Читать книгу The Rake's Defiant Mistress - Mary Brendan, Mary Brendan - Страница 9

Chapter Four

‘Would you like something to drink?’ Clayton asked, having escorted Ruth to a chair close to the fire.

A console table was dotted with sparkling crystal and he picked up each decanter then, following a brief inspection, knowledgeably identified its contents for her to choose which she would like.

‘A small sherry would be nice, thank you,’ Ruth said quickly on noticing Clayton was still awaiting her answer.

Clayton approached to hand over her drink and then took the chair opposite. Ruth watched surreptitiously as he stretched out his long legs in front of him and turned his head towards the mesmerising dance in the fire.

His lean profile was softened by the warm glow, his blond hair burnished to an autumn sheen. In his long

fingers a brandy balloon gently oscillated. Far from being interested in continuing to flirt with her, or to engage in a little more light-hearted banter, he seemed to Ruth to have forgotten she existed and to have plunged deep into his own thoughts. Perhaps he thought to pay her back for her preoccupation moments ago. Thus, confident she was unobserved, she deemed it safe to slowly study him.

Ruth knew that a good deal of the gentlemen of the ton favoured bright colours and all manner of fobs and trinkets as personal adornments. This man was no dandified peacock. He was elegantly rather than fashionably clothed in a dark tailcoat and trousers and his person seemed devoid of jewellery. Then she noticed a heavy gold signet ring as it winked on a finger of the hand that was swinging the glass. Her eyes slipped on and a glint of gold could be seen where a watch reposed low in a waistcoat pocket.

She lifted her eyes from his lap and immediately her face flooded with blood. Unwisely she took a swift gulp of her sherry, then tried to quell the burning in her throat with fingers that flew to press her mouth. How long had he been watching her look him over in so vulgar a fashion?

‘Would you like another?’ Clayton asked with soft mockery and a deliberate glance at her depleted glass.

‘No…no, thank you. I was looking…that is, you seem rather melancholy, sir. I didn’t mean to stare.’

‘I’m sure you didn’t…or rather, you didn’t mean me to see you at it.’

Ruth’s dark eyes flashed dangerously at him. ‘As you didn’t mean to be caught eyeing me earlier?’

Just before Clayton despatched his cognac in a single swallow he said, ‘I’ve no objection at all in you knowing I think you attractive.’

For a long moment Ruth simply sat quite still, her eyes on the fire. Would it be best to thank him briefly for the compliment? Or should she ignore what he’d said as simple flattery from a notorious philanderer? Just a short while ago she’d learned from Sarah that Sir Clayton Powell was an incorrigible rake.

‘Perhaps we should think of something else to talk about,’ Ruth suggested calmly. ‘You know a little about my family history—would you tell me a little about yours?’

A humourless noise issued from Clayton’s throat. ‘I take it you would like to discover why I’m no longer married?’

Astonishment kept Ruth momentarily speechless, her eyes captured by his, her soft lips quivering and slightly parted. Sir Clayton Powell was certainly a bluff individual! Or perhaps he reserved such shocking candour for women he deemed to be too inquisitive? She had not wanted to pry into his personal life. She’d hoped, as he knew she had lost her father, they might have an innocent chat about his parents or his siblings. A slow anger burned in Ruth, boosting her determination to regain her composure and give him the answer he deserved.

‘On the contrary, sir, I have no interest in your marital status,’ she snapped icily.

‘Have you not?’ he enquired. ‘Well, you must be the only female of my acquaintance under fifty who has not.’

‘And you must be the only gentleman of my acquaintance who has the arrogance to suppose I might care to know whether or not he has a wife.’ That fierce declamation came after quite a pause and in a voice suffocated with indignation. How quickly he could change from charming companion to cynical churl.

‘So you didn’t know that I’m divorced?’ Clayton challenged softly, his eyes fixed pitilessly on her face.

A betraying flush began to creep under Ruth’s skin. She did know. Just today she had discovered from Sarah that Clayton had once been married. She wished she could honestly say she was ignorant of his mésalliance with Priscilla and had no interest in knowing of it. But, in truth, while quietly sitting with him, she had pondered on why a handsome and wealthy aristocrat would make a disastrous match. And, had Sarah not already told her, she could have easily deduced from his attitude that his divorce had left him extremely bitter.

Clayton watched Ruth fidget and blush beneath his gaze and his lips slanted in a hard smile. It seemed he’d touched on a nerve. He had agreed to journey to Willowdene on the spur of the moment after Gavin suggested he distance himself from Loretta and her pathetic scheming. Perhaps his invitation to spend a little time in the country with the Tremaynes hadn’t been as impromptu or philanthropic as it had seemed. Had Sarah given Gavin instructions to persuade him to come because she had an ulterior motive?

He liked Sarah very much. He envied Gavin for having such a lovely wife. But that didn’t alter the fact that every society hostess of his acquaintance had made it her business at least once to try to pair him off with a nubile friend or relative.

‘Did the Viscountess tell you I would be invited to dine here this evening?’ he asked bluntly.

Finally, Ruth understood what was prompting his sardonic questions. He was not so much bothered that she knew he had lost his wife as that she might have designs on replacing her. Her lips tightened as a ferocious anger bubbled inside. The nerve of the man! He seriously believed she might have collaborated with Sarah to trap him! No doubt he also believed she’d schemed at having this time alone with him. ‘I believe I’ve already said I didn’t know you would be coming from London with the Viscount,’ Ruth reminded him in a frigid tone. ‘And when I mentioned your family it was not with the intention of discovering if you were a husband or a father. You know my father died because we briefly spoke about it when last you were in Willowdene. I was simply making a polite enquiry as to the health of your kin.’ With no table close to hand, Ruth put down her empty glass on the hearthstone and stood up. ‘I had hoped our hosts’ unexpected absence might not become an ordeal for either of us. Unfortunately, it has…’

The thought of staying here, alone, with this conceited swine was now unbearable to Ruth. She didn’t want to upset Sarah by leaving, but if the snow had cleared—even just a little bit—she would go home. In truth, she wished she’d not agreed to come at all. And that angered her, for her longed-for reunion with Sarah had been spoiled through no fault of her own.

Swiftly she went to the long window that looked out on to the grounds of the Manor. She twitched back the heavy velvet curtain, then folded back the shutter just enough to peep at the night. The whiteness glistened back at her; lifting her eyes to the heavens, she saw small sparkling droplets defiantly descending. With heavy heart and a soundless sigh of regret she turned back in to the library.

Clayton had also left his chair and was refilling his glass from the decanter. He tossed back the brandy and his blond head remained tilted towards the ceiling for some time before he addressed Ruth.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t know why I said what I did.’ His hands plunged into his pockets, withdrew almost immediately. ‘Well, perhaps I do, but, whatever my mood, I had no right to make my problems yours. I behaved with unforgivable rudeness just now. Unfortunately, my manners seem to be sadly lacking this evening.’

‘It’s heartening to know that you believe you possess some,’ Ruth responded coolly, only a little mollified by his apology.

A small noise issued from Clayton’s throat that could have been a mirthless laugh. ‘I take it from your disappointed expression that the snow hasn’t melted enough for you to flee my boorish company and allow you to go home.’

‘You’re very perceptive, sir,’ Ruth replied and slid a book from a shelf to peruse the cover.

‘Come…sit down again, please,’ Clayton invited. ‘It’s impossible for either of us to make our escape and I wouldn’t want a bad atmosphere to ruin our evening with our friends.’

‘No more would I,’ Ruth answered with some asperity, yet she didn’t give him the courtesy of a glance. Busily she turned the pages of the book, though she saw not a single word or picture on the fluttering pages.

‘Come back to the fire,’ Clayton urged gently. ‘It looks to be quite draughty over there.’

Immediately Ruth ceased rubbing absently at an arm to warm it. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he was correct or that he could make her do his bidding.

‘Gavin and Sarah will join us soon,’ Clayton said persuasively. ‘I promise you I shall be returning to town tomorrow, whatever the weather.’

‘There is no need for you to risk such a journey,’ Ruth said briskly and deposited the book back on the shelf. ‘I haven’t so far to go. I shall go home in the morning.’ Ruth prayed inwardly that she might be able to do just that. From what she had seen through the window a moment ago, it seemed unlikely that the conditions would improve overnight. The snow had started to fall again, very lightly, but if it settled the condition of the roads might be yet more hazardous.

‘Well, let’s not squabble over who insists on leaving first,’ Clayton said with a return to rueful humour. ‘It’s enough that we’ve both seen fit to offer to do so.’

Inwardly Clayton was cursing himself to the devil. He had been enjoying Ruth’s company. There was a quiet grace about her that he found as enchanting as her physical beauty. Yet, despite his fascination with his lovely companion, he couldn’t quite block from his mind the memory of his minx of a mistress.

Loretta’s plotting had prompted him to take up Gavin’s offer of a sojourn in the country. Even at a distance she was constantly infiltrating his mind as he pondered on whether he ought to have stayed in Mayfair and sorted out the mischief she seemed determined to concoct. He had no reason to apologise to Pomfrey. He’d done nothing wrong. His relationship with Loretta had been established when Pomfrey asked her to marry him. And now it was over. Yet he felt as though he ought to make contact with the man and reassure him that, whatever Loretta said, he didn’t want her as his wife, now or ever.

‘Ah! There you are, Ruth. I’m sorry I abandoned you,’ Sarah happily chirped, entering the room in a shimmy of pretty lemon silk. ‘When Rosie said you were taking a nap it seemed wrong to wake you.’ Her sparkling eyes settled on Clayton. ‘Good! You have had Sir Clayton to keep you company. Have you been having a nice chat?’ Sarah sent a winsome smile to her husband, a few paces behind, to include him in her chatter.

A protracted pause was breached by Clayton saying lazily, ‘Mrs Hayden has been diverting company. She told me you appreciate listening to her sing and play the piano.’

A look of startled disbelief froze Ruth’s features. An expressive glance demanded he say no more on the subject. He returned her an easy smile that promised nothing.

‘Ruth is very accomplished,’ Sarah said with a proud look at her friend. ‘And she is far too modest. It takes a lot of persuasion to get her to perform even one song.’

Gavin appeared rather more perceptive to the frost in the atmosphere than did his vivacious spouse. He sent his friend a penetrating look that terminated in a slight, quizzical elevation of dark brows.

‘I’m famished and I expect our guests must be too.’ Gavin took his wife’s dainty fingers and placed them on his arm. ‘Come, we can talk at the table. Let us go in to dine.’

‘Oh, you must stay here tonight, Ruth. I can lend you whatever you need. It’s impossible to travel even a short distance in such atrocious weather.’ Sarah gaily sent that instruction back over an elegant shoulder as she allowed her husband to steer her towards their dinner.

With elaborate courtesy Clayton extended a hand to Ruth. After giving him a sharp glance, she lifted five stiff fingers on to his sleeve. She wanted to berate him for bringing musical entertainment to Sarah’s attention. She guessed that was what he wanted her to do, so she swallowed the reprimand. In silence they followed their friends towards the dining room.

After several courses of fine food and several glasses of mellow ruby wine, Ruth had relaxed enough to overcome her annoyance and allow her eyes to meet Clayton’s. Throughout the meal so far she’d often sensed him looking at her. On the few occasions he’d addressed her directly there had been no hint of challenge or mockery in his polite conversation and she imagined he had consciously made an effort to leave behind in the library his conceit and irascibility.

Their hosts were indeed fine company and there had been no lapse in genial chatter. They had discussed the start of the Season in London and, more lengthily, matters closer to home. Clayton had been interested to know how the unexpected snowfall might affect people in the villages obtaining necessary supplies and going about their business. His own country estate lay far to the south-west of the country, he’d explained to Ruth, where such bad weather was uncommon. He had added that he rarely visited it—being too fond of town living—so had thus far never been inconvenienced by the vagaries of the seasons. What a boon and a curse could be the weather! It had provided an ample source of neutral conversation, yet it also had trapped her here!

‘Do you spend time in London during the Season, Mrs Hayden?’

Ruth placed down her spoon and gave Clayton a rather startled glance. She hadn’t been expecting such a leading question. ‘I don’t, sir. I haven’t been to London since I lived there as a child.’

‘And whereabouts did you live?’

‘Close to Chelsea, in Willoughby Street,’ Ruth supplied and gave her attention to her pudding, taking a dainty mouthful of syllabub.

‘Ah…I know it,’ Clayton said pleasantly, undeterred by her hint that the subject was closed. ‘A friend of mine, Keith Storey, lived there with his parents until he took a wife.’

Ruth gave a spontaneous smile at being reminded of the family. ‘I knew them; my parents were friendly with Mr. and Mrs Storey.’

‘And did you move to the country while still young?’

‘No, sir.’ Ruth again placed down her spoon, feeling a little miffed. He had no hesitation in interrogating her over her past, yet had become unpleasant at the first mention of discussing his. ‘My parents moved to Fernlea after my marriage. I moved here to live with my father nine years ago; he was by then a widower.’ Ruth turned quickly to her right and said to Sarah the first thing that came into her head. ‘Little James had a pain earlier. I think the poor mite had colic.’

‘He does suffer with it,’ Sarah answered, well aware of her friend’s wish to curtail a conversation with Clayton that must lead eventually to her late husband and perhaps the manner of his death. ‘Mrs Plover,’ she named the housekeeper, ‘has a remedy for it. Just a small spoonful of the stuff seems to put him to rights. She’s quite a marvel with her pills and potions. And she’s of enormous help with planning extravagant menus and so on.’

‘On which note, I must thank you for a delicious dinner,’ Ruth said graciously, indicating she’d eaten her fill.

A polite murmur of assent came from Clayton as he too laid aside his cutlery.

‘Well…shall we leave the gentlemen to their port?’ Sarah suggested.

Ruth gave her a grateful smile. She could always rely on Sarah to sense her mood. Her friend knew very well she was keen to escape any further of Clayton’s probing questions.

‘If James is abed, we can bid him goodnight even if he is asleep.’

As the door closed on the two strikingly attractive ladies—one very fair, one very dark—Gavin gave his friend a wry glance and a measure of port he’d dispensed from the decanter. ‘I take it you’re glad you came.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘I’d need to be a blind man not to notice you’re smitten by Mrs Hayden.’

‘And I’d need to be a cynic to think that perhaps you’re glad of that. As we both know, I’m a cynic.’

Gavin grimaced bemusement. ‘I’m not good with riddles. What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Did you know that Mrs Hayden would be here when you asked me to come home with you?’

‘Of course I did,’ Gavin said and lounged contentedly back in to his chair. ‘Sarah was keen to see her best friend straight away. I still don’t see…’ A look of amused enlightenment crossed his rugged features. ‘Ah, you think Sarah has some maggot in her head about matchmaking the two of you.’

‘It wouldn’t be the first, or the hundredth, time a lady had arranged a dinner party for just that purpose. So, am I correct?’

‘No,’ Gavin said bluntly and sipped at his port. ‘You might have designs on Ruth, but, not to put too fine a point on it, my friend, I doubt she has any interest in you.’ Gavin gave Clayton a cautionary look. ‘She’s no man’s mistress…not even yours, no matter how generous you’re feeling. Take my word on it.’

Clayton sat back in his chair and fondled the stem of his glass with long fingers. His slate-grey eyes watched the crystal as it performed a balletic twirl. ‘Is she spoken for?’

‘Sarah told me earlier this evening that Ruth’s recently received a proposal of marriage.’ Gavin refilled his glass and pushed the decanter towards Clayton. ‘Her suitor is by all accounts a pillar of society here in Willowdene. Don’t ask more,’ he said ruefully. ‘I’ve been indiscreet as it is. Sarah adores Ruth, and with good reason. Ruth was a loyal friend and a support when Sarah was very much alone and in need of help,’ he explained gruffly. ‘I’d hate Ruth to think I’d spoken out of turn.’

Clayton nodded acceptance of that. ‘He’s a lucky chap, whoever he is.’

‘Indeed,’ Gavin murmured. He sent a subtle look at his brooding friend and amusement tipped his lips upwards.

He knew, of course, that Clayton was a hardened cynic where women were concerned. Clayton’s wife had made a complete fool of him by acting like a seasoned trollop throughout their short marriage. Since his divorce ambitious women had constantly thrown themselves at him, hoping to take her place. He was mercilessly hounded by every mama with aspirations of marrying her débutante daughter to a man of great wealth and lineage—when Clayton’s octogenarian grandfather died he would take a clutch of titles to add to the baronetcy he already had.

It seemed the longer Sir Clayton Powell remained stubbornly single, the more of a challenge the hostesses seemed to find him. Gavin knew that wagers had been laid amongst the ton’s grandes dames as to which of them might finally snare him for a favoured niece or goddaughter.

Clayton knew of their scheming too, and their ulterior motives. He knew he was wanted at their balls for what he had rather than himself. The more desperate they became to have him attend their functions, the more reluctant he became to turn up. The fact that his friend would choose to spend his evenings at the theatre with a demi-rep, or gambling with male friends, rather than socialise with women of his own class, spoke volumes about his friend’s attitude to courtship and marriage. In fact, Gavin mused, he would not be at all surprised to learn that Clayton had badly misjudged the situation tonight and treated Ruth as though she were some mercenary temptress with an eye on his wallet. It would certainly explain the frost he’d sensed in the atmosphere when he and Sarah had joined them in the library.

A soundless laugh tickled Gavin’s throat. He imagined from Clayton’s rather mystified expression that he was still wondering why Mrs Hayden had refused to flutter her eyelashes and gaze adoringly at him, as did every other single woman of his acquaintance. He could have told his friend that, in fact, Mrs Hayden had turned down the doctor’s proposal, but for some reason he had not. And it was not just because in another respect he’d told Clayton the truth.

Ruth would undoubtedly be better off financially as a rich man’s paramour, but in Gavin’s opinion she would hold out for a man to love, and to love her, before she slept with him.