Kitabı oku: «Regency Affairs Part 2: Books 7-12 Of 12», sayfa 42

Chapter Nineteen

That night Katy lost her much-loved rag doll. Rosalie had realised Polly was missing at Katy’s bed time and was apprehensive, because she clutched the battered toy in her sleep every night. But Katy had fallen asleep so very quickly that it had slipped from Rosalie’s mind.

Until, a little after midnight, Rosalie was woken by Katy’s woeful cry. ‘Polly-doll. Gone.’

Rosalie scrambled out of bed in her nightgown and hurried to comfort the little girl. ‘I’ll look for her, darling. Don’t fret—I’ll be back very soon.’

Her fault for not doing it earlier, she reproached herself. Quickly pulling a shawl over her nightdress, she took a candlestick and tiptoed barefoot downstairs. She was aware that a rota of Alec’s men kept watch both inside and out, night and day—a relic of their old army routine, she assumed. But the sleeping house was quiet as she hurried down the staircase and along the unlit passageway to the parlour off the kitchen where she guessed the doll was most likely to be.

Indeed, the rag doll was lying half under a chair. Retrieving it with a sigh of relief, she set off back up to Katy, and a watery smile was her reward.

‘There, darling.’ Rosalie stroked Katy’s cheek. ‘Everything’s all right now. Sweet dreams, my love.’

As soon as Katy was asleep again Rosalie tiptoed back to her own room. So stupid of her to go without shoes, for she’d somehow caught her left foot on a splinter of wood—on the rough staircase, perhaps—and now it was bleeding slightly. She wrung out a cotton handkerchief in cold water and knotted it tightly around her foot to cover the small wound. Then she remembered she’d left the candlestick burning on the landing and limped out to fetch it.

And nearly collided with a tall male figure. Alec.

Shock quivered through her veins at the raw masculinity of his body, so close to hers.

‘I thought I heard someone,’ he was saying. ‘Is anything wrong?’ He was assessing her sharply, taking in her shawl flung over her nightgown, her pale face, her loose hair.

‘Katy woke up just now and realised she hadn’t got her rag doll.’ Somehow she kept her voice calm. ‘Major crisis, of course. So I’ve just been down to find the doll, then I remembered I left this candle out here …’

Her voice trailed away. She hadn’t realised, and she should have done, that he wasn’t all that fully dressed himself. His lean, hard-boned face was shadowed with beard growth. His white shirt had been hastily thrust into his tight buckskin breeches, but was unfastened almost all the way down his chest, and … Oh, Lord, she could see, as his shirt gaped, that astounding musculature. His sculpted shoulders and chest, the bronzed gleam of smooth male torso, that line of silky dark hair that ran down towards his abdomen and …

Don’t look as though you’re about to faint at the sight of a half-naked male body, you silly fool. He thinks you a widow and a whore.

‘So Katy’s all right?’ he asked.

‘Oh, yes, indeed—she’s fast asleep, now, and quite happy, thank you!’ She gave a brief nod and turned to go.

His hand was on her shoulder. ‘And what about you, Mrs Rowland? Perhaps you’d like to tell me why your nightgown is spattered with water and there’s a handkerchief tied around your foot?’

‘I caught it on the stairs just now. So stupid of me. It’s only a scratch. I’m sorry I’ve disturbed you—’

His voice was softer. ‘You must stop blaming yourself, you know, for everything.’

Something tight caught in her throat. ‘Who else should I blame?’ she whispered.

His hands were warm and strong on her shoulders. ‘Listen to me. No one could have done more than you for your sister. You’ve searched high and low for her, you’ve taken extraordinary care of her child …’

‘But I had to. I had to.’ She gazed up at him in despair. ‘Because it was my fault, Alec!’

‘For God’s sake! What was?’

‘It was my fault that my little sister ran away from home!’

His gaze was steady. ‘I really find that very difficult to believe,’ he said.

‘Then you must,’ she told him bleakly. She dragged herself away from him. ‘Why do you think I care so desperately for poor Katy? Because it’s the only way I can make amends!’ She was trembling. ‘You’ve been so kind to me, you and your men, but I’ve drawn you into all this on a lie, because I should have told you everything from the very beginning, I’ve deceived you … Excuse me, I’ve disturbed your sleep. I’ll go back to my room now.’

But she couldn’t go anywhere, because he’d caught her again by her arm.

‘Rosalie. This is an order. You’re not going anywhere until I’ve looked at your foot.’

She stared down at it blindly. ‘No, really, it’s just a splinter …’

‘Then it needs removing. You’d better come to my room. And at the same time you’re going to tell me—everything.’

After it happened, Alec reviled himself bitterly. But what else could he have done? He couldn’t leave her so obviously in pain, though she tried so hard to hide it. Couldn’t leave her so full of contempt for herself.

And he couldn’t take her downstairs, where any of his men, as they made their nightly rounds, might see them. But he was playing with fire. And he damned well knew it.

She followed him to his room. He could tell by her uneven tread that she couldn’t put her weight properly on her left foot. He saw her glance at his bed and catch her breath before perching on the edge of a chair with her nightgown buttoned up to her throat. But her lovely pale hair was loose, as it never was by day, and—damn, he thought. Damn, didn’t she realise, with that lamp glowing away behind her, that despite that garment being long and all-enveloping, he could see almost everything through that sheer material? She looked exquisite, with her slender legs outlined beneath the filmy fabric, her pert breasts jutting …

Dear God, you’re no good for her. Remember it, you fool.

He fetched a low stool on which she could rest her foot and bent to swiftly examine the damage. Yes, there was a splinter—tiny, but if it wasn’t removed it could turn nasty. Her foot was small and soft. Clenching his teeth, he fetched water. Then, bringing a lamp very close, he said, ‘This will hurt, just a little.’

Rosalie nodded, biting her lip. His strong, warm hand cupping her foot was such sweet torment that it sent a surge of longing through her veins. With swift skill he eased out the splinter and she suppressed the low cry that forced its way to her lips.

He glanced up at her, concern and reassurance in his dark eyes. ‘That’s it,’ he said. He bathed away the slight trickle of blood, knowing it would cleanse the wound, then tied one of his laundered neckcloths around her foot and stood up. ‘Better?’

She lifted her chin staunchly. ‘Thank you. Much, much better. I’ll go back to my room—’

‘Not just yet,’ he said quietly. ‘You were going to tell me—remember?—about your sister.’

And so she began. He reminded himself, as he watched her, how young she was, how vulnerable still. Twenty-one and a widow, with her life in tatters around her. He stood with his back to the window, hoping that the distance across the room might help to quell the physical arousal of which he was all too aware.

She clasped her hands together. She raised her face to him and said quietly, ‘Alec, I loved Linette, so very much. But I’ve already told you that everyone was unkind to my mother for being foreign—even for being pretty. And Linette was just like our mother—so sweet and lovely, wanting everyone to adore her, and not understanding why they didn’t.’

‘And so you took it upon yourself to defend your little family?’

‘My father asked me to.’

‘Your father? But—how old were you when he died? Seven, I thought you said?’

‘My age did not matter—I’d promised!’ She gazed at him almost defiantly, her blue eyes dark with emotion. ‘And as I grew older I did what I could to protect my poor mother from those who—wished to hurt her. Helen was my one good friend; she was the village schoolteacher. I loved my lessons, I loved learning about—oh, about everything. And I used to write stories. They were my way of escaping a rather cruel world, I suppose—Linette used to love hearing them.’

She took a deep breath. ‘But Linette didn’t enjoy school at all. And as she grew older, she grew very pretty, not like me.’

Alec found himself about to say something, but stopped.

‘Then Linette realised that a lot of the local boys and men were starting to notice her,’ she went on. ‘I couldn’t blame her for enjoying their flattery, but I just asked her to be careful …’ Rosalie shook her head and blew her nose with the big, clean handkerchief Alec had silently offered her. ‘I’m sorry, Alec, you must find this tedious!’

‘No,’ he said. ‘What happened? To make her run away?’

He saw the pulse fluttering in her throat, the faint colour that tinged her exquisite cheekbones. She moistened her lips. ‘There was someone in the village …’

‘Go on.’

‘And he used to lend me his books. His name was Thomas—he was the local squire’s son. He often came riding past our cottage, and when he saw me, he would stop and talk. I thought he was—a friend. I was eighteen, nearly nineteen—he told me he would protect us, against the troublemakers.’

Alec listened. ‘And he didn’t?’

She shook her head quickly. ‘I was a fool. I’d gone to tell him that some men were persecuting my mother again—oh, in little ways, harassing her for being a foreigner as she walked to the village shop and so on. He told me to meet him that evening, in the churchyard, and he … he tried to seduce me.’

Alec had gone very still.

‘I told him that I’d only agreed to meet him because he’d promised to help us. But he said—’ she clenched her hands ‘—he said I was deluding myself if I thought that anyone would trouble to defend a French trollop and her brats without— some sort of reward.’ She shuddered. ‘And he told me I was too thin for him anyway.’

Too scrawny to give a man a comfortable ride had been his exact words. She could still remember the horrible wet thickness of his lips as he’d tried to thrust his tongue into her mouth, the hateful grabbing at her breasts. She’d kicked him away, panting with nausea. ‘And then,’ she went on rather desperately, ‘he said I had been deliberately leading him on. Which I hadn’t! I’d no intention—’

Alec had hardly moved. ‘He sounds a pleasant specimen. Was that the last you saw of him?’

She was struggling to be calm, but he saw her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her nightgown. ‘Unfortunately, no. A few months later, I discovered that he had been meeting my sister and giving her gifts.’ She lifted her blue eyes to Alec’s; he saw how they burned with distress. ‘I don’t know what, if anything, occurred. But we argued, terribly. She told me I was jealous and had wanted Thomas myself; I told Linette she was being very foolish.’

‘Couldn’t your mother have said anything to your sister?’

She shook her head. ‘Our mother was by then not at all well. When I warned Linette that his intentions could not be honourable, she said I was making life unbearable for her. And a few days later she’d gone. Packed some things and taken the carrier’s cart to Oxford.’ She caught her breath. Despair etched her features. ‘I knew that she wanted to be an actress, so I guessed she’d gone to London, and I went there again and again to look for her, but it seemed hopeless. And then I had to go back to my mother, for she was very ill, and bed-bound; she passed away last summer. But last October, I got a note from Linette to say that she was in trouble. I found my sister, with Katy, just before she died. And it was my fault …’

Rosalie was standing up, running her hands through her long hair. ‘So now you see why I’m not worthy of your kindness, Alec—you who are so generous to waifs and strays. I drove my sister away. I’ll understand completely if you no longer wish to help me.’

She was already limping towards the door, her head held high.

Something in him—some iron band of self-control—snapped in that instant. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong in the story she’d just told him. Yet all that mattered now was that she was in distress. In utter despair.

He blocked her way. He put his hands on her shoulders. Feeling her start to tremble, he tilted up her small chin with one warm finger. ‘Rosalie. Listen to me. You were just trying to guide her in the right direction, as a caring parent does with a wayward child. And—forgive me—your sister left home without a word, which must have caused untold distress to your unwell mother. Not an act of consideration on her part, surely? You did everything that you could. Do you hear me?’

‘You are being kind.’ She shivered. ‘But you must still hate me, for failing my sister. Perhaps Thomas was right—I was jealous of Linette, because she was so pretty, and I am not.’

‘Not pretty?’ Alec stared at her. Her low opinion of herself was beyond belief. ‘Why in God’s name do you persist in believing that?’

She shrugged, meeting his gaze defiantly. ‘I’m too thin. My face is all bony. My nose doesn’t turn up prettily like Linette’s did, my eyes are too big, my hair is too straight.’

‘You list those things as if they’re faults,’ breathed Alec. ‘Listen to me. Your bone structure is exquisite. Your high cheekbones, your perfect nose, your figure …’

Alec was stunned to find himself having to say all this. If there was one thing the females who had been his mistresses in the past were aware of, it was their own allure. They were always fishing for compliments and Alec would oblige—or not. But this time—this time he found, to his astonishment, that he really meant it.

‘Rosalie,’ he said. ‘Many women are pretty—but you are beautiful.’

His hands were still on her shoulders—dangerous. The tightness pulling at his loins was a heavy, throbbing ache.

‘You must despise me, then,’ she said almost defiantly.

It was no good. Her lips, tremulous, were barely inches from his own. Her lovely, turquoise-blue eyes that were so wide with despair melted all his carefully built defences.

He bent down to kiss her. It was meant to be a gesture of reassurance. Of tenderness.

Damn. It was anything but.

Something else that was entirely wrong. She was supposed to be a widow. All that had been just slightly askew, slightly off kilter about her accounts of her past, now fell into place.

Never once had she told him about … her husband!

Too late. Too damned late. She was opening to Alec’s kisses like a tender flower yearning for the sun.

There was no way in the whole of this world that he could pull back from the inevitable now.

Rosalie felt the caress of his warm lips through every fibre of her sensitised being. Every nerve she possessed was sparked by that one instant. Licking flames of desire surged through her veins, burning her up. Alec’s hands pulled her closer, sliding down her back to span her tiny waist, hauling her against him. Then he reclaimed her mouth with a low growl of male hunger and Rosalie found herself responding, parting her lips to accept the thrust of his tongue.

The warm male scent of him all but overwhelmed her. The hard ridge of arousal pressing at her abdomen tormented her with sweet desires. His tongue was plundering her mouth strongly, sweetly. She wanted to nestle into his big, muscled arms and melt into him, to be one with him …

At one point she realised that Alec was, with a great effort, pushing her away. Was trying to say, through clenched teeth, ‘This should not be happening.’

Her cheeks were burning hot, but inside she felt so cold. French whore’s daughter. Perhaps what she’d told him about Thomas repelled him. Her eyes were wide and haunted as she stared up at him. ‘Of course. I’m so sorry. You were only being kind to me and I’m behaving like a fool—’

‘Kind to you!’ grated Alec thickly. He cupped her sweet face and tilted it up so his eyes blazed forcefully down into hers. ‘You think this is kindness?’

Her heart fractured. ‘Just—don’t send me away,’ she whispered. ‘Not now.’

‘Rosalie, I’m trying to warn you.’

‘Alec, I feel safe with you. As safe as I’ve ever felt in my life.’

Her hands had stretched up round the nape of his neck, daring to feel the dark hair that grew so closely there, sliding down a little to caress his strong muscled shoulders beneath his shirt. With a low groan he’d pulled her to him again to hold her close against his aroused body, while his other hand unfastened the buttons of her nightgown until he could push the cool linen aside and cup the aching fullness of each rounded breast.

Rosalie clung to his shoulders as her nipples peaked and her whole body sang with longing. Alec swept her up in his arms and carried her tenderly to his bed, where he laid her down as if she was something precious. Then he lowered himself to her side, still kissing her. Instinctively she arched her whole body towards him, her head falling back in rapture as she pressed her own flat palms against his strong, naked chest, feeling the smooth skin stretched over swelling muscles, feeling his heartbeat.

This was like coming home. Like something she’d dreamed of, all her life. This might be all she could have of this incredible man. But she would remember it, for ever.

She shivered with exquisite sensation as he tenderly eased her nightgown away; gasped with delight as she felt her breasts pressed against the hard wall of his chest. And all the while she was aware of his lips on her hair, her forehead, her cheeks …

Quickly he pulled down his breeches, then drew her now-naked body close again. His strong, hair-roughened thighs were against hers, while he kissed her throat and murmured her name. She felt his aroused manhood and shock thudded through her. But with an achingly tender touch, he caught her gasp with his kiss and continued to caress her breasts with his hands, sending wave after wave of pleasure through her. Then he dipped his dark head to catch one stiffening bud in his mouth and drew it in, laving it with his tongue.

She cried out as sensation pulsed through her. She raked her fingers across his wide shoulders and, as his tongue worked at her nipple, she wanted more, needed more. The hunger spiralled from deep within her, surging through her blood like a fever. ‘Alec …’ Then her breath stopped in her throat as he trailed his hand beguilingly down her abdomen and began, using gentle fingertips, to explore the very heart of her femininity.

Dear God. She arched against him, eyes squeezed shut, her legs opening instinctively to his hard lithe body as he shifted to take his own weight on his arms and eased himself between her slender thighs.

She glimpsed it, in the candlelight, the proud essence of his masculinity, the dark, lengthy shaft, its silken head positioned just at the secret heart of her. Then he was lowering his head to kiss her again, his lips and tongue taking hot, needy possession of her mouth. At the same time he was gliding into her, inch by powerful inch. At first she was afraid, but then she was awash with pure sensation, pure need, as he gentled her, stroking her hair, her breasts, kissing her face and eyelids, murmuring, ‘Rosalie. Sweetheart …’

For just that one moment in time, it was almost possible for Rosalie to pretend that he loved her.

Then something happened. Then Alec encountered—resistance. He froze. His suspicions clenched at his insides. ‘Rosalie. What—?’

‘Don’t stop,’ she pleaded, pulling him to her, arching herself to meet him in raw hunger, revelling in the sensation of his hard length at her core. ‘Alec, please don’t stop now!’

And indeed, how could he? He surged in deep. She uttered one sharp cry, which he cherished with his kiss, then he pulled her to him, coaxing her into his rhythm. And Alec made love to her, being as gentle as a man of such power could be, caressing her, soothing her with his mouth on her lips and breasts, his fingers working skilfully at the core of her being as she was caught up in a surge of incredible pleasure she thought could rise no higher, until there began a soaring, glorious, impossible ecstasy as he took her over the edge.

Alec reached his own powerful release moments later. Hard reality began to creep in. He pulled himself up, breathing thickly. He’d been right. She had not known any other lover.

Hell. How could he have made such a blunder?

Easy. Because he had believed her when she’d told him she was a widow. The alarm bells had only begun to sound tonight, with her anguished tale of the young brute who’d tried to seduce her.

Which he himself had now done, most effectively.

He got up and started heaving on his clothes. ‘Oh, Rosalie.’ His voice was harsher than he’d meant it to be, because this was his fault, his stupid mistake with which to lash himself mentally. ‘Rosalie, why, in God’s name, didn’t you tell me? How was I to perform some miracle of mind-reading and to know that you were, in spite of your much-vaunted widowhood, in spite of everything—a virgin?’

Her face was so white that it was as if he’d taken to her with a whip. She sat up on the edge of his bed, pulling on her crumpled nightgown, fastening it with frantic fingers. She tossed her head in that defiant way of hers that smote him utterly. ‘I—I pretended to be a widow for Katy’s sake. For her safety, Alec, and for mine! And somehow the time never seemed quite right to tell you …’

‘Not even in my damned bed?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly.

He dragged his hand through his hair. Deceit all round, then. For wasn’t he deceiving her, by keeping the truth from her about his despicable brother? ‘What about practicalities?’ he said tiredly. ‘When was your last monthly flow?’

The blush of utter mortification flooded her cheeks. ‘It ended three days ago,’ she whispered.

‘Little chance of pregnancy, then,’ he said. ‘That’s something.’ He sighed and drew her near. ‘We will talk properly tomorrow. Shall we? Hmmm?’ Gently he tilted her face towards his and saw there were shadows of sheer exhaustion under her lovely eyes.

‘Tomorrow,’ she echoed. She looked—frozen.

Something twisted in Alec’s gut. He kept his arms around her. ‘This isn’t the end of the world,’ he said. His eyes were grave, but his voice was gentle. ‘We’ll find some way forwards, trust me. But in the meantime—we’ll speak of this to absolutely no one, do you understand? Now, I’ll just check that the way is clear before I see you back to your room.’

He left her there, while he went to look out on the corridor.

Oh, God, thought Rosalie, sinking to the edge of his disarrayed bed. What had she done now? He’d offered to stop, after that first kiss. But she’d lied to him. She’d encouraged him. She’d longed for him, even though she knew he could never love her.

And she had dared to criticise Linette for her behaviour all that time ago! Alec had been so kind. But he would be thinking now, She is a slut, like her sister. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

Then she saw the letter, lying open on his desk. It was written on fine paper, in a beautiful script, and from it drifted the faint scent of gardenias. Something fateful dragged her towards it. I know there are risks, my dear, she read, but might I see you at Lord Fanton’s ball? There are things I need to tell you …

She tore her eyes away. Remembered Garrett muttering, when she wasn’t supposed to hear, ‘So she’s back in town. Dear God, she’s beautiful, but she’s wrecked his life …’

The letter must be from the woman he was once going to marry. The woman he’d loved and lost—only, perhaps he hadn’t lost her.

Alec was coming back into the room. ‘All’s clear,’ he said. ‘And I’ve been thinking. I’m going to send you and Katy to some friends of mine in Mayfair, where you will be safer.’

‘Safer …’

‘Yes.’ He gazed at her steadily. ‘In all possible ways. I’ve been considering it for a few days.’

She could hardly speak. ‘I see. Do I take it you also wish to end the pretence of our betrothal?’

‘No!’ he answered sharply. ‘More than ever I’m afraid we must make our betrothal public, to safeguard your reputation, and in case it comes to a legal action for custody of the child. I’ll send you to my friend Lucas’s house tomorrow.’

Oh, God, she thought. He hated all this. She met his gaze steadily. ‘You are high-handed, Captain Stewart.’ Her voice broke, just a little. ‘I take it your friend Lucas has been consulted?’

‘I have spoken to Lord Conistone about it, yes.’

‘Lord Conistone …’ Mary had told her he was one of Alec’s friends. He was also head of one of the most prestigious families in England and a member of the Prince Regent’s set.

‘Indeed,’ went on Alec, ‘Lucas understands the situation, though I’ve not burdened him with all the details. His wife, Verena, is extremely kind and discreet; they have two children, a boy and a girl, who are just a little older than Katy, so she will fit easily into the nursery there.’

‘Lord Conistone is generous.’

‘He is my friend.’ Alec escorted her back to her room then, his face set. Just as she was turning to go in, he said, ‘Rosalie. I can see that you are flaying yourself over the secrets you’ve kept from me. I should even the score by telling you that I’ve lied to you also.’

Her eyes flew up to his. He was going to tell her about that letter.

But it wasn’t what she thought. ‘I have a brother,’ he went on. ‘An older brother. I’ve told you that. What I haven’t told you is that he is—Lord Stephen Maybury.’

She just stood there, frozen. At last her lips moved. ‘Why didn’t you—?’

‘Tell you before?’ His voice was heavy. ‘There were reasons. But what you need to know, now, is that my brother is not to be trusted in any way at all.’

She said quietly, ‘So you hate him and he hates you. Am I—was tonight—part of your campaign against your brother?’

He ground out some words under his breath. ‘For God’s sake, Rosalie! You must not believe that, ever!’

‘Then what am I to believe?’

He said, between clenched teeth, ‘That I count the welfare of you and the child as one of my chief responsibilities!’

Rosalie dragged in a deep breath. ‘And if I could relieve you of that responsibility, I would. Oh, believe me, I would.’

What could he say? He ushered her to her room. Then he went back to his own chamber, feeling sick with himself. Haunted, by her words.

If I could relieve you of that responsibility, I would.

So there it was. She had deceived him and he had deceived her. A recipe for utter disaster.

But he would never forget how she had given herself to him. The way that her whole being splintered into rapture at the crisis of her pleasure …

Never again. That was why he was sending her to Lucas’s. Because it must never happen again.

For Rosalie, sleep would not come.

It seemed she wasn’t the only one to keep secrets. Alec, and Stephen Maybury—brothers! Yet it all made sickening sense. Their bitter familiarity. Their deep-rooted enmity. Alec’s warning: Promise me you won’t throw yourself away on a brute like Maybury.

She suddenly remembered how she’d even thought they’d resembled one another, ever so slightly, when she first saw Lord Maybury at the Temple of Beauty … Oh, why hadn’t Alec told her? Then again, why should he tell her, when she’d clothed herself in such lies?

Tonight, just for a fleeting and magical hour, her dreams had seemed within her reach. Never again. The clock struck down in the hall. His words tolled in her ears. He’d blamed himself—but she was the one truly to blame, for so stupidly giving away her heart to a man who could never return her love.

Never again. The bleakness of utter despair tore at every fibre of Rosalie’s being.