Seeing George Blakeford approach, Reggie said easily, as if he hadn't just offered deadly insult to the man's mistress, “Here comes George now. I have a hunter he might be interested in. Do you know if he'll be riding with the Cottes-mere hunt this season?”
As the drunken Wildon replied, the musicians began to play. The circle of onlookers dissolved as if the interlude had never taken place, though Reggie was sure they would be discussing his comment for years to come.
Under cover of the renewed activity, Allie jerked her arm free of his grip and slipped away without a backward glance, cutting through the crowd to a side door. As her tall, slim figure disappeared, Reggie turned to follow, but before he could make his escape, Blakeford arrived. He seemed more sober than his companions, and his eyes had sharpened with interest at the sight of Reggie.
Fairly caught, Reggie spent a few interminable minutes exchanging commonplaces as Stella glared daggers. As soon as he could, Reggie made his excuses and slid away to the exit Allie had used.
The door opened to a passage that led to the garden behind the King's Head. By the light of a few scattered lanterns, he searched the flower-lined paths. He found her on a stone bench at the far end of the garden, head bowed and fingering a pale rose.
She stiffened and raised her head when he sat down beside her. It was too dark to see her features clearly, but the moonlight gave a milky translucence to her fair skin and laid subtle highlights in her hair.
In a stifled voice Allie said, “I was feeling a bit faint and wanted some fresh air.”
At least she wasn't throwing things at him. Mildly Reggie said, “You? Faint? The woman who can work twelve hours straight in high summer and never tire?”
She eyed his dark outline warily, unsure why he had followed her outside. “Very well, I wasn't faint. I was furious.”
“That's the Lady Alys I know,” Reggie said approvingly. “Are you going to favor me with a colorful description of my morals, manners, and ultimate fiery destination?”
She had to smile. “I considered it, but try as I might, I can't quite blame you for that, that ... bit of muslin's behavior.”
“Well, you could, but I would prefer that you didn't.”
The silence eased into comfort. He was only inches away, close enough for her to feel the radiant warmth from his body. “She was quite attractive, in a vulgar sort of way,” Alys observed. “Since men are at the mercy of their animal nature, I can see why you were interested in ... consorting with her, even if a bed was all you had in common.”
“A bed never entered into it, actually,” Reggie said with wry humor in his voice. “Tell me, does anything shock you?”
“Nowhere near enough. I should have been shocked at that appalling set-down you gave her. Instead I thought it quite possible that I would shatter into small pieces if I didn't laugh.” Alys shook her head, bemused. “Honestly, Reggie, I know that she was behaving badly, but how could you say something like that in public?”
“It was easy. Appalling insults are something of a specialty of mine. They've certainly gotten me into trouble often enough.” He sighed. “You must have noticed that Stella isn't a particularly nice person. And I didn't insult her until she had insulted you.”
Alys toyed with the rose, its sweet, fragile fragrance scenting the night air. “I don't understand women like that.”
“I don't, either.” After a lengthy silence, he said quietly, “I'm sorry that my evil past intruded tonight, Allie. I know quite a lot of rackety folk, but I didn't expect any of them to turn up here.”
It was a perfect opening. She asked, “I gather that the man you two were discussing, George Blakeford, is Stella's protector. He's a friend of yours?”
“Not really. We've been acquainted for years, but not friends.” He chuckled ruefully. “And if we had been, we wouldn't be after Stella tells him what I said.”
“Might he call you out?” Alys asked with sudden alarm.
“I doubt it,” Reggie said calmly. “The man is no fool. He might spread a little slander about me, but what's another drop in an ocean?”
Alys considered asking more about Blakeford, but knew that it would look odd. Besides, it was mere coincidence that George was in the area. The miracle was that no one else from her past had ever turned up to haunt her.
Music and humming voices from the assembly sounded clearly in the night air. When the silence had lasted too long, Reggie asked, “Are you ready to go back in?”
“No!” Alys said, sounding more abrupt than she had intended. Well, he could ascribe her unwillingness to lingering cowardice. Better that than if he knew the truth. “I'm sorry, but I've had quite enough of crowds for one night. Do you think Merry and Julian could be persuaded to leave a little early?”
“I'm sure they'll cooperate. The dancing will be over soon anyhow.” Reggie got to his feet. “I'll go collect them.” He took Alys's hand to help her up.
His courteous gesture helped restore the feeling of being delicately female that had been shattered by Stella. Glad that he had made the effort to soothe her injured feelings, she said, “While you extricate our companions, I'll get the coach.”
Amused, he said, “I can manage both. Since you're very much a lady tonight, you must accept being treated like one.”
Still holding Reggie's hand, Alys looked up at him, trying to read his expression in the dim light. The air between them had weight and substance, a legacy of the melting sensuality of the waltz.
Oddly intent, he raised his other hand and touched her face with gossamer lightness, his fingertips skimming her brow and cheek, then circling under her heavy hair to brush her sensitive nape. She caught her breath, vividly conscious of his nearness, of his irresistible masculinity. Weak with yearning, she prayed that he would kiss her again.
But he was sober tonight, so of course he didn't. He would have to be drunk to consider her worth the effort. She tried not to let the bitterness of that thought destroy memories of the simpler pleasures of the evening.
His hand dropped, and he stepped back. “I'll put you in the carriage before I find Merry and Julian.” His voice sounded unnaturally loud.
Silently she accompanied him toward the garden gate. Since he didn't want her, there was nothing else to do.
Â
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On the ride back to the rented house, the other two couples were noisily engaged in preliminaries to the night's final entertainment. However, George Blakeford was driving the carriage, so Stella was left alone to seethe in her fury.
To think that she had actually been glad to see Reggie Davenport! She had hoped that he could help alleviate her boredom when George was off toadying to his aunt. She had not forgotten their prior encounter, and the thought of further explorations at greater length had been delightful.
She tugged her shawl closer, as if she could shut out the memory of how he had publicly humiliated her. Davenport must be interested in that oversized rural creature, or he would never have insulted Stella the way he had. She would make him pay for that.
Blakeford was a dangerous man, and properly directed, he would avenge her. All she need do was decide the best way to inflame her lover against Davenport. She thought about it for the rest of the journey back to their inn.
George seemed abstracted, not falling on her ravenously as soon as they were alone, the way he usually did. Instead, as he ripped his cravat off, he said, “When I came into the assembly room, I saw a very tall woman in a gold dress with Davenport, but she was gone by the time I joined you.”
Stella turned so that he could unfasten her gown, which was too expensive to allow a man to rip off. “Surely you didn't think the creature was attractive?” she said crossly. “She was most peculiar, far too tall and with mismatched eyes. Lord only knows where Davenport found her. Perhaps he likes women with wooden legs as well.”
George's impatient hands paused in their unfastening for a moment. Resuming, he said casually, “There's no accounting for tastes. Me, I find redheads irresistible.” He pushed the dress from her shoulders and slid his hands around to cup her breasts.
Now was the time to put her plan into effect, while her lover was lustful and irrational. Stella said in a quavering voice, “It was dreadful finding Davenport there tonight. I hoped never to see him again, after ... after what he did the last time.”
Blakeford spun her around and seized her shoulders, his lips a hard, narrow line. “What do you mean?”
She widened her eyes, trying to look innocent and vulnerable. If she didn't play this exactly right, George would be furious with her, dangerously so. “Remember that night you had the card party and you lost five hundred pounds to Davenport?”
“I remember.” Blakeford's mouth twisted nastily. “I also remember you wagging your tail at him.”
“Georgie, darling, not at all!” she protested. “I was just being hospitable, since he was your guest. But ... but he misunderstood. You remember how drunk he was. And ... and when I chanced to meet him in the hallway ...” She bowed her head and shivered, as if unable to continue.
Blakeford's hands tightened bruisingly on her arms. “What happened?”
Hurt by his grip, Stella was able to produce genuine tears. “He ... he forced himself on me, George. It was just awful. I tried to scream, but he had his hand over my mouth.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why didn't you tell me about it then?”
Stella said huskily, “I was afraid of what might happen. You know his reputation, how dangerous he is. I couldn't bear to think that something might happen to you.” She began unbuttoning her lover's shirt with expert hands. “I thought it best to forget the incident, but when I saw him tonight, I was frightened. He insulted me horribly, for no reason. And the way he looked at me!” She swallowed hard, then continued. “What if he comes after me again? He was so
large
. So
strong
.”
Each of her words was chosen to imply subtly that Davenport was more of a man than Blakeford. Stronger, more virile, more dangerous. She understood her lover's pride and possessiveness well enough to be sure that he would not let anything foolish like honor restrain him when he was enraged. If he wanted revenge, it was quite possible that Davenport would be found with a lead ball in his back, and no one would ever know who did it. Stella savored the thought.
As her hands roved farther, Blakeford's groan became more than just fury. Raggedly he said, “I'll make him pay, Stella, for what he did to you, and to me.”
He crushed his mouth down on hers. He was not entirely convinced that the slut had been unwilling when Davenport made his advance. But she was
his
slut, by God, and Davenport would pay for having trespassed.
Damn Davenport to hell anyhow. First the man had taken Stella, and then he had saved “Alys Weston's” life. If he hadn't been around the night of the fire, she would be dead and none would be the wiser.
It had been bitterly disappointing to learn that the bitch had survived. At the time he'd had no special interest in whether Davenport lived or died, but after Stella's revelation, it was doubly infuriating to think how close the fire had come to removing both problems.
Vengeance must wait a few days or weeks, until the time was right, but it would most assuredly come.
He pulled his mistress to their bed, determined to ride her with such ferocity that he would completely obliterate her memories of being touched by another manâespecially a man who was large, and strong, and dangerous.
Chapter 17
The first time Julian Markham saw Meredith Spenser in her clay-smudged dress, he'd thought that she was a remarkably pretty girl. A few hours later he saw her gowned for dinner and knew she was a stunner. By the time he had spent three days in her company, he had fallen quite thoroughly in love.
Even in his besotted state, he knew it wasn't only Merry's golden beauty that he loved, but her intelligence, buoyant good nature, and calm good sense. Love was a novel and delicious sensation, and he kept it to himself, biding his time and saying nothing to Merry that might give offense. Luckily, in the country they were able to spend nearly every daylight hour together, walking, riding, and visiting local sights. Such companionship could never have occurred in London, and was a tribute to the confidence that Lady Alys had in her ward, and in Julian himself.
The confidence was not misplaced. Nothing untoward or improper had been said between Julian and Merry, but as they laughed and talked of everything and nothing, the conviction grew in Julian that she returned his feelings. He decided to speak to her the day before he would have to depart for a family engagement. While he was sure that Merry cared for him, he was not quite so confident that he wished to leave without assuring himself of her affections.
The afternoon's activity was a tour of the potbank. Julian would cheerfully go anywhere with Merry, but found it surprisingly interesting to see how clay was prepared and pottery was made. “It used to be that there were little local potteries all over Britain,” Merry explained as she showed him where slipware was cast. “But now that roads are so much improved, pottery can be shipped longer distances. The industry is becoming concentrated in places convenient to raw materials, like Staffordshire.”
Julian studied her enchanting profile as she lifted a plaster of Paris mold from a shelf. “You know the most remarkable things,” he said admiringly.
She chuckled. “Remarkable, unladylike things is what you mean.” She opened the mold for him. “See? The liquefied clay, which is called slip, is poured into the mold. The plaster pulls the water out, the clay deposits on the inside of the mold, and voila! We have a vase or cup or whatever. Very elaborate pieces can be made this way.”
“Merry,” Julian said, laying one hand on hers where it held the mold, “one reason you are so special is precisely that you are un-missish.”
She gave him a swift, uncertain glance, then pulled away to return the mold to the shelf. “Neither my aunt nor Lady Alys would ever permit me to be missish. Shall we go and look at the bottle oven so you can see how the pottery is fired?”
He obligingly followed her outside to the oven, which was large enough for two dozen people to stand inside when it was empty. At the moment it was half-filled with earthenware waiting to be fired a second time. Merry pointed out objects of interest, including dainty teacups in their own protective firing container. “Those are some of my trial pieces. I'm working on designs for when we're ready to add new lines.”
His gaze on Merry's face, Julian murmured, “Very pretty.”
For a moment he thought he saw sadness in her deep blue eyes. Then she smiled mischievously. “An expert flirt can turn anything into a compliment.” Leading the way out of the oven, she went on, “It should be full enough to fire tomorrow. After this second firing, I'll be able to decorate my samples. I'm pleased with how they're turning out. The shapes are rather good.”
“So is yours,” he said, admiring her silhouette in the door of the bottle oven.
A teasing laugh was his only answer.
The works supervisor, Jamie Palmer, was outside, and she waved at him as she and Julian left. They had walked over from Strickland. As they turned their steps back toward the manor house, Julian said, “Merry, I want to talk to you.”
They were walking along a hedgerow. Acting as if he hadn't spoken, she picked a sprig of pale pink flowers from a lanky plant growing among the hawthorn. “This is valerian. Did you know the roots make a tea that will help a person to sleep?”
As she sniffed the cluster of pink blossoms, Julian asked, “Why are you trying to avoid talking to me?”
She stared down at the flower, not meeting his eyes. “I don't want our summer idyll to end,” she said softly. “But I suppose it already has.”
He cupped her chin in one hand and looked into her sapphire eyes. Shocked to see tears gathering, he said with alarm, “Merry, what's wrong? Is it that you don't want to hear me say that I love you because you don't feel the same?”
Her eyes shut as the tears spilled over. “Oh, no, not that! Not that at all.”
It seemed the most natural thing in the world to take her in his arms and hold her. Julian had known that he loved her sweetness, beauty, and gaiety. Now he discovered a tenderness beyond anything he had ever experienced. “Hush, my dear,” he murmured. “If I love you and you love me, what cause is there for tears?”
Merry pulled away from him. “I never expected being in love to hurt so much.” She gave a brittle smile. “Alys used to laugh at how well I had my life planned. I had decided that I would find a kind man of moderate fortune who would adore and cherish me. In return I would make sure he never regretted his choice.”
She dug a handkerchief from a concealed pocket and blew her nose in a futile attempt to recover her composure. Julian found even her pinkened nose endearing.
Realizing that serious talk was needed, Julian sat down in the shadow of the hedgerow, sparing one pained thought for his fawn-colored inexpressibles. He took Merry's hand and tugged her down beside him. “Why are you finding love so uncomfortable? I've never been happier in my life.”
She stared bleakly down at the crumpled muslin square in her hand. “It hurts because I can't believe we'll have a âhappily ever after.' We are too far apart in birth and fortune. Why couldn't your father have been something less lofty than a viscount?”
“I wouldn't have thought you would mind the idea of being a viscountess. You will make a very good one.” He laid his hand over hers, where it rested on the grassy turf. “Since my father is hale and hearty, you should have years as the Honorable Mrs. Markham before you have to face becoming Lady Markham.”
Her smile was rueful. “Julian, my mother was the daughter of a minor country squire, my father a city merchant who was reasonably successful, but nowhere near rich enough to overcome my deficiencies of birth. I will have a portion of five thousand pounds. That's quite decent by the standards of rural Dorsetshire, but I can't believe it is what Lord Markham wishes for his only son and heir.”
His respect for her increased. Obviously she had been doing some clear thinking. “I don't expect my father to like it, but he hasn't the authority to forbid my marriage, or to disinherit me.” Julian smiled reassuringly. “He should be delighted to hear my news, since he has suggested several times in the last couple of years that I marry. I think he wants to see the succession assured for another generation.” He halted a moment. “I've gotten ahead of myself. Will you marry me?”
“I would like nothing better.” As Julian began to smile, she added, “But not at the expense of separating you from your family.” She swallowed hard and looked away. “That is why love hurts. I find that I care more for your happiness than my own. I ... I know too well what it is to lose one's parents. I won't be the cause of cutting you off from your family.”
Another wave of tenderness swept through Julian. Merry's generosity of spirit was vivid proof that love had deeper levels than he had realized. A lifetime with her would introduce him to kinds of loving that he could not even imagine now.
Sunlight shafted through the hedge to touch her golden hair to a halo. Her loveliness was unearthly, but her expression was such a blend of sorrow and longing that Julian could restrain himself no longer. He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers, first as lightly as a butterfly wing, then with increasing pressure.
She responded with such sweetness that he ached, longing to enfold and protect her forever. His arms went around her, and he drew her close. He'd had his share of experience with the physical side of loving, but her simple kiss moved him more deeply that the most unrestrained passion in his past.
When he found himself on the verge of pulling her down full length on the soft grass, he knew it was time to stop. He released her, his breath unsteady. “We had better get on our feet and moving, or I am going to betray Lady Alys's trust.”
Her face shaken and vulnerable, Merry hastily rose and brushed her crumpled skirt. Then she tucked her hand into Julian's elbow, clinging more tightly than she usually did as they resumed walking along the footpath.
When Julian had himself under control again, he said, “Why are you so sure my family will object to you? It isn't as if you're an opera dancer.”
She giggled, as he had hoped she would, but sobered swiftly. “I'm just being logical. I'm not the least bit romantical, you know. You could do far better for yourself.”
Julian stopped and turned her to face him, his hands lightly resting on her shoulders. “No, I couldn't,” he said intensely. “Remember that.”
Having lost parents, aunt, and several homes already in her life had made Merry pessimistic, he decided. What mattered was that she loved him. All he had to do was convince his father that there wasn't a better, sweeter girl in all of England. Uneasily he acknowledged that he had his work cut out for him, but he had no doubts about his ultimate success.
Making an effort to hide her fears, Merry laid the back of her hand against his cheek for a moment. In some ways Julian was far more innocent than she. But at least she'd had her summer idyll.
In an everyday voice she asked, “How did you meet Reggie? I've often wondered. You're so different, yet you're obviously the best of friends.”
Accepting the change of subject, Julian released her, and they resumed their stroll. “In a gambling hell. I was just down from Oxford, feeling very much a man of the world. Then I got into a game of whist with some deep players. Over the course of a very long evening, I lost every penny I had, including my allowance, a small inheritance I had just received from a great-aunt, and vowels drawn against my future expectations.”
“Merciful heaven!” she exclaimed, shocked to the bottom of her practical soul. “How dreadful. Did you lose it to Reggie?”
“No, but he was in the game. He was playing casually and running about even, neither winning nor losing much.” Julian grimaced. “As I floundered around, losing more and more, Reg watched me like an angry eagle, which didn't help me feel any less of a fool. Soon I was so far in debt that I would cheerfully have jumped in the Thames rather than confess to my father. It was the wretchest night of my life.
“I was quite drunk, of course, and must have looked desperate. I finally had the sense to drop out of the game. I was going to leave, but he told me very harshly to sit down and watch how the game was supposed to be played.” Julian smiled with self-mockery. “When Reggie says,
sit,
one sits.”
Merry nodded, understanding perfectly.
“I've never seen such an example of concentration in my life,” Julian continued. “Reggie was so absorbed it was frightening. Over the next four hours he won everything of mine back, and several hundred pounds besides. Then he took me home with him, saying I was too drunk to walk the streets. I didn't really want to go with him, but I did, since the alternative was Markham House and a lot of explanations I didn't want to make.
“The next morning, I woke up with the devil's own hangover, and Reggie proceeded to give me the dressing down of my life.” Julian smiled reminiscently. “My father is a dab hand at that sort of thing, but Reg is in a class by himself. He called me a stupid young cawker and spelled out in excruciating detail the folly I had committed. Then he asked me to promise that I wouldn't gamble again until I learned how to do it properly. After I agreed, he burned all my vowels.”
Fascinated, Merry asked, “And he asked nothing in return?” Julian grinned. “He made me buy him breakfast that morning.”
Merry started laughing. “That's an incredible story. Yet it sounds like Reggie. I've gotten the feeling that his reputation does him considerably less than justice.”
“Very true,” Julian agreed. “He undertook to give me lessons in intelligent gaming, and I have never gambled more than I can afford to lose since. London can be treacherous, and it's been a blessing to have a friend who is up to all the tricks. The irony is that my father is absolutely convinced that Reggie is leading me straight to perdition. Whenever I've tried to correct his misapprehensions, he just rants and raves.”
“So your father isn't very reasonable?” Merry said in a stifled voice.
Guessing her thoughts, Julian patted the small hand curled around his arm. “Not alwaysâbut he will be about you.”
Merry wished she could share Julian's confidence, but that was impossible. In her heart she believed that she would never see him again after he left the next day.