Kitabı oku: «The Governess's Scandalous Marriage»

Lord Blakely, the Earl of Ridgemont, idly looked into the hall below. He was the stuff ladies’ dreams were made of, fatally handsome and with the devil’s own charm. Here was manner, bearing and elegance that could not be bought or cut into shape by a tailor. He was one of those enviable individuals whose breeding would show through even if he were dressed in rags. Christian was a fiercely private man, guarded and solitary, accountable to no one. To those who knew him he was clever, with an almost mystical ability to see what motivated others. To his business partners it was a gift beyond value, because it provided insight into the guarded ambitions of his adversaries.

The Christian Blakely who had recently returned from Egypt was very different from the one who had left a year ago. The changes were startling. In contrast to the man who had lounged about the gentlemen’s clubs and ballrooms with bored languor, it was a more serious Christian Blakely who had returned. Deeply tanned by the Egyptian sun, he was muscular and extremely fit, sharp and authoritative, and although he charmed his way back into society, there was an aura about him of a man who had done and seen all there was to see and do, a man who had confronted danger. It was a reserved aura that women couldn’t resist and which added to his attraction.

Christian was as quick as any other man to look at a beautiful woman. Raising a lazy brow, with mild interest he watched one now passing slowly among the throng. With a good deal of pleasure he allowed his gaze to dwell on her. She was petite, like a girl, with a hand-span waist. There was elegance and grace in every step she took and she had a perfect, unselfconscious way of walking. In the company of an older woman wearing a striking black and red mask and a young gentleman who bore a similarity to the object of his gaze, she was surrounded by other beautiful ladies. She held her head confidently high as she appeared to mingle with the other guests, a slight smile playing on her pretty lips.

A white wig, short and softly curled, covered her hair. Long white gloves encased her arms and the mask covering the upper part of her face matched the pale gold of her high-waisted dress and the series of ribbons and bows that decorated the bodice and puffed sleeves. Her only adornment was a scintillating teardrop pearl on a thread of gold nestling comfortably in the shadow of her pert young breasts. For a brief moment their eyes met and then he looked away when she passed from view.

A solid block of elegant equipages, stretching all along the street, deposited the cream of London society and foreign dignitaries before the portico of Corinthian columns of the very grand and awe-inspiring Stourbridge House on the Strand. Lord and Lady Stourbridge were giving a masquerade ball at their magnificent residence to celebrate the return of the Duke of Wellington to England following his success in the war against Napoleon Bonaparte in the Peninsula. All England was rejoicing and no one could talk of anything else.

Light streamed from large windows and the moon reflected its silver sheen on surrounding rooftops. The black and white marble hall was filled to capacity with guests greeting each other and being received by their perfect hosts. Lady Stourbridge, one of London’s most popular socialites, was tall and statuesque and attired in blue satin, her light brown hair fussily plumed and bandeauxed. Lord Stourbridge, a man who believed his worth was measured by the cut of his cloth, was pink cheeked beneath his elaborately curled wig and corpulent—a result of too many excesses at the dinner table. He was a pompous, grandiose character, his appearance impressive, from his high collar and bright yellow waistcoat, to his buckled shoes. He was smiling broadly, looking genial and avuncular as he and his wife gave their complete attention to their guests, making each one feel like the most important person in the house.

Lord Blakely watched as the guests strolled along corridors and spilled out on to the wide terrace, descending the shallow flight of stone steps into the torch-lit gardens below. The buzz of chatter and laughter drifted in through the open doors. Pausing at the entrance to the ballroom, he glanced inside without much interest. Two huge chandeliers with crystal drops hung from the stuccoed ceiling, flowers were bursting out of urns and music filled the air. This whole affair was like attending a magnificent theatre and no expense had been spared.

The ladies were attired in their finest, their heads adorned with elaborate swaying plumes and ribbons, their throats and fingers dripping with exquisite jewels. Christian’s gaze lingered on those expensive gems, calmly assessing their worth, before moving on to admire and evaluate the fine paintings adorning the walls. A lady brushed against him. He turned to look at her. She was an attractive woman, but it was not her pretty face that caught his eyes. It was what she was wearing about her throat. He stared into the verdant depths of an emerald necklace. Gleaming with regal fire, it motivated him into action, but he was not interested in rubies or diamonds but something else—something much more valuable to him.

* * *

The masked ball was filled with beauty and elegance. Footmen in scarlet and gold livery stood to attention. Finding it all magically impressive, Linnet Osborne absorbed every detail. Above her head chandeliers, dripping with hundreds of thousands of crystals, were ablaze with blinding light. She could not have imagined such a spectacle. It was the most lavish affair she had ever attended. There was such gaiety and so much colour, the people behind the masks inspired with a sense of boldness, of daring as the carnival atmosphere of the ball invaded each and every one of them. But she became increasingly apprehensive as she mingled with so much elegance and wealth and felt a strong impulse to run from it all and leave. She was conscious of the simplicity of her attire among so much flamboyance. Unfortunately she was wearing the one and only gown she owned that was suitable for such an occasion and she could not afford another. For her the evening could not be over soon enough.

Suddenly her feminine senses tingled. Sensing she was being watched, Linnet looked up at the gallery that circled the upper storey of the house. She looked straight into the eyes of a stranger. He was leaning against a marble pillar, an expression of utter boredom on his handsome face. He was extremely tall with powerful shoulders. Through the balustrade she saw that white-silk stockings encased his muscular calves. Unlike the other gentlemen, who were dressed like peacocks in a multitude of bright colours, he was clad in a blue-velvet coat and breeches, the curve of the cut of the coat allowing full display of the gold embroidered waistcoat. Her attention was focused entirely on him. Had she wanted to look away she could not have done so. She had never seen such a figure of masculine elegance. He looked so poised, so debonair. His habitual air of languid indolence hung about him like a cloak. His thick hair, drawn back and secured at the nape, was as black as the mask which covered the upper part of his face, his taut skin, a dark bronze.

The cold eyes behind the mask made her shiver. As he met her gaze, the expression in his eyes was half-startled, half-amused, and something else—something slightly carnal that stirred unfamiliar things inside her and brought heat to her cheeks. It was impossible not to respond to this man as his masculine magnetism dominated the scene. She was struck by the arrogance in his stance, an arrogance that told her he knew everything about her, which made her feel uneasy. Perhaps, she thought, he would have looked at her differently had he known how miserable she was, her heart heavy like a stone in her young breast. Love and passion were unknown to her—waiting to flourish in the warmth of a man’s eyes.

Quickly she looked away.

Stiffening her spine, Linnet snapped open her fan. She picked up her skirts with her free hand, and followed in the wake of her Aunt Lydia with her brother Toby by her side along with her cousin Louisa and Harry Radcliffe, the young man Louisa was to marry. As she began to ascend the elaborate marble staircase, Linnet assumed an expression of fashionable ennui. The beautiful setting and the laughter spurred her on through a sea of nameless faces into the ballroom, where she was swept along by the music and the dancing. She didn’t lack for partners.

* * *

It was during the break for refreshments that Linnet realised she hadn’t seen Toby all evening.

Noting her unease, her aunt tapped her arm with her fan. ‘What is it, Linnet? Is it Toby you are looking for?’

‘Yes. I—I don’t know where he can be.’

Although a smile stretched her lips, her aunt’s eyes were cold. She looked at Linnet with disdain. ‘Perhaps you should try the card room, Linnet. Isn’t that where he spends most of his time?’

Linnet’s heart sank. ‘I—I hadn’t thought... He said he wouldn’t...not tonight.’

‘Really, my dear,’ her aunt said, with a meaningful lift to her brows, ‘you know him better than that.’

‘Yes, I do, Aunt. Excuse me. I—I will go and look for him.’

Linnet was relieved to escape her aunt’s overbearing presence. Tall and statuesque, Aunt Lydia was a striking woman with dark brown hair and pale blue eyes. Her sole ambition in life was to entertain and ingratiate herself with the social elite and she was a stickler for propriety. Her husband had been killed in a riding accident, leaving her an extremely wealthy widow—a widow who saw that none of her wealth reached her impoverished niece and nephew at Birch House in Chelsea. Lydia’s dislike for Linnet and Toby—the poor relations—radiated from her. Linnet knew this, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Anger and disappointment at her brother’s recklessness burned inside Linnet. At twenty years of age, Toby was two years younger than Linnet. Toby was a man of expensive tastes and, in his reckless desperation to improve their lot, he was in danger of gambling everything away, including their wonderful home in Chelsea, where they lived alone, now their parents were both dead.

Ever since their father had died when Toby was a youth, leaving them almost destitute—their situation worsened by Toby’s propensity to gamble—Linnet’s life had been a constant worry. No one knew what the wrenching loss of both their father and his income had done to her and Toby, or understood the humiliation, shame and heartbreak of it all and how it felt to be forced to live in shabby, penny-pinching gentility.

Trouble was looming, which would be too big for Linnet to handle. Her greatest fear was that they would be left with no choice but to sell the house, which would break her heart. Every day was a struggle to make ends meet, a struggle in which it seemed that defeat was waiting to mock her. Linnet felt as if she were constantly banging her head against a stone wall—and there had been too many stone walls of late. She had contemplated seeking work of some kind and would consider anything that would bring her some income. If only she had someone to talk to, someone to advise her. She was sick with worry and striving and she felt tired. What would become of them?

Linnet had begged Toby countless times to give up his reckless way of life, for if he did not heed their situation then he would find himself in gaol—or worse. But Toby was so wrapped up in his own self-indulgent world he always became angry and defensive and found Linnet’s persistence to try to reform him extremely irritating. Now, her resolve to find him before it was too late sent her towards the room where the card tables had been set up, believing she would find her brother there.

Inside the room the noise was muted so as not to distract the players. There were a lot of people throwing away their money sitting around the green baize tables, and even more standing around watching the games of whist, Hazard and other games that took the guests’ fancy in this paradise of chance. Standing in the doorway, Linnet scanned the groups of people clustered around them, where several games were in progress, but there was no sign of Toby.

Relief flooded through her, but she was left wondering where he could be. She did not linger, not wishing to draw undue attention to herself, but it was no easy matter for Linnet was exquisitely attractive, a figure of elegance, one who instinctively drew a second, lingering glance. There was not a thing she could do about it, for it was innate, like drawing breath. She was unaware that in her plain gown she was scintillating and far more alluring than if she had been adorned from head to toe in jewels.

She was also unaware of the attention of the gentleman who now observed her appearance in the card room—the same gentleman who had noted her arrival at Stourbridge House, his eyes following her with an interested gleam. Linnet was in no mood to return to the ballroom, so she turned away from the card room and wandered from room to room, looking for her brother.

She wandered into a quiet part of the house, where the passageways were dimly lit. When a door opened further along she paused and watched in amazement as her brother emerged, his hand in the pocket of his coat. There was something furtive in his movements and the way his eyes darted up and down the passage. Linnet was immediately suspicious that he was up to something.

‘Toby! What are you doing here? I’ve been looking for you. Why are you not with the other guests?’

‘Linnet—I—I was just—’

‘Just what? What have you got in your pocket?’

Toby’s face reddened. ‘Nothing—nothing at all.’

‘Yes, you have. Show me,’ Linnet demanded, holding out her hand.

Knowing she wouldn’t let him go until he’d showed her the contents of his pocket, Toby slowly pulled out what looked to be a piece of jewellery.

Linnet stared at it, not fully comprehending at first what it was. But then something she had heard her aunt talking about resurrected itself and she could not believe what she was seeing—what Toby had done. Lord Stourbridge was a keen archaeologist and loved all things Egyptian. He was excited and vociferous about the artefacts he had recently brought out of Egypt and he proudly boasted of his finds to all and sundry. His treasures were much talked about, especially a recently acquired necklace of solid gold.

Linnet looked at him accusingly. ‘So, not only do you gamble away every penny we own, now you are a thief. How could you, Toby? How could you do this? I have no doubt you are not in this alone and that one of your associates has put you up to it. How did you know where to look?’

‘It wasn’t difficult. I gained inside knowledge of the house from one of the footmen employed by Lord Stourbridge.’

‘I imagine the footman was well paid for the information and the man who would be guarding the room has gone for his supper.’ Hearing laughter coming from close by and being quick, efficient and decisive, she snatched the necklace out of his hand. ‘Go back to the ballroom and show your face to Aunt Lydia. I’ll put this back.’

A look of panic appeared in Toby’s eyes. ‘You can’t. There are others depending on this.’

‘If they want the necklace, then they can come and get it. I will not see you go to prison, Toby. Where did you get it from? Tell me.’

‘There’s a small black box in the chest facing the door,’ he told her petulantly. ‘You can’t miss it.’

Linnet watched Toby hurry down the passage before opening the door to the room he had come out of. Attaching her fan to her reticule, with her heart in her mouth she slipped inside, closing the door softly behind her.

There were lighted candles in sconces on the walls, casting light and shadows in the room. Looking around, she saw it was a treasure trove of antiquities. Lord Stourbridge was very proud of his collection of ancient relics. The walls were hung with all kinds of artefacts, from African spears and shields to brightly coloured frescoes depicting Egyptians’ daily lives and mosaics from ancient Egypt and ancient Greece. Stuffed animal heads leered down at her. Shoving herself away from the door, she slowly moved into the centre of the room, pulling off her gloves and shoving them into her reticule. Amulets of ancient gods, bronze figurines, wooden statuettes and objects taken from Egyptian tombs that the dead had used and enjoyed in life, were displayed on plinths and shelves.

Moving across the room, Linnet was unaware of the door opening and a tall figure slipping inside. She stood quite still, the music from the ballroom fading as she gazed in awe at what she saw. She had never seen anything like it. Brought from her reverie by laughter somewhere outside the room, Linnet told herself she would have to hurry if she was to accomplish her task successfully. Almost at once she recognised the wooden chest Toby had described to her, one Lord Stourbridge had recently brought from Egypt that held his latest collection of treasures.

With her heart beating loudly in her ears, Linnet quickly moved towards it and lifted the lid. Looking inside, she did a quick search of the contents. Seeing a wooden box, tentatively she lifted it out and looked inside, certain this was the box where the necklace belonged.

Removing the box, she looked at the necklace in her hand, letting it trail through her fingers in solitary splendour. It was a lavish piece of jewellery, made up of five rows of solid gold links inlaid with lapis lazuli and joined by a central gold clasp in the shape of a scarab. Each lapis lazuli stone was like no other in a combination of blue, black and gold. It was truly magnificent. Even to her inexperienced eye Linnet knew it would require a significant level of skill to produce. Out of interest, there were other items in the chest she would have liked to look at more closely, but she told herself she had to hurry. Time was of the essence. The longer she remained in the room, the greater the risk of her being caught. She was about to place it inside the box when a voice rang behind her.

‘I wouldn’t do that if you value your life,’ it said.

She felt a frisson of alarm as all her senses became heightened. She spun around to see who had spoken. A man emerged from the shadows and moved menacingly towards her. Edging into view with a cynical twist to his lips, he allowed the shifting light of the candles to illuminate his features. As she watched him her throat tightened and fear jabbed her in the chest. It was the same man who had drawn her attention earlier. The closer he came brought a waft of gentle cologne that touched her senses and she became aware of his catlike litheness. She could feel the energy flowing from him and could sense the danger. He hardly made a sound as he walked towards her, his eyes never leaving her face, his step surprisingly light for his size.