Читать книгу The Wicked Baron - Sarah Mallory - Страница 9

Carlotta gave herself a mental shake. This was her first ball; it would not do to cry. She put up her chin. She would not give Luke the satisfaction of seeing how close she was to dissolving into tears. Instead she summoned up her brightest smile to greet her next partner. She had already danced with Mr Woollatt earlier in the evening, and on first acquaintance she had found him rather pompous. However, his blatant admiration was balm to her wounded spirits and she treated him to an excess of charm as they danced together. After that she spent the rest of the evening dancing and laughing as though she had not a care in the world. It was only as she was waiting for her cloak that she discovered Luke had left early and had not witnessed her vivacious behaviour.

‘Well, it really does not matter,’ she told herself as she climbed into the carriage. ‘We have met, the sky did not fall and I know now that we have nothing to say to one another. I can forget all about the odious Lord Darvell.’

‘I beg your pardon, my love, did you speak?’

Lady Broxted’s gentle enquiry made her jump and she hastily disclaimed. Pulling her cloak about her, she subsided into one corner and stared disconsolately out of the window. She was determined not to think of Luke Ainslowe, but his image was as persistent as the man himself; she recalled how he had come to Malberry Court, armed with a picnic basket, and insisted that she take luncheon with him. She had refused at first, but she could still hear his voice, deep and seductive, persuading her to leave her painting and eat with him.

She was very conscious of her boy’s attire as she seated herself on the very edge of the rug, but Luke never mentioned it as he fed her tidbits of cheese and bread and fruit. She explained how his brother James had sought out her father and commissioned him to paint Malberry Court. Luke responded by telling her something of his life in the army and of the great battle that had taken place at Waterloo. Sitting out in the sunshine with the soaring white pillars of the house at their backs and the calm waters of the lake spread out before them, she soon lost her shyness. He was very easy to talk to. She liked to make him laugh and see the merry glint in his hazel eyes. It seemed quite natural to accept Luke’s invitation to join him again the next day, and the next. She was so comfortable in his company, talking of everything and nothing. They understood each other so well. Or so she had thought, until the day he had ridden out of her life forever.

With everything so new and exciting, Carlotta found much in London to divert her. Lady Broxted was determined that she should enjoy her first Season and spared no pains to keep her entertained. There were rides in the park, shopping with her aunt, promenades and balls, assemblies, masquerades and parties. Carlotta threw herself into such a round of enjoyment that she declared to her aunt she did not have a moment to think. It was not true—there was too much time to think. Even two weeks after the Prestbury ball, when she was out riding with her friends, it was so easy to allow the chatter to flow over her and to lose herself in her own thoughts, remembering how attentive Luke had been at Malberry, bringing food to share, escorting her home in the evenings—it had been an idyllic, happy interlude. She had felt safe with Luke. He had not attempted to kiss her again, even though she knew she wanted him to do so. She remembered that she had been very close to kissing him, the day he had climbed the scaffolding. She had peered over the edge of the platform to find him grinning up at her…

‘Good morning, Major—or is it past noon now?’

He made a great show of getting out his watch, saying severely, ‘It is gone three, madam. Are you so caught up in your work that you do not know the time?’

A laugh trembled on her lips but she tried to frown. ‘I am very busy, sir. Pray do not disturb me.’

‘Can you not come down?’

‘No, sir, I cannot. What are you doing?’ She laughed. ‘You cannot come up here.’

‘I can, and I will,’ he said, setting his foot on the first ladder. ‘I want to see you in your eyrie.’

She felt the platform shake as he began to climb and she quickly collected up her palette and brushes out of the way.

‘So this is where you work.’ He crawled onto the platform. ‘Good God, how do you manage?’

‘It is a little cramped, to be sure. There is no room to stand and one has to work crouching or lying down. But it is easier for me, because I am so much shorter than you.’

He pointed to the large roundel in the centre of the ceiling. ‘Is that your father’s work?’

‘Yes.’ She giggled as she watched him twisting his long frame around, trying to look at the fresco. ‘It is easier if you lie on your back, only you must not, of course. You will make your coat dirty.’

Ignoring her warning, he stretched himself out on the platform. ‘Ah, yes, I can see it much better now. A god and his attendants.’ He shifted his position. ‘And the other roundel, the smaller one at the far end?’

She slid down beside him and gazed up at the ceiling. ‘I painted that one. You are still too close to see it all properly; it will look so much better from the ground.’

‘It looks wonderful to me now,’ he said. ‘I am impressed.’ He rolled over and propped his head on his hand, smiling at her. ‘Now, when will you come down?’

The frescoes were forgotten. His face was only inches from her own. What if she was to reach out to him, to take his face in her hands and pull him down to her, to kiss him? The urge to do just that had been so strong she shivered. Such wicked thoughts!

‘Carlotta.’

She jumped. No longer was she lying beside Luke Ainslowe on the high scaffold at Malberry; she was ambling through Hyde Park on her docile little pony. The rest of her riding party had moved ahead and, to her dismay, she found Lord Darvell was beside her on a sleek, long-legged bay. Her cheeks grew hot—had she conjured him with her musings?

She had not expected him to seek her out after her performance at Prestbury House. She thought she had made her feelings perfectly clear, but here he was, smiling at her and causing her heart to flutter in the most foolish way imaginable.

‘We had no opportunity to talk, the other night,’

‘There is nothing I want to say to you, my lord.’

She urged her mount to a trot, wanting to catch up with her party, but Luke’s hand shot out and caught her bridle.

‘Not yet, Carlotta. Allow me to enjoy your company for a little while.’

She stiffened. ‘I did not give you leave to use my name.’

‘No? I told you I would do so. At Malberry, do you remember?’

She hunched a shoulder. ‘I have no wish to remember Malberry.’

‘No?’ he said again, his slow smile slicing through her defences. ‘Why should you not—did you not enjoy our time together there? Have you forgotten that I commissioned you to paint me?’

She stared ahead of her. Of course she remembered. She remembered every word he had spoken to her. She realised she would very much like to paint him, not posing statesman-like in a studio, but as he had been at Malberry Court, relaxed and reclining on the grass. For his brown hair she would use a base of raw umber and add fine brushstrokes to represent the blond sunstreaks—mixing in a little Indian yellow, perhaps. And his eyes—it would not be difficult to recreate their colour, like polished hazelnuts, but could she capture the smile that lurked in their depths, or the way his mouth quirked into a smile?

Carlotta looked away suddenly. This was too dangerous a game—she was only a memory away from crying. She assumed a haughty look and raised her brows at him.

‘You would commission me, my lord? But it is well known you have no money.’

‘That will not always be the case.’

She curled her lip at him. ‘But it is irrelevant, since I shall not be painting you. Indeed, I have no need to do anything, now.’

‘Perhaps not, but I thought painting was your passion.’

She managed a tinkling laugh. ‘Oh dear me, no. How unladylike that would be.’

She noted with satisfaction that his hand on her rein tightened, and the little mare side-stepped nervously.

‘What has happened to you, Carlotta? At Malberry you were…different.’

He was watching her intently. Carlotta knew she would have to look at him, but she would die rather than show him her true feelings. He was a rake, everyone told her so. He had been her first love—her only love—and he had broken her fragile young heart. But that was what rakes did; he could not change his nature. It had taken her months to rebuild her life—only the knowledge of how dear she was to her parents and to her aunt and uncle had given her the will to carry on. She could not let him hurt her again. She raised her chin and fixed him with cold, indifferent eyes.

‘At Malberry, my lord, I was a child, ignorant of the world. I thought fortune was not important. Now I know better.’

She forced herself not to look away, praying that he would not see past her icy, supercilious stare to the raw pain in her heart. For a long, treacherous moment he held her eyes; not by the flicker of an eyelid did she betray the anguish that was ripping her apart. She watched as his puzzlement turned to contempt. She had not thought she could feel any more miserable, but the disdain she now read in his eyes was almost unbearable. Almost.

He released her bridle and gathered up his own reins, saying curtly, ‘Then I shall leave you to your fortunehunting, Miss Rivington. Good day to you.’

Luke dug his heels into the bay’s sides and cantered away, ignoring the stares and frowns of those who considered it unseemly to move at more than a snail’s pace. Damn the chit. When he had first seen her at Malberry he had intended nothing more than a little flirtation to pass the time. By heaven, the girl had given him his own again! He scowled; it was his own fault, for he had told her of his financial problems. They had been sitting on the lawns at Malberry on one of those hot, sunny afternoons when he had persuaded her to come down from her high perch for a little while. He had been curious to know why her father was so anxious to have the frescoes finished.

‘It is most important that my father fulfils his obligations, you see,’ said Carlotta, stretching out on the grass and putting her hands behind her head. He tried not to stare at the way her paint-stained shirt settled over the gentle curves of her breast. ‘He must be paid on time.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Because there are bills outstanding, expenses to be met…As a gentleman, perhaps you would not understand.’

He grinned at that. ‘I understand only too well about debts; I have an abundance of them.’

Carlotta wrinkled her brow. ‘It must be very unpleasant to be under such an obligation, I think.’

‘But it is unavoidable,’ he said lightly. ‘Any gentleman living in town will tell you that his expenses are very high. There’s one’s house and stable to be maintained, not to mention one’s tailor.’

‘But surely you could cut back, economise…’ She bit her lip. ‘I can see that I have made you angry, I beg your pardon. The way you live is none of my business.’

‘No.’ He had not meant to sound so cold and he saw the sudden, anxious look Carlotta threw at him. When she did not speak, he said gently, ‘What, Mistress Durini? Have you no riposte for me?’ She shook her head, and looked surprised when he laughed. ‘At last I have found a woman who does not want the last word!’

Carlotta sat up. She said angrily, ‘I think you are making May-game of me, sir.’

‘No, no, pray, Miss Durini, forgive my incivility. I was jesting when I talked of the expense of town life; I have only recently returned from Paris and I have no town house to maintain—and to the best of my knowledge neither do I owe my tailor a penny. The debts I do have relate to my estate, and I plan to address that problem very soon. There, will you cry peace with me now?’

His hand tightened on the reins and the bay skittered, throwing up his head. Damnation, he had never owned as much to any woman before and what good had it done him? He had given her a stick to beat him with. A short, bitter laugh escaped him. He had been within an ace of offering for her—thank Providence it had come to nothing! What a lucky escape—he had no wish to be married to such a shallow, mercenary female.

He brought his horse to a sudden stop.

The only trouble was, he could not bear the thought of anyone else marrying her.

During the following weeks it was inevitable that Carlotta and Lord Darvell would meet frequently, but a polite, distant nod was their only acknowledgement.

‘I am surprised that Darvell does not pay you more attention,’ remarked Lady Broxted, when they saw him in Mrs Price’s drawing room one evening. ‘He is generally very appreciative of a pretty young lady…a little too appreciative in some cases,’ she added reflectively. ‘He is an incorrigible flirt.’

Carlotta glanced across the room. Luke was enjoying a lively dialogue with a very pretty blonde matron and she quickly looked away again.

‘I do not think I am quite to his taste, Aunt. I doubt I am pretty enough to tempt his lordship.’

‘Nonsense, I have received any number of compliments for you, my love,’ replied Lady Broxted. ‘But I suppose we should be thankful for Darvell’s lack of interest; your uncle has settled a generous dowry upon you, and he hopes you will contract an alliance with a gentleman of means.’

Carlotta raised her chin. ‘You need have no fear, Aunt; I shall not throw myself away upon an impoverished fortune-hunter like the Wicked Baron.’

Lady Broxted looked at her closely. ‘Oh dear, what has Lord Darvell done to deserve such vehemence? Perhaps it is his lack of attention that has piqued you. After all, you cannot deny he is very attractive. However, if you showed a partiality for him, I have no doubt Broxted—’

‘Dear ma’am, I have no partiality for him!’ cried Carlotta, an angry flush warming her cheeks. ‘I am quite thankful that he does not notice me.’

‘Well, then, there is no more to be said on the matter.’ reasoned Lady Broxted. ‘You are a very sensible little thing, Carlotta. I have no doubt we can achieve a very creditable match for you. Fairbridge seems to have taken a shine to you.’

Carlotta followed her aunt’s gaze to observe the tall, fair-haired young man standing on the far side of the room.

‘I think the viscount is more interested in our host’s daughter, ma’am. Do you see how he hovers about Miss Price, and how she blushes when he speaks to her?’

‘Perhaps you are right.’ Lady Broxted sighed. ‘Pity, for he would make you an ideal partner. His mama is well disposed towards you, too. Her late husband was a great friend of Broxted’s and I think she would like to strengthen the connection.’

‘Dear ma’am, is it not a little early to be contemplating marriage?’

‘It is never too early,’ said my lady firmly. ‘I am determined to see you well established. However, we must not repine. There is time yet.’

‘I hope so, ma’am,’ replied Carlotta, her eyes twinkling. ‘We have been in town for little more than a month!’

At that moment a young gentleman approached to claim her hand for the next set and she went off, still smiling.

The ballroom grew hotter and more crowded as the evening progressed, and in between dances Carlotta was glad to stand by one of the open windows to cool her heated cheeks. She thought with longing of her parents’ cottage in Malberry village: her mother’s last letter had been full of trifles such as her success in the herb garden and the diligence of the new maid, as well as news of her latest commission and her father’s progress at Malberry Court. He was now decorating the little temples that littered the gardens. Carlotta wished she could be with them, but it was not possible. She was fanning herself gently when Julia Price came to join her. Carlotta said in her open, friendly way, ‘Your mama must be very pleased with the success of her party, Miss Price.’

‘Yes, I think she is. It is always a concern that no one will come, for there are so many concerts and entertainments.’

‘Well, I think you need have no worries, your rooms are full to overflowing. Is this what they call a sad crush?’ Carlotta asked. ‘I believe that means it is a great success.’

She must remember to put it all into her next letter to her parents; Mama enjoyed reading about the parties and entertainments.

‘Yes.’ Miss Price was smiling at her. ‘We are very fortunate tonight, I think. Is this your first Season, Miss Rivington?’

‘It is. My aunt and uncle have been kind enough to sponsor me.’ Carlotta sighed. ‘They are very good, but it is all so new and there is so much to remember: I am in constant dread that I shall embarrass them!’

Miss Price was quick to disclaim, ‘No, no, that could not be—you always look so calm and at ease.’

‘Thank you, but I am in a perpetual quake, I assure you, Miss Price.’

‘Do, please, call me Julia.’

‘Very well, if you will call me Carlotta.’

‘That is a very pretty name.’

‘Thank you. It is—’ Carlotta became aware of someone approaching and broke off, turning to see Viscount Fairbridge at her side, his pale blue eyes fixed upon Julia. He bowed.

‘Miss Price, you p-promised me the next dance, I think…that is, if I am not interrupting…’

Carlotta smiled at him. ‘Pray, my lord, do take your partner.’

‘You shall not object if I leave you?’ asked Julia, looking anxious.

‘Not at all. Off you go and enjoy yourself.’

Carlotta stepped back, smiling, as Julia put her fingers on Lord Fairbridge’s sleeve for him to lead her away. Too late did she see Lord Darvell standing behind the viscount’s lanky form. They were only feet apart. He checked as he saw her, a slight frown in his eyes. He was already turning away when their host’s jovial voice boomed out.

‘Now, now, how fortunate is this, my lord!’ Mr Price put his hand on Darvell’s arm. ‘The next set is forming and here is Miss Rivington without a partner.’

Mortification swept over Carlotta. A glance at Lord Darvell showed her that he felt very much as she did, and for a brief moment she wondered if he would walk off, but Mr Price was clapping him on the shoulder, crying, ‘Well, go to it, man!’

Carlotta opened her mouth to protest, but she could not speak. Lord Darvell stepped forward, stony-faced. He held out his hand.

‘Will you do me the honour, Miss Rivington?’

There was no escape. To refuse would be to embarrass them all. Tentatively she put her fingers on his sleeve.

‘You are too good, my lord.’

Damnation. Luke swore under his breath. However much he tried to avoid Carlotta, it seemed she forced herself upon his notice. No, he must be honest with himself, it was not her fault. He remembered his efforts at Malberry Court, when he had realised that he was in danger of falling in love with the bewitching little sprite in her shirt and breeches. He had done his best then to keep away from her, finishing his business with the clerk of works late one afternoon and planning to set off for Darvell Manor the following morning without returning to the Court. But when he left Kemble’s lodge he found the heavy storm clouds had brought an early dusk and lightning was already splitting the sky. He saw the faint glow flickering from the windows of the house and rushed in, expecting to find flames licking at the newly painted walls. Instead he had found Carlotta.

‘What the devil are you doing in here?’

His voice, edged with irritation, vibrated against the empty walls of the drawing room.

‘I might ask you the same, sir, when you have not been near the house for days.’

Heaven and earth, the chit was challenging him!

‘I have been at the lodge with Kemble, discussing plans for moving in the furniture. I saw the light in the windows as I was about to leave and came up to see what was amiss.’

‘I am sorry, then, if you thought it was intruders.’

‘I was more concerned that the lightning had started a fire. Why are you not at home?’ he barked the question at her, frowning.

‘I wanted to have one last look at my father’s work. I beg your pardon; I never meant to disturb anyone. I will go now.’

‘Oh, no, you will not.’

She blinked.

He took off his hat and shook it, sending off tiny droplets of water that sparkled in the candlelight. ‘I mean the storm is too violent. It is not safe.’

‘Oh.’

That one little word, spoken so softly, was his undoing. His heart went out to her; she looked so vulnerable, holding aloft the candlestick with one shaking hand. He said gently, ‘You need not worry, you are perfectly safe here.’ He stepped forward and took the candlestick from her. ‘Let us look at your father’s work together.’

They wandered through the empty rooms until they found themselves in the salon, which occupied one end of the house. There was only one painted panel, set between the two marble fireplaces. The other three walls were taken up with long windows, designed to allow in maximum light, although now they only gleamed blackly as the rain spattered against the glass. Luke crossed the room, raising the candles higher as he studied the mural.

‘Your father is a great artist, Carlotta. This is really very good.’

‘Thank you. May I show you something?’ She took his arm and led him to the far corner of the panel. ‘There,’ she pointed. ‘Look closely at the decoration on the lady’s sandal.’

He peered closer. ‘A tiny snail.’

‘Yes, a lumaca’. She laughed. ‘It sounds so much prettier in Italian. It is Papa’s signature. He does not tell many people, but it is very important to him. When he was in Rome he would often paint copies of the great masters for the foreign visitors to take home and put in their grand houses. He insisted that as long as he signed them then there was no harm in it; he was not trying to trick anyone.’

‘I am honoured you should share it with me.’

He looked down at her and Carlotta smiled back at him briefly before she looked away, suddenly shy and awkward. As if to distract him, she pointed up at the chandeliers.

‘When all those candles are alight this room will glow. Can you imagine how elegant it will look, with all the ladies in their finest gowns?’ She sighed. ‘I wish I could see it.’

‘Perhaps you will.’

She laughed. ‘Perhaps! I will creep up to the windows and press my nose against the glass one night.’

The thought made him angry. ‘That is not what I meant,’ he growled. ‘You should be in here, dancing with all the other young ladies.’

‘Do not frown, sir. I do not want you to pity me.’

‘No, of course not, but I am determined you shall dance here.’ He put down the candlestick and opened his arms to her. ‘Come.’

‘You are nonsensical!’ She laughed, but did not resist as he took her hand and began to lead her around the room, humming a tune.

‘Do you waltz, Miss Durini?’

‘No, sir. I have never learned.’

‘Well, the gentleman holds the lady like this.’ He drew her towards him, pushed her cloak off her shoulders until it hung like a train behind her and slid one hand beneath it to rest on her back. Immediately her body tensed. A tremor ran through him as her breasts pressed again him, separated from his skin by only a few thin layers of silk and linen.

‘I have been told the waltz is considered by some to be improper,’ she remarked. ‘It certainly feels very daring, to be standing so close.’

She looked up at him, smiling shyly, and suddenly he could not breathe.

‘Well, sir, what next?’

‘This.’

He placed his fingers beneath her chin, tilted up her face and kissed her, very gently. She gave a faint sigh when he lifted his head, but did not move away. Tension crackled between them. Carlotta leaned against him, a tiny movement, but it was enough. With something very like a groan he swooped down on her again and his kiss this time was much more urgent. She responded, her lips parting in surrender to his demands and her body melting against him. His arms tightened. He nibbled gently at her lip and in response she put her arms around his neck.

Together they sank to their knees and he lowered Carlotta to the floor. She clung to him as he stretched out beside her, his mouth moving slowly, sensuously, over her lips while one hand slid to her breast. Luke felt her tremble, her back arched. A pulsing wave of desire swamped him. His fingers tore at her shirt, pulling it free from those soft, clinging breeches, then his hand was on skin, caressing the gentle curve of her waist. He ran his fingers over her stomach and she drew it in, gasping. He covered her face with kisses, drinking in the sweet taste of her, a taste of summer flowers and new-mown hay. His senses reeled. He had known many women, but never had the urge to possess and protect been so strong. She moaned softly and his touch faltered. He was overwhelmed with tenderness. She was such an innocent, it was important not to hurt her, not to frighten her. He knew the heady heights that love-making could achieve, but for her it would be new, strange and bewildering. Suddenly he was aware of their surroundings, lying on the cold, hard floor. By God it was not even his house!

He raised his head and stared down at her. Carlotta gazed up at him so trustingly and with a sudden, startling clarity he knew it would not do. This was not how he would show his love to Carlotta.

‘This has gone far enough,’ he muttered, almost to himself.

He got to his feet and held out his hand. Her brows contracted and she looked at him with bewildered, frightened eyes.

‘What is it?’ she whispered. ‘Have I done something wrong?’

His smile was strained as he pulled her to her feet.

‘Not you, sweetheart.’ He brushed his lips against her mouth in a fleeting, butterfly kiss. ‘You are everything I could wish for, but this is not right, not here, on the bare floor of an empty house. You deserve so much more than that.’ He looked towards the window. ‘I think the rain has stopped. We must get you home.’

There was an uncomfortable silence. Carlotta did not move.

‘I thought you were going to teach me to waltz.’

She sounded so lost that he had to stifle the temptation to take her in his arms again. He reached out to pull her cloak back over her shoulders.

‘I am no saint, Carlotta.’ He bent to pick up the candlestick.

‘You are not angry with me?’

He lifted her hand, pressing a kiss into the palm. ‘No, love. I am not angry with you.’

No, he had not been angry with her then, but now, as he led Carlotta on to the crowded dance floor, it occurred to him that he had been wrong about her; even then she had been trying to catch herself a rich husband.

With all the pleasure of someone walking to the scaffold, Carlotta accompanied Lord Darvell onto the dance floor. His hand beneath her arm was stiff; indeed, she thought his whole body was rigid with disapproval. She summoned up all her courage to help her through this ordeal. Anger came to her aid. What right had he to disapprove of her? When they took their places in the set she put up her chin and gazed steadily at some point over his shoulder. The music began; they held hands, moved forward until they were almost touching, the delicate flowers of her corsage trembling within an inch of his waistcoat. She must concentrate on her steps and forget her partner. There was no need for them to talk, after all. However, she soon discovered that Luke had other ideas.

‘Why did you change your name to Rivington?’ he asked her suddenly.

‘It is in deference to my aunt and uncle. They have been very good to me.’

‘And perhaps you are ashamed of your origins.’

‘I am not! It is not unusual to take the name of one’s benefactor.’ She almost snatched her hand away as the dance parted them. Insufferable man! He was determined to think badly of her. Carlotta’s head came up: she would not court his good opinion.

Luke fought down his anger. Damnation, one could not have an argument in the middle of a ballroom. The movement of the dance took him past his partner and he almost laughed aloud at the fury of her look. One had to admit those dark eyes flashed magnificently when she was angry. It seemed she planned to ignore him for the duration of the dance, but he would have none of it. The chit should learn that she must at least show him society manners.

‘How are you enjoying London, Miss Rivington?’

‘Very well, I thank you.’

He waited, and when she did not continue he raised his brows. ‘Is that all? Have you no praises to heap upon the entertainments and the shopping to be had in town?’

‘If I did so, you would write me down as a thoughtless, frippery creature.’

‘You would prefer me to think you sullen, and above being pleased.’

‘I do not care what you think of me,’ she told him in a low voice.

Luke growled with frustration. Blast it, why should the chit anger him so? He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Be careful with your scowls, Carlotta,’ he hissed as they parted again. ‘The wind may change and you will never smile again.’

Carlotta reined in her irritation. All around her the dancers were laughing and enjoying themselves. It would not do to let the world see she was arguing with her partner. As they came back together she said sweetly, ‘Thank you for the timely reminder, my lord. Because you cannot help your temper, it is no reason for me to lose mine.’

His smile was as false as her own, but his eyes glittered dangerously. She sought for something commonplace to say.

‘We are very fortunate with the weather, are we not? It is warm enough to make fires unnecessary, yet still cool enough to make dancing a pleasure.’ He did not reply. She thought he looked very much as if he was grinding his teeth. Carlotta raised her brows. ‘Come, my lord. When I go to such trouble to converse, surely you can make the effort to respond.’

‘Since we are now at the end of the dance I am spared the necessity.’

She put her fingers on his arm and allowed him to lead her off the floor. ‘We are both spared,’ she muttered. ‘We need no longer be polite to one another.’

‘I noticed no politeness, Miss Rivington.’

Carlotta’s eyes narrowed, but there was no opportunity to reply, since they had reached Lady Broxted, who was deep in conversation with her hostess. Lord Darvell left them without a word, but to Carlotta’s relief her aunt did not appear to notice. Instead she caught Carlotta’s hand and pulled her closer.

‘My dear, we are discussing the most delightful scheme. Mrs Price informs me that Madame Saqui is performing at Vauxhall next week and we are minded to get up a party—what do you think of that?’

‘Madame Saqui?’

‘She is a rope walker,’ explained Mrs Price. ‘Quite a sensation. She first performed at Vauxhall last year and was so successful that she had been retained.’

‘Well, Carlotta, would you like to see her?’

‘Very much, Aunt, thank you.’

Mrs Price clapped her hands.

‘Then it is settled. We shall all go together. And I shall find two young gentlemen to accompany us, for I am sure you and Julia will enjoy yourselves much more if you each have a handsome escort.’ A commotion at the door caused her to look up. ‘Now, who is this come in at this late hour? I had not expected anyone else to turn up—good heavens, it is Ainslowe and his new wife!’

As Mrs Price hurried away, Carlotta stood on tiptoe to see the couple at the door. Even from a distance she recognised James Ainslowe. He was not quite as tall as his brother, but he had the same nut-brown hair and an ease of manner that expressed itself in the charming smile he now bent upon his hostess. Carlotta could imagine him apologising for his late arrival, treating Mrs Price to the same glinting smile that Luke had shown her when they had been together at Malberry. The memory gave her an empty, hollow feeling inside. She instantly quashed it and turned her attention to Mrs James Ainslowe. She was a lively brunette with a generous figure that was shown to advantage in a lowcut gown of bronze broché silk and a matching jockey cap over her glossy curls. A gold tassel on the cap swung to and fro as she carried on an animated conversation with her hostess. Carlotta heard Lady Broxted’s smothered exclamation.

‘Is anything wrong, Aunt?’

‘I could wish they had stayed in Berkshire a little longer,’ muttered Lady Broxted. ‘What if they should recognise you?’

Carlotta laughed at that. ‘That is not possible! They were on the Continent when I was at Malberry.’

‘You must be very careful, Carlotta, not to disclose your real name.’

‘I thought we had already agreed that, ma’am.’ She hesitated. ‘Would it be so very dreadful, Aunt, if it were known that my father was an artist?’

‘It would be embarrassing for your uncle, my dear, and for me. So much better that no one asks about your parents.’

Carlotta felt a little tremor of unease. ‘Perhaps then it would be best if we lived a little more retired. Surely there is no need for you to puff me off quite so much.’

Lady Broxted stared at her. ‘Do you not wish to go about, my love?’

Carlotta hesitated. Looking into her aunt’s anxious face, she realised that her aunt’s pleasure in the balls and parties they attended was more than equal to her own and she could not disappoint her.

‘Yes, of course I do, Aunt, but I would not embarrass you for the world. Perhaps we could avoid Mr and Mrs Ainslowe…’

‘No, I am afraid that is impossible; they will be seen everywhere and you must be seen everywhere, too.’ My lady drew herself up to her full, if diminutive, height. ‘We must hope that your identity is not discovered, at least until we have you safely married. There is no reason why we should not carry it off. After all, there is no one here who knows you, is there?’

Carlotta knew that this was the moment to confess the truth, but she remained silent. She watched Lord Darvell cross the room to greet the new arrivals and her heart sank. It was clear that Luke was on very good terms with his brother and sister-in-law; doubtless he would tell them all about his dalliance with the painter’s daughter. It seemed very likely that by the end of the evening all Lady Broxted’s hopes for her would be at an end.

***

Luke gripped his brother’s hand. ‘James! When did you arrive in town?’

‘This morning. Adele was desperate to buy new gowns.’

‘Nonsense!’ cried his wife, turning from Mrs Price. ‘You were just as anxious to get to town. Luke, my dear, how are you? As handsome as ever, I see.’

‘And you are even more enchanting,’ replied Luke, kissing her hand. ‘How did you find the Court?’

‘It is beautiful; thank you for your efforts. Kemble told us you were at Malberry for weeks.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ said James. ‘I really did not expect you to do more than look in on the place once or twice.’

‘Poor Luke,’ said Adele. ‘Was it very tedious for you?’

Luke wanted to say that, surprisingly, it had been some of the happiest weeks of his life, but that would invite questions, and Adele was damnably perceptive. He dared not risk it.

‘I endured it as long as I could,’ he replied coolly. ‘However, I thought you would stay there longer.’

Adele shook her head, sighing. ‘We have had nothing but each other’s company for the best part of a month.’

‘An ideal arrangement,’ murmured Luke, grinning, and earned for himself a sharp tap on the arm from Adele’s fan.

‘You may stop those knowing looks at once! James and I are very much in need of company before we murder one another.’

‘Aye.’ Her loving husband smiled. ‘So we thought we would come to town for a few weeks, then take a party back to the Court with us for the summer.’

‘You will come, won’t you, Luke?’

‘Of course, Adele. That is, unless anything better comes along.’

She gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘How I have missed your teasing! We have been abroad for so long, and everyone there was so serious.’ She tucked her hand in his arm. ‘Come, we have not seen you since Paris. One can never say everything properly in a letter, so you must tell me all you have been doing and then we will arrange for you to accompany me to Bond Street.’

‘Surely that is your husband’s duty.’

She waved one gloved hand. ‘Alas, James has no eye for colour.’

Luke began to back away. ‘I regret, Adele, that I have a great many engagements—’

‘Nonsense, you cannot be too busy to take me shopping.’

He cast a despairing look at James, who merely laughed.

‘No use appealing to me, Luke. I’ve come to town for my own amusement. You are always at your ease with the ladies, you will enjoy yourself!’