Читать книгу Regency Collection 2013 Part 1 - Хелен Диксон, Louise Allen, Хелен Диксон - Страница 44

‘Lily.’ He was on his feet in a small shower of sweetmeats. ‘Lily, what on earth are you doing in here?’

‘This.’ The slap across his face rocked him back on his heels. ‘I could think of all kinds of perfectly good reasons why you should not wish to marry me, but I did at least think you would have the courage to tell me if you did not consider me good enough for you, my lord.’

She looked magnificent, her green eyes blazing, her cheeks full of colour, her breast heaving, but Jack was in no mood to admire the effect.

‘Lily, for God’s sake—’

‘Do not blaspheme,’ she stormed, putting him squarely in the wrong. ‘How you must have laughed up your sleeve when I told you I wanted to marry a lord! Why could you not have told me then, before I made any more of a fool of myself than I already had? Or were you too afraid I would make a dead set at you?’

‘I was not using my title in London. I had every hope of remaining undetected. If I found a suitable investor, I would have had to admit who I really was, but do you think I wanted it advertised all around the place that the Earl of Allerton was so poor as to have to seek money in that way?’

‘Which way? Asking rich cits and merchants like my family to be investors in your mine? How humiliating for you to even have to speak to that class of person. How lowering to be reduced to propositioning us for our money. How you must have looked down your nose at my trustees. And how high and mighty you are with your tumbledown castle and your out-at-elbow coats, my lord. The likes of Lord Randall would marry me.’

‘But then I am not the likes of him, I am glad to say.’ He wanted to shake her, kiss her, hold her … Infuriating woman, meddling everywhere. ‘Lily, how on earth do you come to be here?’

‘I was listening from behind the screen.’ She gestured angrily at it. ‘Do not try and change the subject. You turned me down because you consider me vulgar and underbred. You might at least have told me the truth and then I would not have had to humiliate myself—’

‘You humiliate yourself?’ Jack found he was losing his temper and suddenly did not care. He had just put his life on the line for this woman he loved and all she could do was storm at him. ‘You make me a patronising offer like Lady Bountiful; you inform me that once your money has turned the situation around I will be able to buy myself a title; you instruct me in how to grovel to a corrupt system to buy favour; you map out my future career in politics for me; and you expect me to accept with gratitude. Well, let me tell you, Lily France, I would never take that from you, not because I am an earl, but because I am a man and I have my pride and I have my honour. I would not be your petticoat pensioner if I was at my last crust.’

She stared at him in fulminating silence, then, ‘How did you get in here, to this ball?’

‘I wrote to her Grace, reminding her that she was my mother’s godmother and begging the privilege of an invitation, as I found myself unexpectedly in town.’

‘You are well connected, my lord.’ Lily made it sound like an insult. ‘I am sure her Grace will be delighted to have received a man who looks as though he has just staggered out of a tavern brawl, and who promptly starts another one in her ball room.’

‘I did not start a brawl here and I imagined—obviously foolishly—that you would be glad that I floored Lord Dover-court on your account, even if it was in a tavern.’

‘What you do in taverns, my lord, is entirely your affair. Good evening. You can leave by that door over there. At least you will not be seen.’

‘I have no intention of leaving, Miss France. I came here to enjoy the ball, and I fully intend doing just that. Might I suggest that you take that door yourself? It would not do to appear to be engaging in clandestine assignations, now would it?’

Something very like a growl emerged from Lily’s throat, then she turned in a swish of skirts and stalked back towards the screen. An impression that had been niggling at the back of Jack’s mind surfaced. ‘Lily?’

‘What now?’

‘Have you changed your hairstyle?’

‘Oh! You … you man, you!’ She seized the nearest weapon, a bowl brimming with bonbons, and threw it with remarkable accuracy at his head. Ducking in a shower of fine sugar, Jack perceived that his innocent question had infuriated her at least as much as anything else that evening.

Women! Or, at least, this one. Damn it, he was proposing to go and risk his life for her honour and what did she do? Treat him to a Cheltenham tragedy, that’s what. She had not even mentioned the duel. The door slammed behind her as he brushed himself down.

Well, he had introduced himself to society in his true colours, he had achieved his aim of calling Randall to book and now he was here, dressed up like a damned dandy, he was going to dance at the ball, whatever Rich Miss Moneybags had to say about it. The simmering anger subsided into a stubborn resolution not to let Lily France get the better of him, which, given that he loved the woman to distraction, did nothing for his common sense and everything to put a sharp edge of reckless danger into his mood.

He ran a hand through his modish crop, grimacing at the unfamiliar feel of it, and opened the door on to the heat and light of the ballroom.

Lily swept down the corridor and abruptly round a corner, only to stop short. The woman approaching her stopped too, then Lily realised that she was looking at her own, almost unrecognizable, reflection. A furious, imperious stranger stared back at her, hair swept up, elegant gown still fluttering from the speed of her steps, colour high. She looked magnificent—there was no point in false modesty. She had utterly altered the way she looked for Jack, and all the insensitive, unobservant beast could think of to say was to ask her if she had changed her hairstyle!

It was much easier to be angry about that than it was to think about anything else: all the reasons why she hurt so much inside, all the hideous images of death or wounding that rose up if she thought about the duel. If she thought about those, about how much she loved Jack—stubborn, pig-headed, beast that he was—she would cry. And he was not worth crying about. She stamped her foot and the troubled green eyes looking back at her seemed to protest silently that he was.

Lily unfurled her fan with a snap and opened the door into the ballroom. Here she was a success. Here she was admired. Doubtless here were dozens of men who would be honoured to marry her.

‘Miss France? Our cotillion, I believe.’

‘Of course.’ She directed a glittering smile at Mr Fancot, tossed her diamond earbobs and allowed herself to be led out to take her place in the set. They had worked through the first set of changes and figures and were just going down the grand chain when Lily caught a glimpse of the set on the other side of the room. There, cheerfully smiling at his partner and executing a rigadoon as though he did it every day of the week, was Jack Lovell. Lord Allerton.

Lily lost her place, found she was holding out the wrong hand for the circle and hastily corrected herself. What was he doing here still?

‘Are you all right, Miss France?’

‘I am sorry, Mr Fancot, merely a moment’s inattention.’

The demands of the cotillion were enough to keep her attention focused until it ended, but she was searching the room for him as Mr Fancot led her off. Would Jack approach her? Would he have the intolerable effrontery to ask her for a dance? She would soon deal with him if he did.

Unfortunately, he did not give her that satisfaction. Lily danced every dance, even when her feet were aching and she wanted nothing more than to sit one out and take a little refreshment. And Jack—Lord Allerton—danced every one as well. He had no shortage of partners, and no lack of skill either, she observed resentfully.

And then it was the last waltz on the programme, with just the closing cotillion yet to come. Lily watched the approach of her partner, Mr Beresford, second son of the Earl of Stan-don. He was pompous, he was crashingly boring, but he was also one of the handsomest men in London, and every young lady present felt that to dance with him could only lend them distinction.

Before he reached her, Jack was at her side. ‘Miss France, our dance, I believe?’

‘It is not, my lord, you are mistaken. I am promised to Mr Beresford.’ Lily produced a glittering smile for the gentleman.

‘Miss France, how could you forget? I am wounded. You promised me this last dance only the other day.’ There was a shadow of emphasis on last.

Punctiliously Mr Beresford bowed. ‘Lord Allerton, I would naturally not wish to intrude.’

‘But—’ Lily found her hand firmly possessed and then she was on the dance floor, held in such a way that she could only escape by a very obvious struggle. ‘Let me go!’

‘Smile, Lily. People will be watching.’

‘I will not!’ He swept her round as the music started and Lily found she could not dance and quarrel at the same time—not without falling over her own feet, at any rate. She plastered a complaisant smile on her lips and glared at him with her eyes. ‘Lout.’

‘Cat.’

‘Stubborn, pig-headed, snobbish, deceitful, odious man—’

‘Meddling, patronising, vulgar, spoilt brat.’

‘How dare you speak to me like that!’

‘I have absolutely no wish to speak to you at all.’ Jack said it so blandly that it took Lily’s breath away and she found herself whisked through the terrace doors and out into the open air before she had a chance to protest. ‘I just want to do this.’

The kiss was an outrageous, arrogant gesture that rocked her back against his constraining arm. She could feel her heartbeat thundering in her breast, her whole body yearning towards him even as she strained away. Her hands were trapped, one in his grasp, the other pressed against his chest. When he released her she staggered, too shaken to slap him as he so richly deserved.

‘Goodbye, Lily, my love. Good luck finding your lord.’ He paused on the threshold of the ballroom, outlined in dark elegance for a moment against the rich gold brocade, smiling back at her as she stood panting with fury and arousal on the flags. ‘I do like your hair.’

‘Well, I do not like yours!’ she flung back childishly. But he was gone.

Somehow Lily got herself back into the ballroom, danced the final cotillion with perfect grace and an absolute lack of awareness, made her farewells and thanks to the duchess and, at long last, sank back against the squabs in the carriage.

‘You may well sigh,’ Lady Billington remarked, settling down opposite her. ‘What an evening, I declare I am quite worn out and I was not dancing. You must have holes in the soles of your shoes, Lily dear.

‘But what a success you were. And, of course, there was that incredible revelation when your Mr Lovell turned out to be an earl. I can recall his father, now I come to think of it—a more classically handsome man than the son. What a surprise that he appeared at the ball tonight.’

‘He came to challenge Lord Randall to a duel,’ Lily said listlessly. Her temper had ebbed into sick anticlimax, her feet ached and she was filled with the miserable realisation that not only had Jack hurt her abominably, but that she had been cruelly unfair to him. And that he was now in peril of his life. Because of her.

‘But why?’ Jane Billington dropped her reticule as she sat bolt upright.

‘Over Adrian’s insults to me.’ Oh, God, Jack is going to die. Or he will kill Adrian and then he will be a fugitive. Or be hanged. And it is all my fault. I love him and I let my wretched pride and my temper rule me and now I have lost him for ever. ‘Lady Billington, what can I do to stop it?’

‘Nothing! Good heavens, child, that would be a disaster—a scandal. And in any case, nothing you can do would stop them. A challenge is a matter of honour—they cannot withdraw now, not without one of them apologising.’

‘I’ll inform on them,’ Lily said vehemently, as the carriage lurched round a corner, hitting the kerb and throwing her against the door post. She pushed herself upright without noticing. ‘I’ll find out where it is and inform at the magistrates’ office.’

‘They will just go elsewhere. It is a matter of honour, Lily.’

‘I have to stop it. I love him.’

‘Who, Lord Randall? Surely not.’

‘No.’ Lily’s breath escaped in a little, gasping sob. ‘Jack Lovell.’

‘You mean once you discovered he was an earl?’

‘No, before then. Days ago. I did not care that he was poor and had no title. I proposed to him and he turned me down.’

‘You did what? Of all the fast, forward, imprudent things to have done! Why, he might have made any sort of capital out of that, taken any sort of advantage. And he is so ineligible.’ She caught herself up, and although Lily could not see her companion’s face in the darkness, she could imagine her calculating expression. ‘Only he is not ineligible any more, is he?’

‘It is too late,’ Lily said bitterly. ‘He turned me down. After all, he does not love me, I insulted him by the way I handled it and now we have just had a blazing row.’

‘But he is fighting over your honour.’ Lady Billington sounded thoroughly confused.

‘I know. But I think he would do so for any lady of his acquaintance. And he has his own score to settle with Adrian Randall from a long time ago.’ Lily stared out blindly into the street. ‘I must stop it. I will stop it.’

‘Impossible, Miss France!’ Lord Gledhill stared at her, aghast. Whether it was over her demand that he stop the duel or whether it was her presence in his rooms that shocked him most she was unsure. ‘This is all most improper. I cannot discuss a matter of honour with you—’

‘Even if it is my honour?’ she interjected tartly.

‘Even so. Especially so. And you should not be here. What if anyone saw you arrive and enter?’

‘In an unmarked carriage and veiled? But this is irrelevant. Lord Gledhill, you are Lord Allerton’s second—why cannot you stop this nonsense?’

‘Because to do so, without Lord Allerton receiving an apology from Lord Randall, would be to acknowledge that my principal’s accusations were untrue and would label him a coward and a liar.’

‘Oh.’ Lily sank down in the nearest chair, her knees suddenly weak. ‘What are they fighting with?’

‘Pistols, thank goodness.’ Lord Gledhill, still looking thoroughly harried, sat down too.

‘Why is that a good thing? Would not swords be safer?’

‘Lord Allerton, although a reasonable fencer, admits that he is out of practice. He is, however, a very good shot.’ He must have noticed her confused expression, for he added, ‘Why then should Lord Randall choose pistols, you are wondering? Because he does not know how well Lord Allerton shoots, and I suspect that he would prefer to use pistols at a distance against a man who presents a larger target than he does, and whose physical presence he may well find intimidating at close quarters.’

Larger target. Lily felt quite ill. She swallowed the solid lump in her throat. ‘Do you at least have a good surgeon engaged?’

‘Naturally. It is up to Lord Randall to provide his own should he wish to, but I have engaged Dr Ord. A most excellent physician.’

‘Yes. Yes, that at least is a relief, he is very experienced. When is it to be?’

‘Miss France, I must decline to tell you. Duelling is illegal. I have no intention of placing you in a position where you have prior knowledge of such a thing.’

In case I inform on them. Lily assumed an expression of spurious meekness. ‘I understand, Lord Gledhill. Please … please take care of Lord Allerton. I would not like to think that any gentleman should be hurt in defence of my honour.’

‘Of course, ma’am, let me get the door for you. Your veil ma’am!’

Lily found herself almost bundled out of the bachelor dwelling and into her carriage. She waited until the vehicle had turned the corner, then pulled the check string. ‘Dr Ord’s house, please, William.’

The doctor was at home, as Lily suspected he would be, for this was his normal time to receive patients who preferred to call rather than to be visited. When his housekeeper showed her in, he rose.

‘My dear Miss France! You had but to send for me and I would have attended upon you immediately. Have you been taken ill while out driving?’

‘No. I am quite well, thank you.’ Lily settled her veil back tidily and sat down. ‘Dr Ord, I understand that you have been engaged on a matter of some delicacy by Lord Gledhill.’ She could see the denial on his face before he spoke and added, ‘I should tell you that I have just come from his lordship.’

‘Then, yes, I can confirm that he has requested my presence at a location on Hampstead Heath tomorrow morning. Naturally I do not have certain knowledge of the reason my presence has been requested.’

‘Quite.’ Lily could be as dry as he. ‘But how fortunate that you will be on hand should any accident befall a gentleman. At what time do you intend leaving London?’

The doctor looked startled. ‘At five, Miss France. But why do you ask?’

‘Because I would like you to collect me on your way, if you please.’

‘Certainly not! Miss France, you may not fully comprehend the nature of this business—’

‘I most certainly do. A duel is to take place in defence of my honour and I intend to be there. If you do not take me up, I will go alone. I have no intention of intervening, or being seen. I just wish to be there and to find out what happens.’

‘Miss France.’ He got to his feet and took an agitated stride across the room. ‘If you insist, I will tell you upon my return. I will call upon you as soon as I reach London again.’

‘No, that is not good enough.’ If she was to find herself responsible for a household of women whose son and brother had been killed on her account, she wanted to know at once. Thinking in such brutally practical terms was the only way Lily believed she could get by until this was all over.

‘It is most improper. You should not be driving alone in a carriage with a man, and I doubt very much that your chaperon will be with you!’

‘If I can be alone in my bedchamber in a state of undress with you, Doctor, I think I can cope with your company in a carriage,’ Lily retorted. ‘I mean this—if you do not take me, I will go by myself.’

‘Very well. You leave me no choice. I will be at your door at five.’