Harlequin Historical February 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

  ‘It was a dance, Piers.’ She reached for him again and he stared at her hand as if it were a cobra before she let it fall away. ‘Just a dance.’

  ‘It wasn’t just a dance, Faith. It was a premonition. History repeating itself.’ The distant voice of reason begged him to shut up but he couldn’t listen. Wouldn’t listen because the madness had completely possessed him. ‘Thank God it came before I did something stupid!’

  He slapped his forehead with his palm, pacing now because he worried that if he didn’t move then the surge of raw emotions might explode out of him. It forced the cogs of his mind to restart and the strategist within him emerged, scrabbling, trying to fathom a way to save things. A way to stop himself from destroying everything with his own long-buried insecurities while preventing all the hurt from happening again. He was so tired of hating himself. ‘Maybe we can fix this?’

  ‘Are you comparing me to your wife?’

  ‘Never dance with anyone again! Not ever, do you hear me?’ Even to his own ears it sounded like an unreasonable request.

  ‘I am not Constança, Piers!’ There were tears in her eyes now. Tears he had put there. Tears which broke his heart. ‘How dare you compare me to her!’

  ‘How can I not?’ There were probably tears in his eyes too. Because something was clouding his vision and stopping him from finding himself in the smog. ‘She was like you. Beautiful. Talented. Ambitious. A siren who blinds hapless men with lust and then discards them when they fail to measure up.’

  ‘Listen to yourself!’ She shook him by the lapels. ‘You are not being rational.’

  He knew that. Felt it. Hated it.

  Yet it apparently made no difference.

  ‘I cannot compete with him, Faith. He dazzles while I sit behind a desk in an armchair—just as you say. He’s brilliant and talented and exceptional and I…’

  ‘Speak seven languages fluently, Piers. That is no ordinary feat.’ She shook him some more. ‘You convince countries to sit around tables and talk. End wars. Negotiate treaties. Organise banquets and keep state secrets. Rescue damsels in distress and step up in every crisis. You are a rock and the calm in the chaos. You make little girls adore you and you are so exceptional, so very special that you make jaded, wary, cynical women love you even though falling in love terrifies them…’

  ‘I forbid you to ever see him again.’

  A test.

  One he prayed with all his heart she would pass.

  A single demand she would readily agree to if she did not still harbour feelings for Edward Blasted Tate.

  She blinked. Her body as still as a statue and he held his breath.

  ‘You…forbid me?’

  The pause felt more significant than any pause ever had before. As if his feet were on a cliff edge and his very survival depended entirely upon her answer. The tight knot of nerves now swollen so large and so painful, it was closing his throat.

  ‘Go to hell, Piers!’

  And then, in an outraged rustle of brightly coloured petticoats, she was gone, leaving Piers to tumble into the terrifying abyss alone, suffocating on his own irrational stupidity and hating himself more than he ever had before.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  It appears that the romance between Miss B. from Bloomsbury and her handsome poet is most definitely back on. If their passionate waltz at the Aveley ball wasn’t delicious proof enough, dear reader, I have it on good authority that the besotted gentleman has already visited her father, and we all know what that means…

  Whispers from Behind the Fan

  April 1814

  Faith stared at the magnificent silk gown their maid Lily had just laid out on her bed and wondered what on earth to do.

  Technically, she still had an invitation to St James’s Palace, and while she was unfamiliar with royal etiquette, she was fairly certain it wasn’t done to fail to turn up to a state banquet. On the other hand, because Piers had left Grosvenor Square long before she had arrived there this morning, the horrible argument between them was unresolved and after the irrational and explosive way he had behaved last night, she was no longer certain he would want her at the banquet. Would the Brookes carriage be turned away at the gate? Would he really have rescinded her invitation? Because he had been that angry, she really didn’t know.

  Yet as furious with him as she still was, she couldn’t leave him to face the banquet or his former wife all alone. Not when he had rescued her from Rayne and not when his mother was relying on her to protect him from the witch.

  Unaware of the rift between them, Margaret had insisted on taking tea with her this afternoon and had spent the entire hour telling Faith horror stories about Constança. Painting a picture of Piers as a man who returned from Portugal a shadow of his former self. Withdrawn, wary, all the stuffing knocked out of him, lost and convinced it was all somehow his fault because he wasn’t quite enough. And then she had taken Faith’s hand, her eyes filled with gratitude, said she couldn’t be more delighted that they had fallen in love even if they weren’t yet ready to admit it to the world and thanked her for bringing her son back.

  Bringing him back.

  Three words which felt very significant, and which made her wonder if his uncharacteristic outburst last night had more to do with his past with Constança than his present with Faith.

  ‘Aren’t you dressed yet?’ Hope wandered in looking beautiful, in an impressive emerald silk concoction which the theatre had rapidly made for the occasion, exactly as they had Faith’s, as a favour to their mother. While both gowns were stunning, Hope typically filled hers out better and her sister’s enviable curves would doubtless draw every male eye tonight exactly as she always did—much to her own disgust. Hope loathed being appreciated for anything except her clever mind. ‘Evan has already brought the carriage outside.’

  ‘I am thinking about it.’

  Her sister rested her shapely bottom on the corner of the dressing table and frowned. ‘Is this about your tiff with Lord Eastwood last night?’

  ‘How do you know we had a tiff?’ Because Faith certainly hadn’t mentioned it to a soul. Mentioning it meant confessing there was more going on between her and Piers than the easy friendship which she had claimed.

  Her sister grinned. ‘We writers are very adept at surreptitiously watching people. When you reappeared from your tryst on the terrace, you were sporting that brittle, tight smile you always wear when you are angry but determined not to make a scene and when poor Lord Eastwood finally emerged, he looked positively ashen.’

  Her heart clenched at the thought. ‘Ashen?’

  ‘You had obviously torn him off a strip over something. And if my observational skills are as good as I think they are, I also suspect it had something to do with your waltz with Edward.’

  ‘He was jealous.’ Ridiculously so. Worryingly so. ‘Heaven only knows why.’

  ‘The poor thing adores you. He thinks the sun rises and sets with you… And I think you return the sentiment.’

  Faith aimed for nonchalant back, not in any fit state to have this conversation when her mind was still reeling, the clock ticking and she still had no earthly idea what to do. ‘He’s rather likeable once you get to know him.’

  ‘I think you are currently suffering from more than a mild dose of like.’ At Faith’s instant defensive expression, she smiled kindly. ‘You forget that I know you, sister. And I have eyes. I have seen the way you look whenever you mention him, and I hear the admiration in your voice each time too. Not to mention the mooning you do in the evenings sometimes on the odd occasion you grace our drawing room with your presence nowadays. And, of course, you accidentally called him Piers instead of Lord Eastwood when you leapt to his defence last week…’ The smile turned into a knowing grin. ‘Or the fact that I saw you kiss him on the steps of the theatre on Mother’s opening night when you said you felt unwell…’

&nbs
p; ‘You did?’

  ‘You had been gone for ages and I was worried about you.’ The smile melted into concern. ‘Especially after I saw that lying scoundrel Rayne leer at you across the theatre. I loathe that libertine.’

  In that moment, Faith realised her dirty secret perhaps wasn’t quite as secret as she had presumed. ‘I suppose you know about him too.’

  ‘Of course I do. So does Charity by the way. And she also knows about Piers.’ At Faith’s shocked expression she sighed. ‘We’re sisters—and sisters can always be relied upon to go out of their way to thoroughly know each other’s business. Just as we both know that Charity did have a tryst in the Bulphans’ orangery with that cavalry officer last week, we both knew the pair of you had a little romance when he was Papa’s pupil. It did not take a genius to work out it had ended badly. His marriage was a fairly decisive end and neither of us will ever forgive the leech for breaking your heart.’

  Stunned, Faith slumped on her stool. ‘Do Mama and Papa know too?’

  ‘Do you think Lord Rayne would still be alive if they did?’ Her sister shook her vivid copper head. ‘Our parents would have had him hanged, drawn and quartered. We both covered for you before they got suspicious—because that is also what sisters do. And we both agonised over consoling you after it ended. The only reason we didn’t was because you seemed so determined to pretend nothing had happened, we didn’t want to ruin that brave façade.’

  Then she reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘I am so sorry about that now because I did not realise until a couple of years later that your little romance involved considerably more than a few stolen kisses. Had I known the full extent of his treachery, I would have hanged, drawn and quartered him myself, and I would have enjoyed it.’

  ‘How did you discover we were lovers?’

  ‘The leech himself told me when I spurned his advances two summers ago.’ Her sister’s face hardened as Faith blinked in shock. ‘He responded with his trademark callousness, and said my refusal hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things, as he supposed that seeing he had already sampled all the delights of one Brookes daughter, the other two would be much the same… I never shared that part of the tale with Charity. Some things are too private—even for sisters.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Although she felt queasy knowing just one knew. ‘I was a fool.’

  ‘You were nineteen and he took advantage of you.’ Exactly what Piers had said, and thanks to that, only recently had Faith begun to forgive herself for that foolishness. ‘And you will be pleased to know that I was so furious at him, and so disgusted by his vileness that I told him so. Then I hit him so hard with my fan that I blackened his eye… Although I wish I had broken his nose like Lord Eastwood did. That would have felt marvellous.’

  ‘Did you witness that too?’ Faith obviously had no secrets left at all.

  ‘Not first-hand—but it didn’t take much to piece it all together because he staggered into the foyer with his nose dripping blood everywhere at the same moment as I did when I came to check on you. Moments later, I watched you disappear into that hackney, so obviously being a good, diligent sister, I waited until it returned…’

  ‘Oh…’ Her sister knew about Rayne and Piers and had kept it all to herself. ‘But why are you telling me all this now?’ She sat heavily on the mattress. ‘You might have picked a better moment. Or is this a timely reminder of what an idiot I have been in case I am stupid enough to fall for a man like that again.’

  Hope sighed. ‘I am telling you now because I wanted you to know that I fully intend to be a very neglectful chaperon tonight if that is what you would like me to be. Because I’ve never seen you look at a gentleman like you do Lord Eastwood and because he obviously makes you happy. Even Charity has noticed that, and she’s so wrapped up in herself at the moment she barely notices anything.’ She leaned forward and took both her hands. ‘And because I would hate for you to use one unfortunate mistake in the past as a barrier if you have found a worthy man who will treat you with all the love and respect you deserve to be treated with. If Piers is the one, then take the chance.’

  Suddenly, Faith needed her sensible sister’s opinion more than anything. ‘After our argument last night, I am not sure he is the one. I think…’ Her voice trembled. ‘I think it might all be over between us?’

  ‘Because of one argument?’

  ‘It was a very bad argument.’

  ‘Mama and Papa have had some stinkers over the years, and they have always made up and emerged stronger from them.’

  ‘He compared me to his wife… Not directly but by implication. He suggested, that because I danced with Edward, then I would inevitably have affairs exactly like she did. It was horrible. He was horrible.’

  ‘As horrible as Rayne?’

  ‘Of course not! Piers is nothing like Rayne.’

  Hope smiled. ‘And how long did it take you to work that out?’

  ‘A little while…’

  ‘But you initially suspected he was exactly like him, didn’t you?’

  Faith threw up her hands. ‘What difference does that make?’

  ‘That if you still carry all that doubt after five years, then it isn’t inconceivable that it might take Piers a while to be able to let go of his.’

  ‘That is what worries me. He was so angry, but so passionate about it, it has made me wonder if he isn’t over her at all. He loved her once…maybe a part of him still does?’

  ‘Do you still have affection for Rayne?’ A ridiculous question and she let her face show it.

  ‘How could I after what he did, Hope? I hate him.’

  ‘Yet he still held the power to upset you at the theatre.’

  ‘And your point is?’

  ‘That those old wounds linger long after the love has died. From what you’ve told me, that woman put Piers through hell. Arguments, dalliances…she made him a cuckold, then publicly discarded him in favour of another man. His scandalous divorce was less than a year ago—it’s still raw and he suffered tremendously as a result. He was unfairly maligned and is still ostracised for it—and now the woman is here, and he has to face her again…’ Hope shrugged, palms spread.

  ‘Are you saying I should forgive him for being so beastly to me simply because she was beastly to him?’

  Her insightful sister shook her head slowly. ‘No, Faith—I am asking if you think Lord Beastly is worth the effort of forgiving? Because surely that is the crux of all this.’

  * * *

  Piers stood in the receiving line, listening to the names being called, feeling utterly wretched. All the familiar emotions of self-loathing which only Constança elicited paled into insignificance against the sheer grief of losing Faith. Worst of all, it was all his fault. She had simply danced with a man and he had reacted like a lunatic from Bedlam, making outrageous accusations and unreasonable demands, so terrible he had no clue how to apologise for them. Or even if she would allow him the chance to apologise.

  ‘His Excellency Herr Christoph von Lieven, the Russian Ambassador…’

  He had wanted to last night, but by the time he was rational enough, the ball was long over and he had taken himself too many miles away. Then he had intended to head to Bloomsbury the moment the sun came up and beg for her forgiveness, but was called to Whitehall almost as soon as he got home to translate an urgent communiqué and then he was called here, to St James’s Palace, to deal with last-minute arrangements and the day had run away with him as everyone stole his time.

  If his valet hadn’t had the wherewithal to send his dress clothes for this evening to his temporary office here several days ago, he would be stood here now in the same crumpled suit he had worn last night, still on tenterhooks wondering if she would come so he could fall on his sword and beg for her mercy and know that he still had a chance, but was wholly prepared that she wouldn’t. Even though he now realised she had told h
im that she loved him, but at the time he had been too overwrought and overwhelmed and controlled by the poison to hear.

  Why would she when he had basically accused her of being as loose with her sexual favours as Constança?

  ‘His Excellency Louis, Duc de la Châtre, Ambassador of France…’

  And all because of one dance, and not the first one he had happily watched her dance at that damn ball from afar. Neither the cotillion nor any of the country dances had turned him into an incensed and irrational idiot. In fact, he had enjoyed watching them all. The way she moved, the animated way she spoke, her smile…

  Just the waltz.

  With the handsomest man in the damn ballroom, one Piers already knew she had no romantic feelings for, but threat enough that he had lost all reason. The most frustrating thing was that he knew if he hadn’t been so unsettled by the return of blasted Constança, he never would have reacted so badly. Why the blazes did he keep allowing that blasted woman to get to him? It had been two years! A lot had happened in those two years. The change to his life just in the last six months alone had been exponential.

  He wasn’t the same man who had returned to England humiliated, angry, broken and embittered. In the two months since Faith had come into his life, a great deal of that bitterness seemed to have gone and the anger appeared to have subsided and he did not feel anywhere near as broken any more. Cautious, yes—but even that was fading beneath the rosy glow of optimism that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Like grief, the raw pain which had been his marriage was now more a dull ache, so his reaction last night was ridiculous. He was long over Constança. Or at least he hoped he was. And he loved Faith.

  ‘His Excellency Dom Domingos António de Sousa Coutinho, Conde do Funchal, the Portuguese Ambassador…’

  He stiffened at the announcement of the Portuguese delegation, his stomach instantly churning as he braced himself for the reunion he was dreading. Then felt a hand slip through his elbow.