Читать книгу The Complete Regency Bestsellers And One Winters Collection - Rebecca Winters - Страница 61

‘But it suits you, Lia, and there is no earthly reason that after eight years away from society you cannot at least show off a few of your charms.’

Leonora’s voice crowded in upon doubts as Aurelia looked at herself in the full-length mirror to one end of her sister’s room. The emerald gown seemed to glow under the sunlight slanting in from the windows, making her hair look redder and her skin more pale. ‘I do not know. It is awfully tight here and very low there.’ She pulled at the heavy silk, trying to make the décolletage rise up further over the swell of her breasts.

‘It seems low only because you insist on wearing that ghastly high-necked black dress which is a hundred years out of date.’

Her sister’s exaggeration made her smile, though a more sobering thought overtook the humour. Perhaps it was time to be the person she should have become before it was too late. For a whole two weeks she had worried as to what might be the outcome of her foolish attempt to bribe Lord Hawkhurst for his continued silence. Every day she had watched for members of the constabulary to come and take her away. Like a sword about to descend. Like walking on eggshells. When exactly would he testify against her and ruin what little reputation she still retained? Lord, perhaps this might be her last chance to wear a gown such as this one.

Shaking her head, she resolved to listen to her sister. The dress had been fashioned by a most respectable seamstress on the advice of Leonora and, with the proper accessories, would hardly be considered ‘racy’.

‘It’s not as if we never receive cards any more, Lia, and Rodney was most insistent that you come with us tonight. Besides, a masked soirée is a perfect opportunity for you to have some fun for you hardly ever go out save to the warehouse and the park with Papa on a Monday. If you tarry too much longer, your chance of anything different will be gone, don’t you see, and I want you to be happy.’

Aurelia smiled and when her sister leaned over and kissed her on the cheek she took another quick look at herself. The mask would largely hide her face and if she left before midnight she would have a good chance of remaining anonymous. Hawkhurst would be there—she had heard from Rodney Northrup himself—and it had been that fact that had propelled her headlong into considering putting in an appearance.

She wanted to see Lord Hawkhurst, even from afar. She wanted to be in a room where he was, breathing the same air and seeing the same things that he did because since their contretemps at his town house she had not heard anything at all from him.

The very thought of it made her worry. Should she not cut her losses and simply disappear altogether? A feat more easily accomplished without three sisters all requiring the help of society to find husbands, a very sick father to care for and a business that needed her at the helm for a few months longer.

‘Elizabeth Berkeley was in tears last night at the Sorensons’. Lydia Sorenson whipped her away before anyone could enquire what was wrong, but it seems Lord Stephen Hawkhurst might be a part of the problem.’

Breathing in slowly, Aurelia feigned the least bit of interest as she picked at a thread hanging loose from her sleeve. ‘In what way?’

‘Perhaps he has cried off from offering his hand in marriage. Rodney says his sister Lady Lindsay was never certain about such a match.’

‘But Cassandra Lindsay told me Lady Elizabeth was lovely.’

‘Lovely for a younger man, perhaps. Lord Hawkhurst needs a woman of more substance and resource.’

The words did not seem the sort Leonora would have normally used. ‘Rodney told you that?’

‘He did.’ She clapped her hands across her mouth. ‘Though on reflection he asked me to say nothing of it to anyone and I should have respected his wishes.’ She paused for a moment and Aurelia knew that there was something on her mind. ‘The thing is…Lord Hawkhurst specifically asked if you were coming tonight. I heard him enquire when he was speaking to Rodney the day before yesterday.’

Despite trying not to, Aurelia reddened and felt the unwelcome glance of her sister’s puzzlement upon her. Would he wish to speak to her about Charles? She had promised him a letter, after all, but had not penned it because it was too precarious to entrust such a secret to a man whose motives she did not comprehend. Could the whole evening be a trap?

‘Everyone says Lord Hawkhurst is a dangerous man, Lia.’

‘I do not need a warning to stay away from him, Leonora, if that is what you fear.’

Her sister frowned. ‘There is something about him that reminds me of you.’ When Aurelia stayed silent with shock Leonora went on to explain. ‘He cares not a whit for the good opinion of others whilst shepherding what little that remains of his family out of the range of any unkindness, and he has a certain menace that is…beguiling. All of the women in society are half in love with him, of course, even given his wildness, but the men admire him, too.’

‘Then I cannot see much that is alike between us.’

‘He holds secrets and keeps others out.’

‘You think that of me?’

‘Sometimes I wish you would allow us to help you more. There are things we could do, after all, if only you would let us.’

Turning away, Aurelia nodded. Leonora had grown up over the past few weeks and was no longer the girl she had been. Rodney’s influence, she supposed, and was grateful.

‘We could help at the warehouse sorting silks and Prudence could do your books. She is most adept at figures, after all, and seldom makes any mistakes. Besides, when I am married to Rodney I can bring the girls out…’

‘He has asked you?’

‘Not yet, but I think that he will, Lia, I really do.’

An image of herself eight years earlier came to mind. She had told her father of Charles’s offer and of her wish to accept it and had been startled by his lack of joy. If only she had listened to his caution and cried off.

‘Things will be better, Lia, I know they will be. Soon we will have money to buy the things we need and a proper nurse for Papa. I shall have pin money and servants and a house that is so very beautiful—’

Aurelia stopped her, the frozen ache of her own mistakes marking her next query. ‘But would you still love Rodney if he possessed none of these things?’

The smile stayed in her sister’s blue eyes. ‘Of course I would. If we lived in a tiny cottage with only a single table and two chairs, I should be happy.’

Unlike me, Aurelia thought. So easy to see the stupidity in your own blunders from a distance in time, a hapless eighteen-year-old with the promise of freedom close. Any other suitor would have done her better; a dozen swains and she had taken the one man whose words were empty and whose character was flawed. Decisions held consequences that changed the circumstances of every year that followed. Of all the people in the world she was the one to know this; a wilful debutante who could not be told.

In her mistakes a lack of confidence had crept in; an uncertainty over any choice involving relationships had kept her a prisoner ever since.

At Medlands there had been friends of Charles who had made advances which she had refused—even in London men had come calling. Good men, respected men, men that did not listen to the rumours that swirled about her. But she had never been interested, not even slightly, because as her first freely given choice had been such a mistake it had left her…wary. Yes, that was the exact word. Until Stephen Hawkhurst had kissed her at Taylor’s Gap and she had known to the very bottom of her heart that she wanted more.

Fanning her hand, she enjoyed the cold air upon her face. How ironic it was that just when she was beginning to feel in control of her own destiny it might all be taken away.

He knew it was Aurelia St Harlow even from a distance and dressed in a gown that made every other woman in the room pale into insignificance—bright emerald silk, the colour of the sea in the south of France in summer. Her hair this evening was piled into curls, an artful coiffure of living flame, and her lips were full and sensuous beneath the line of the mask.

‘Why the hell would Charles’s widow wear black for so long when with only a bit of colour she can turn out like that?’ Nat’s voice held an uncertain admiration.

‘Perhaps because she no longer mourns her husband?’ Cassie offered and looked directly at Hawkhurst. ‘It seems that startling beauty can overcome even a ruined reputation. Word is much of the ton has abandoned their dislike of her after the touching show of familial solidarity at your ball.’

‘O Fortune, all men call thee fickle…’ Hawkhurst recited, watching as a bevy of young and old suitors lined up to speak with Aurelia St Harlow.

‘Lady Allum does not look like she has been swayed by public opinion, though is that not her youngest son amongst those awaiting an audience?’

Nathaniel laughed at his wife’s remark. ‘The sons of half the ton seem to be queuing up, and with Mrs St Harlow’s charms so generously on display I can see why.’ He laughed even more as Cassie swatted her fan across his arm, catching her hand as she did so and bringing it to his lips.

Hawkhurst looked away. Both of his friends had found women who completed them, strong women with their own sense of place and backbone.

Women like Aurelia St Harlow.

Tipping up his glass, he watched her, the ornamental trees placed in careful rows and bedecked in lights, giving his cousin’s widow the appearance of an angel held in an unearthly grotto.

He was glad Elizabeth Berkeley and her family were not in attendance, for he did not wish to endure their eyes upon his back. No, tonight in a room of stars and trees and colour he felt the sort of anticipation he couldn’t remember sensing for a very long time, the promise of something magical and bewitching. Drawing his mask away from his face, he laid it on the top of his head, pleased for the cold air and freedom.

‘Your brother and Leonora Beauchamp seem cosy, Cassie,’ Nat said as the young couple swirled by.

‘She is a very sweet girl and most loyal to her sister. From general conversation it is said that Mrs St Harlow was virtually a prisoner in your cousin’s northern property, Hawk, for all the years of her marriage. Servants talk and the word is Charles was an offhand sort of husband.’

‘Offhand?’

‘Seldom there. He had other pursuits that kept him occupied, by all accounts’

Shaking his head, Hawkhurst pushed back his hair. ‘I was in Europe for much of that time…’ He left it there.

‘Well, we all knew your cousin had a temper and Alfred said Mrs St Harlow was melancholy. At your ball, remember. He said that it was good to see her happier.’

Biting down on a growing frustration, Hawkhurst hailed a passing waiter. This time he chose a non-alcoholic fruit punch because he had a feeling that he might need all his wits about him in the coming hours and the men around Aurelia St Harlow seemed to be multiplying by the second.

If only she could get away from the crush about her she might be able to stalk Lord Hawkhurst and ask him outright just what action he was going to take. She was sick of all this worrying and the champagne that she had been plied with was also beginning to make her understand exactly what it was that she needed to do.

The dress was uncomfortable, as was the mask. Leonora and Rodney were still dancing and away in the distance she got a small glimpse of Hawkhurst and the Lindsays watching her as if she were a…leper.

Freddy Delsarte was here, too—she had seen him when she had first arrived—though he was nowhere in the numbers of those around her and for that she was grateful. Opening her fan, she made an effort to listen to an earl who stood directly beside her.

‘I knew your husband at school, Mrs St Harlow. He was a friend of mine.’

‘Indeed.’ The warning bells had begun, clanging away in the bottom of her consciousness. This was exactly what it was she did not want: reminders of a past life that was shamefully submissive, reminders of her powerlessness and her compliances.

‘If it is a protector you now have a need of—’

She stopped him before he could go further. ‘I need nothing from anyone, my lord.’ She hated the shake of her voice and the roiling sickness that was beginning to build. She hated the colour of her hair and the way this dress emphasised the curves of her body. She hated that she had come here tonight expecting…She could not name it, though her glance again returned to the tall form of Lord Stephen Hawkhurst.

This was all his fault. If he had taken her at her word and exacted the promises she had given him, all would be settled by now and she would not be standing here surrounded by men who looked her up and down as if she were some delicious morsel to be devoured at will.

Well, she had had enough of it all and if her reputation allowed the gentlemen of the ton to act as they were doing here, then it could presumably also work the other way around.

Excusing herself from their company, she opened her fan fully and glided out of the circle of admirers.

She knew he saw her coming, the stillness in him magnified with every step she took as he placed the glass he had just emptied on a table behind him.

‘Lady Lindsay, Lord Lindsay.’ She gave the words formally because she had no knowledge of whether they would deign to reply, and his name followed. ‘Might I have a word in private with you, Lord Hawkhurst?’

Cassandra Lindsay’s smile lit up her face and Aurelia felt her tightness ease. ‘Indeed, Mrs St Harlow. Why, we were just about to dance, were we not, Nathaniel?’

‘Were we? I do not usually…’ her husband began, but as his wife’s gloved hand gripped his arm he stopped. ‘But I suppose if you wish to…’

When they were gone a silence settled, neither comforting nor easy.

‘Emerald suits you,’ Hawkhurst said unexpectedly after a good amount of time, alluding to the colour of her gown. The edged gold in his eyes was brittle sharp.

‘My other dress needed some repair.’ She should not have uttered such a thing, of course, but the night in question simmered between them with every step and breath and she could no longer pretend that it had not happened. Besides, two weeks of thinking about what she might or might not say the next time they met had left her strained and tense.

‘I will send another gown to replace the one I ruined.’

‘No, you will not,’ she whispered tightly, glad for the covering of a mask. ‘I realise, of course, that things were left unsettled between us, my lord, last time we met. And that the letter I promised has not been sent—’

He stopped her with a movement of his hand.

‘Don’t write it. There is danger in anything on paper.’

Protection. For her. It was in his eyes as he looked about them. Always checking. The very knowledge made her move towards him, a shelter amidst turmoil, a refuge from everything that was strange. Here in the very heart of society was a lord who would guard her despite a self-given confession that named her guilty of covering up a crime. She felt the warmth of him against her sleeve in the small place where their arms touched and was glad of it. Just them against the world. What would it feel like if it were a forever thing?

‘Delsarte is here tonight.’

‘I know. He has not approached me, though.’

‘He is dangerous, Aurelia. Dangerous and cunning. You were seen in St Bartholomew’s Hospital in his company and that of a French doctor. Touillon, I think is the name.’

‘And the British Service knows this?’

‘Not yet. I thought to tell you first in the hope that you might offer an explanation.’

‘My father is sick, my lord. Doctor Touillon is an expert in the field of elderly mental health.’

‘So you visit him without taking the patient?’

For a moment Aurelia longed to tell him everything, to simply open up and tell him all of it here in a crowded room; tell him of her mother’s downfall and of Delsarte’s threats, tell him of the letters and her dread in delivering them under the cold hard ache of an impossible duty.

Sylvienne. Mama. There was nothing to do but protect her even if it meant sacrificing herself.

‘Papa finds travelling anywhere difficult.’ The lie was bare on her tongue, the taste of betrayal bitter. The anger in his eyes turned the gold a darker amber.

‘I can only protect you to a certain extent, Aurelia. If you cross too many lines, others will be involved…powerful others, too powerful even for me to stop the consequences that will follow.’

When she turned to him, any answer melted away as the promise of masculine sensuality scorched through her. Her whole body throbbed, the twist of delight leaving her momentarily breathless.

He was trying to protect her despite all the odds.

Laying her hand across his arm, she would have said more, but the music about them wound down into silence allowing a passage of people to push their way from the floor.

‘I told you that I don’t like to dance.’ Nathaniel Lindsay’s voice held irritation and when Aurelia turned she saw his wife rubbing gingerly at her left foot.

‘He won’t take lessons. That is the trouble. I have tried and tried to hire a teacher, but he refuses to even consider it.’

Hawkhurst was silent, standing back as Leonora and Rodney completed the group, her sister telling Rodney how she had enjoyed the waltz.

‘I was dancing on air, Lia, gliding on a cloud.’ Her gaze rested firmly on Northrup, the young man blushing in reply.

Endearing, Aurelia thought, the ardour inside him so honestly expressed. She could not in a million years imagine Hawkhurst showing that sort of embarrassment.

‘You went to dance lessons at Eton, Nat. Why did you not progress with them?’ Cassandra Lindsay’s blue eyes held a wicked twinkle as she addressed her husband, but he did not seem unduly worried by the criticism.

‘It wasn’t that difficult to feign ill health, and as Mrs Greene, one of the teacher’s wives who helped with the dancing, had a soft spot for Hawk and Luc and me she often allowed us to sit it out.’

So Hawkhurst had been schooled at Eton, too? Alongside Nathaniel Lindsay and Lucas Clairmont. She had seen the three of them standing at his ball and talking, the same air of menace and power pervading each of them.

‘Hawk was the one who made the most progress even with such little practice. You stood up with him, Mrs St Harlow. Did you float on air?’

Drawing apart instantly, Aurelia saw a look that went between the two men. A look she found hard to interpret because whilst she was certain that Nathaniel Lindsay was teasing her she was also as certain that Stephen Hawkhurst wished that he would not. She was glad Leonora, Rodney and Cassandra were speaking amongst themselves to one side, thus leaving the comment unnoticed.

‘Charles told me once that you enjoyed riding?’

‘It was a passing phase, my lord.’

‘He said that you had a knack that few others possessed. It seems a shame to place little time into such a skill. Now Hawk here has a whole stable full of beauties that I am certain he would be more than willing to share.’

Aurelia knew that the man was setting something up. She could see it in the careful observance that he made of her and in the shifting stance of Lord Hawkhurst, who looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here.

‘My father was a fine horseman before he took to books with such fervour. Now, I tend to help him in the quieter pursuits. Do you read much, my lord?’

The change of subject was deliberate and she was glad when Lindsay took her up on the diversion.

‘Never. Hawk does, though. I had heard you met him in Hookham’s? Lady Allum brought it to my attention and she intimated your exchange was heated.’

Heated? Aurelia remembered the feel of his tongue on the back of her hand and was about to answer when Lord Hawkhurst suddenly took charge.

‘Could you leave us for a moment, Nat? I see George Staples languishing against a pillar beside the band. Go and talk to him?’

The smile on Lord Lindsay’s face was broad even with such rudeness, giving Aurelia the impression he had hoped for this outcome all along. ‘Be gentle with him, Mrs St Harlow. My friend does not realise yet that a man who plays with fire is liable to be burnt, and badly.’ She watched as he bowed and departed.

‘Take no notice of St Auburn. Nat is an inveterate snoop and will not rest until he knows the full story behind everything.’ He ushered her a little further down the room, to a place where the trees lay behind them and the crush was less noticeable.

‘And what is our full story, my lord?’ Alone, Aurelia felt braver, their history built up in layers one upon the other and all beginning with the kiss at Taylor’s Gap.

‘Our story?’ He turned the words so that each one of them was carefully pronounced, his eyes grave. ‘Our story is unfinished and ill concluded, any hint of what might have been between us buried beneath duty and lies.’

She stood very still.

‘Debts of ill repute and payments for silence are things I am trying to rid myself of, Mrs St Harlow, and if the reasons for my cousin’s death are going to be pegged to any future problems then I would rather not know of them. For years deception has been my companion, you see, and now I find I need something different altogether.’

‘You need honesty?’

The simple question was quietly asked, a pledge that she knew she would never be able to give him with her mother and her father and the faithless arrogance of her dead husband.

‘I do.’

Honesty and innocence and pure untainted goodness.

Lady Elizabeth Berkeley.

She suddenly and clearly understood why Lord Hawkhurst had chosen the girl and all hope was lost. A chandelier above them caught the darkness of his hair and the angled planes of his cheeks.

She could not leave it quite at that. ‘One person’s truth might be another’s lies.’

‘Nay, integrity is a commodity not so easily bent.’

‘Eton taught you that even as you were absconding from your lessons?’

Laughter made the lines on the sides of his eyes wrinkle and those nearest turned round at the sound. Aurelia got the impression that he had not laughed much of late.

‘Would you dance with me again, Mrs St Harlow?’

‘Yes.’ She had heard another waltz strike up, the first chords of Strauss drifting about the room. Aurelia placed her fingers upon his offered arm and they walked on to the floor, the lights dim here and the glow of candles evoking some night-time grotto far from London. She hoped that he would not feel the rapid beat of her heart as he brought her into his arms, closer than she expected, further apart than she wanted.

No one else existed in that room as the music swirled about them and he led her into the steps, the smell of soap and brandy vying for an ascendance, his body hard beneath the superfine in his jacket.

Charles had been softer and heavier and shorter. The very thought made her shiver.

‘You are cold?’

‘No.’ Her eyes met his as she pulled back slightly.

‘Was Charles a kind husband, Aurelia?’

‘Why do you ask that?’ Tonight, in his arms, lying was difficult.

‘Cassandra mentioned that you were left alone often and that the servants had talked.’

‘I was eighteen and foolish enough to imagine that marriage to a man I did not know well might solve all the problems in the world.’

‘And now you are twenty-six and wise?’ His voice was lowered, the husky edge of it inciting all that she remembered from the night in his town house. Hardly strangers. Not quite lovers. There was a danger in it Aurelia found exhilarating and forbidden. Pushing against him so that he might feel the curve of her breasts, she watched his expression change.

Feminine power was surprisingly easy, the potency of her own body something she had never considered before because Charles had left her so very damaged.

‘Keep doing that and I will drag you off home before you know what has happened to you and you will not have a chance to change it.’

‘Is that a warning, my lord?’ Flirtation was another game she had little practice in and she knew he must be able to feel the drum of her heartbeat. Beneath her palm the calm and ordered rhythm of his heart disturbed her. How often a man like him must have been in exactly this position before—a heartsick female flirting to gain an attention she would never be able to win. Such a thought was sobering.

There was no pathway to make the relationship between them different and when the music stopped and the dancers stilled she was glad to move back to where her sister lingered and even more pleased when he made a bow and left her.

Stephen watched Aurelia St Harlow from the other side of the room, trying to get a powerful surge of lust under control and failing. Every part of his body filled with the fury of incomprehension.

‘She is a beauty, is she not? Charles’s widow?’ Nat stood beside him. ‘Apart from Cassie and Lilly, the most beautiful female in all of England, would be my guess. She seems alone, though. Substantial and alone. I should not wish to see her hurt further in any way. What is her accent?’

Stephen answered, because to do otherwise would have caused comment. ‘French. Her mother was French.’

‘Aye, you can see it in the bones of her arms and shoulders. Small like the Anjou princesses. Cassie says that you have looked happier lately, more alive, Hawk. She thinks that the beautiful and mysterious Mrs St Harlow may have something to do with your altered state of affairs.’

‘Your wife has a penchant for matchmaking that has never been successful.’ He growled out the words and readjusted the coat-tails of his jacket.

‘Well, it has been years since you have courted a woman properly, Stephen, years since you had one that actually counted. Perhaps she is hoping that this time—’

‘Stop.’ He had bedded a good number of women, but none had made him even consider that any relationship might become permanent save for Elizabeth Berkeley. Her blond curls and blue eyes came to mind, the sweetness in her the thing that had drawn him to her in the first place, but for the past weeks all he had seen in her was extreme youthfulness and an astounding lack of knowledge. When had that happened? When had the fresh goodness of his ‘almost fiancée’ become a fault rather than a perfection? He ran a hand across his face and breathed out. Hard.

Ever since meeting Aurelia St Harlow. That’s when everything had changed, the world lost for him in her mismatched eyes and Titian hair.

He would have to do something about her—he knew he would—but first he needed to see the Berkeleys and explain as best as he could the changed state of his position.

Nathaniel had been right about one thing, at least. Those who played with fire should expect to be burnt by it. He winced as the flames licked at the place he thought his heart had been long gone from.

The terrace was deserted when Aurelia managed to escape the throng a good two hours later. Lord Hawkhurst had danced with every eligible woman in the room, she thought…every beautiful, laughing uncomplicated woman, she amended. She wished he had asked her again, but he hadn’t come near her.

Her feet were sore from her new slippers and she was tired of looking down and seeing her breasts so easily on display in the heavy stiffness of emerald silk. She would not wear such a gown again, no matter what the inducement, and she hoped that not too much time would elapse before Leonora indicated that she wished to leave.

Leonora. A few outings had turned her into a woman with as much strength as Emily, her father’s youngest sister. Emily Beauchamp had been Aurelia’s chaperon in her first Season, a gentle laughing presence and a woman who garnered suitors and admirers, but had never chosen one of them. It was Emily who had introduced her to Charles and who had so favoured the match her father never had. The memory was bittersweet, for her aunt had died of some unexplained illness, here for the day of her wedding and then gone the next. Aurelia had been hauled away by a husband who was impatient to sample all the curves he had found so enticing. The delight she had initially felt at such a barrage of compliments turned into utter despair when she understood that her new groom would not tarry for anyone and that the funeral she hoped to attend was denied to her.

‘I do not wish for a wife in black,’ Charles had said at the time as he ordered his staff to pack the coach. Running from a house of death was a character trait, but Aurelia had not yet come to understand that about the man she had married, though later she would realise responsibility and familial duty were things to be avoided at all costs.

Charles had unlaced her gown so that it looked like one a harlot might have enjoyed wearing, his fingers running under the silk of her skirt even as they sat in the moving carriage. Aye, he enjoyed taking risks and breaking rules, the expected niceties of society angering him, a man who disliked the strict regime of the newly flourishing social moralists. Aurelia had learnt to be careful to hide any criticism for fear of yet another lecture on the mundane, safe and boring pathways she always followed.

She hid everything, she suddenly thought. Her father. Her mother. Her work. her debts. Her past. Her beating heart when Lord Stephen Hawkhurst came anywhere near her person.

The very concern made her frown and she lifted the mask away. He was as good as engaged to the most beautiful debutante of the Season, a girl lauded for her kindness and her sweet nature. Why, then, did she even imagine that she might be able to catch and hold the eye of a man with more reason than anyone to despise her?

She was twenty-six, for goodness’ sake, and eminently sensible, a woman who after The Great Mistake had never made another. Looking up, she saw that the stars tonight lay between banks of clouds and the temperature was as warm as it ever became in an English summer. The quiet sounds of a fountain further out in the garden made her turn, as she tried to catch a glimpse of water through the darkness.

It was then that she saw him, standing not ten feet away, a cheroot in his hand, the red glow of the tip brightly arcing as he flipped it into the garden.

‘Mrs St Harlow.’

He looked less than pleased to see her.

‘Lord Hawkhurst.’

Quietly he came closer, careful not to touch, the white in his necktie standing out boldly.

‘Do you think that our salvation might lie in formality?’ His voice sounded tired and wary, the slur of his words indicating that he had drunk far more than he should have.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You and I, my lady. Do we skirt around each other forever or do we take a chance and see just where it is this attraction could lead us?’

‘You speak in riddles, my lord.’ She hated the forced joviality in her voice, a tone she had so often used with Charles.

‘Do I?’ He reached out then, and caught her hand, the anger in him felt in even such a small movement. ‘The riddle of lust is not so hard to comprehend.’ Laying his finger against her wrist, he waited. ‘See, it is in your blood tonight, calling me, remembering the other times between us…’

‘No.’ Her husband had done this, too, pressuring her at the most inopportune of moments, expecting a response, but she was wiser now and older and the horror that blossomed was like a weapon. ‘You have had too much to drink, my lord, and your mind is addled.’ She threw off his touch, pleased when his hands stayed at his side.

‘Not addled, but disappointed. The culmination of a life’s work, I suppose, and too little goodness in it.’ He tipped his head. ‘Are you God-sent, Aurelia? Could you heal the demons that lurk inside me once and for all?’

A different tack. His hands shook more tonight than she had ever seen them do. The wine, perhaps, or the memories?

‘I thought you had already refused my prior suggestion of…closeness, Lord Hawkhurst?’

‘Those suggestions given without any form of passion?’ He laughed. ‘I am not seeking to be a pawn of politics.’

‘Then what is it you are after?’

‘I only wish I knew.’

The silence lengthened, though it was not difficult or uncomfortable. Wordlessness had its own sort of communication after all, the small turn of a head, the warmth of body heat, the smell of violets and woodsmoke mixed as one.

Finally he spoke again. ‘From what I have heard, the state of your union with my cousin was not exactly holy.’

Tonight with all that he knew of her she could no longer skirt around the truth. ‘Indeed, our marriage was a mistake.’

‘So you killed him?’

In the half-light she saw a tick in the muscle of his jaw, as if he were holding it tense against an answer and the anger in her was as raw as it had been four years ago. ‘I cannot deny that I wanted to, though in the end Charles died from his own lack of morals. He brutally raped a pregnant servant and her distraught father made sure that there would be no further…indiscretions. Every woman on the estate probably breathed a little easier that afternoon. I know I did.’

‘You told the court this?’

‘No. I told them only what it was I had seen.’

‘Which was…?’

‘I said that my husband had jumped across a poorly constructed barrier whilst exercising his favourite horse and had fallen badly.’

The music inside the ballroom reached them here, soft and lilting against the harsh truth, her candid honesty allowing the sort of relief she could barely believe was possible and even when he remained silent she did not wish to take it back.

‘The consideration of any family name is important, do you not think, my lord? I felt that generations of Hawkhursts suffering for the poor judgement of one weak-willed relative was unfair and so I chose to offer another explanation.’

When his eyes darkened she turned to watch the night, hating the way her heart beat so very quickly.

Aurelia St Harlow had allowed herself to be ostracized for years for a crime she had not committed and all in the guise of protection? She was a saint rather than a sinner and if his cousin had materialised out of the darkness then and there he would have killed him himself for everything he had put her through: a court case public and damning and the whispers of her involvement in Charles’s demise following her every move.

He remembered the way she had come through the crowd at his ball as the ton had given her the cut direct, her chin held high and a smile set on her face. Like a player just before the curtain rises, a certain brittle confidence in her eyes allowing only the glimpse of fright.

‘A difficult secret.’

Her small nod in response made him swear.

‘And a fiction that has held you a prisoner for years?’

This time she looked at him directly. ‘There is no way to refute all that has been said of me and I would countenance no suggestions otherwise. It is not redemption I am searching for, my lord.’ Her fingers rose to her neck and he saw that the small diamond pendant he had recovered was back in place. ‘Once my sisters are settled into society and I have sold my business I can retire with my father into the very depths of the countryside and I shall never look back.’

The distress in her eyes made his heart ache. She was like a small and single rose trying to survive through a crack in concrete.

‘A sombre ending for a woman who has sacrificed herself for the good of others. If it were me, I should continue on with the colourful gowns and confuse everybody. What more could they say of you, after all?’

Her left hand pulled at the gaping silk of her bodice, trying to close it. ‘Once I might not have cared, but now…’

He laughed. ‘You are the most fearsome female of my acquaintance, Aurelia. Do not let anyone tell you differently.’

Her smile brought deep dimples to her cheeks. ‘I will take that as a compliment, my lord.’

‘My cousin never deserved you. He was a man who even as a boy was not easy. He lost his parents just after I lost mine and maybe because of it was damaged. In the end I gave up on trying to know him.’

‘Which is why I never saw you at Medlands.’

He shook his head. ‘There were other reasons, too.’

‘You were in Europe?’

‘For a long time.’ He smiled.

He wished he could have said more. He wondered at his cousin’s rumoured predilection for racy women and fast parties. What had Aurelia seen in a man so untrustworthy and selfish and why had she married him in the first place? So many questions to ask and to answer, hers and his, the worlds they inhabited underpinned by unrevealed confidences.

She had saved him at Taylor’s Gap with her chatter and a kiss that had simply scorched away any desire to end it all. He might have jumped if she had not been there, pushing through a flimsy barrier to a welcomed oblivion. But instead…

He reached forwards to take a vibrant red curl with his finger, the silk of it falling across his palm. ‘Then I must thank you for tending to the Hawkhurst family name as Charles so obviously did not.’

When she nodded he simply left because he did not wish to tell her more and because every part of him wanted to. Gathering his wits about him, he stepped into the light of the ballroom and made his way through the crowded salons to the front portico.

Aurelia closed her eyes and tried to find her composure. She had told him exactly what she said she wouldn’t and yet relief was the only emotion she could truly identify. Her fingers strayed to her pendant, liking the familiar feel of it.

She had been amazed that he had even remembered the piece, let alone tracked it down and repossessed it. For her.

At the sound of a door opening she took in breath. Had he returned?

‘I saw Stephen leave,’ Cassandra Lindsay said, ‘and he did not look happy. My guess is that you do not, either.’ Aurelia saw a question in the other woman’s eyes as she turned.

‘Nathaniel and I have known Hawk for ever. He is a fine friend and a good man, though for the past six months he has been… . melancholic and pensive.’ She stopped and placed her palms across the stone on the top of the terrace wall. Like an anchor. Or a prayer.

Aurelia waited. Sometimes people needed to find their thoughts without interruption.

‘We wondered if it was his search for a wife that was making him maudlin. Elizabeth Berkeley is a lovely girl, but she is hardly…strong.’

The word surprised Aurelia. ‘Perhaps strength is not what he needs. Perhaps simple, honest and uncomplicated would chase away the demons?’

Cassandra laughed. ‘That is what he thinks he needs, but I have had this conversation with my husband many times over and we have come to the conclusion that he needs a woman who can bring him to life again…one who could save him from himself, one who might be able to endure the barriers that he will undoubtedly erect.’

The cliff on Taylor’s Gap came to Aurelia’s mind. Perhaps he would have pushed further had she not been there?

‘Espionage is not an occupation that would leave one much joy, I suspect.’

‘You know what he does?’ Surprise tempered Cassandra Lindsay’s words.

‘I have heard rumours.’

Lady Lindsay nodded. ‘His brother was killed in France on a mission and Hawk thinks it was his fault that it happened—a personal revenge, if you like, and one that has eaten at his soul. He has seen things that it would be better for a man not to have and without family around him save for Alfred…’ She stopped and laid her hand upon Aurelia’s. ‘Loneliness and responsibility make poor bedfellows. I think you might know that every bit as well as he does, as by all accounts you have had your own battles in life.’ She took in a deep breath. ‘When I first met Nathaniel I had been a prisoner in France for near on ten months. It was not an easy detention and there were things that happened…things I thought would make Nathaniel seek another more wholesome woman if he knew the truth of it all. I tried to turn him away. I was damaged and I felt I would damage anyone else around me if I let them get close. I ran away on my wedding night to give him the chance of release, but he came after me. He saved me.’ She looked Aurelia straight in the eye before she continued. ‘If Hawk and you could save each other, any risk might be worth it.’

Then she was gone, sailing back through the door with the grace she’d had coming through it, the honesty and candour left behind her allowing hope. Cassandra Lindsay had not been untouched or unblemished and yet she had risen above adversity and found her place in the world beside a man who would protect her.

Could she do the same?

Her arms curled momentarily around her body and she took in a deep breath before replacing her mask and following Lady Lindsay back into the ballroom.

The anger he was consumed with was nothing like the regrets he now harboured as he thought back to the scene of a few hours ago. Lord, Aurelia had been crucified for the boorish behaviour of her husband and because of it not a word of his cousin’s deviousness had ever been uttered.

Unlike her, he cared for little and loved even less. Alfred was in his seventies and might not last for too much longer and when he was gone…there would be nothing of family or blood left. The last Hawkhurst. The final member of a cursed line blotted out by circumstance and sickness and betrayal.

And now even the hope of a faultless, blameless innocent fiancée was lost because he recognised finally what he should have always known. He would ruin Elizabeth Berkeley as surely as she would ruin him, like an apple with one small black spot of rottenness, growing, spreading, consuming flesh that was uncontaminated and pure.

He remembered Aurelia St Harlow’s expression on the terrace as she had looked at him, a sort of hope in her eyes. He had wanted to carry her off then and there and bring her home to strip away the emerald gown, claiming all that he could not, spilling his seed into the centre of her womanhood and hoping for…what? A child? An heir? An ending to all the solitude? Even knowing it was wrong, he could not stop the coursing hunger and his cock rose rigid.

His. She would be his. There was no longer any question of it for nothing would stop him. Not duty. Not King. Not country. Not even treason.

‘God help us.’ He whispered the words into the darkness and closed his eyes against utter need.