

Bree was fast asleep when she was roused by Lucy. Pushing her frivolous lace nightcap out of her eyes, she struggled up in bed. ‘What is it?’ Over the maid’s shoulder she could see Peters outside her door, his livery pulled on anyhow and his nightcap askew on his head, obviously forgotten.

‘Lord Penrith and another gentleman are here. They insist you’ll wish to see them, whatever the hour, Miss Bree.’

‘Lord Penrith? Oh, thank goodness.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘At least, I hope it is good news. Peters, rouse Mr Mallory. Lucy, hand me my wrapper, then fetch Miss Thorpe. I shall go down.’

‘In your wrapper, Miss Bree?’ Lucy looked scandalised as Bree scrambled out of bed and slipped her arms into the frivolous confection of lace and satin that she had acquired from the same place as Lady Georgy purchased her own lingerie.

‘That is why I asked you to fetch Miss Thorpe, Lucy.’ Bree tossed the words back over her shoulder as she ran downstairs. The drawing-room door was open. Inside, Max and Mr Ryder were standing before the almost dead embers of the fire. ‘What happened?’

Both men gazed at her, their mouths dropping slightly open. Under any other circumstances this would have been flattering; just now Bree was too anxious for flirting. ‘Well?’ she demanded.

‘Very well.’ Max appeared to recover his equilibrium before his companion. ‘He will be visiting my attorney tomorrow to hand over all papers and to sign documents denying any claim on the company and admitting he played foul.’

‘Oh, Max, thank you!’ Bree ran forward and hugged as much of him as she could manage.

‘I collect that Mr Ryder has also been wonderful,’ Rosa said drily from the doorway. ‘Miss Mallory, might I suggest that we offer the gentlemen refreshment?’

Bree let Max go, suddenly conscious of what she was doing and the spectacle she must be presenting. She had rejected Max’s suit, and knew she should do so when he pressed it again. She must not forget herself.

‘Mr Ryder, how wonderful that your clever scheme has worked. I do thank you, both for myself and Piers, but most of all for my uncle. The relief is enormous.’ The footman was hovering in the doorway. ‘Peters, for goodness’ sake, take off your nightcap and fetch the decanters for the gentlemen. No, on second thoughts, fetch the champagne and enough glasses for all of us—we have a famous victory to drink to.’

She sat down, sweeping her flounced skirts into order as though they belonged to a ball gown. Across the room she could see Max’s lips twitching appreciatively, but kept her face straight, anxious not to disconcert the rather austere Mr Ryder. Peters staggered back with a loaded tray.

‘Excellent. Lord Penrith, would you do the honours?’

Max went and took the bottle. ‘A fine year. You have a notable cellar, Miss Mallory.’

‘I won it in the coaching inns’ Christmas lottery,’ Bree confessed. ‘Our cellar here is a disgrace.’ She watched, her heart brimming as the frothing liquid filled the glasses, then took her own from Max and lifted it in a toast. ‘To our gallant rescuers.’