Tarnished Amongst the Ton

by Louise Allen

  He said something in a language she did not understand, his breath hot, and then his mouth was over hers and she was straining against him, her breasts in the tight bodice aching for his touch, her nipples, without chemise or corset, fretting against the silk lining.

  ‘Ashe. Oh, Ashe, yes.’

  What she was agreeing to, begging for, she was not sure. If this was madness then she did not care, for tonight they were both mad.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The jolt of the carriage stopping jerked Phyllida back to reality and sanity. ‘I mean, no!’ she said as she scrambled off Ashe’s lap with more haste than dignity.

  ‘Certainly this is neither the time nor the place,’ he agreed smoothly as the carriage door opened.

  ‘It will—’ The sight of the rest of their party waiting at the foot of the steps choked the words off unuttered. Phyllida fussed with her mask until Ashe was out of the carriage and waiting to hand her down, then descended with a smile fixed on her lips.

  Already they were attracting attention. She heard the name Eldonstone murmured, saw that the glances from the other guests filing in through the front door were intrigued or approving, and relaxed as much as a woman could do whose heart was pounding, whose knees were knocking and who was mentally castigating herself for an idiot.

  If that had happened anywhere but on a short carriage journey, she would have surrendered to Ashe’s demands. Oh, be honest with yourself, she scolded. It is not surrender and you cannot put all the blame on him. You want him, you are simply not strong-willed enough to resist him. Was it inevitable that sooner or later her attraction to Ashe would begin to overcome her fears, her doubts? With the feelings that were growing inside her for him, how could she ever find the strength to deny him?

  The great ballroom was already crowded as the Herriard party made its way in. The noise and the conflicting scents and odours and the colour hit Phyllida as a physical blow. She had never been to a masquerade on this scale.

  ‘I almost feel we are back in India,’ Lady Eldonstone said with a laugh as a Crusader knight in silver knitted-string chainmail bore down and asked for a dance. ‘All this colour and noise! Why, yes, sir, I have this dance free.’ And without a backwards glance she stepped on to the floor.

  ‘Curiously liberating, the effects of these masks,’ the marquess remarked. ‘No introductions, no names. How am I going to keep an eye on our two young ladies?’

  ‘We will use our common sense, Papa,’ Sara promised.

  ‘No stepping out on to balconies or the terrace, no little alcoves,’ Ashe warned.

  ‘Brother dear, is that what rakes do, lure young ladies into those places?’ she asked, all wide-eyed innocence behind her mask.

  ‘It is, as you very well know.’

  A tall Pierrott in a skintight costume presented himself in front of Sara. ‘Fair damsel, may I have the honour?’

  ‘Lay one wrong finger on her and I’ll tear your arm off,’ Ashe said pleasantly as his sister took the man’s proffered hand. Her partner shot him a startled glance and hastened on to the floor to join a set on the far side.

  ‘May I?’ The marquess offered his hand to Phyllida.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Deserted, abandoned,’ Ashe said with a heavy sigh.

  ‘You will manage to console yourself, I have no doubt,’ Phyllida said sweetly as his father bore her off. She made herself catch his eye and almost gasped. Despite the mock-dramatic tone of his words his expression was not amused, but intense, almost hot. Phyllida followed her partner, feeling as if she had been rescued from a blaze.

  Lord Eldonstone was an excellent and amusing partner. Gradually she found herself caught up in the dancing and the atmosphere, swept from one partner to another, relaxing with the anonymity, even though she recognised several familiar faces behind the disguises and was certain she was recognised in turn.

  She tried to keep an eye on Sara, but every time she caught a glimpse of her she was behaving just as she ought, dancing in an elegant manner and not romping like some of the young ladies regrettably felt free enough to do. It was hard to miss the Herriards—even in the midst of such vivid and extraordinary costumes and all the jewellery of the haut ton they stood out with an exotic glitter. And so did she, she realised as yet another gentleman sought her hand for the dance and she overheard envious whispers from women admiring her costume and gemstones.

  And it was bliss to be dancing after so long denying herself the experience. Her feet were beginning to ache, but she did not care. And now it was the waltz, the forbidden dance, the one she had never done in public. The broad-shouldered Cavalier with the chestnut curls of his wig falling over the velvet of his coat bowed before her. ‘Madam, I am honoured that—’

  ‘There you are.’ Ashe appeared by her side with a charming smile and more than a whiff of brimstone about him, she could have sworn. His sudden appearance certainly made the other man stiffen. ‘Thank you for entertaining my partner, sir, but I must claim her now.’

  ‘But—’ The other man eyed Ashe’s smile and apparently decided on a strategic retreat. ‘My pleasure, sir. Ma’am.’

  ‘That was rude,’ Phyllida chided as Ashe took her in his arms.

  ‘It was necessary. Did you see the size of his feet?’

  So he was in the mood to jest, was he? It was certainly a relief not to be dealing with his sensual intensity. ‘And yours are smaller? And can you waltz? The last time we spoke you had only been having lessons.’

  ‘Simple.’ She glanced up at him and realised she was not safe after all. His eyes glinted behind the mask and the smile on his lips was pure sensuality. ‘I hold you in my arms and we move together. Rhythmically.’

  He was not talking about dancing. Phyllida set her smile into one of bland innocence and pretended not to understand him. ‘Excellent. The orchestra is very good, don’t you think?’

  ‘When you speak I hear only your voice,’ Ashe murmured and swung her into the dance. ‘When I breathe I smell only your scent. When I look at a woman I see only you. Do you still believe I am reluctant to marry you?’

  ‘Ashe.’ He did not mean it, could not, but the dark honey of his voice, the heat of him so close, the circling strength of his arms, made the passion in the words a physical thing, invading her body, lifting her spirit, bringing tears to her eyes.

  They danced as if alone. In silence, in harmony. Phyllida’s eyes were closed as though she could trap this moment, hold it, keep it for when she left him and the pretence that they were a couple would be ended for ever.

  ‘Phyllida.’

  She blinked and opened her eyes. The music had ceased, couples were chatting as they waited for the orchestra to organise themselves for the next tune of the set. She should chat too, make light social conversation, even flirt a little. But she could not. I love him, she thought and swallowed back the tears. I love him and I could have him. Would it be so wrong of me?

  ‘Phyllida?’ he said again, his voice questioning. ‘Am I such a bad dancer?’

  ‘No.’ She could have him, but only if she told him the truth, that she might not be able to make love, not fully. Might not be able to give him children.

  She found her courage and her voice and laughed. ‘You are excellent. But I have longed to waltz and that was magical. Such a beautiful melody, was it not?’

  ‘Beautiful,’ he agreed, but his eyes told her it was not the music he was speaking of.

  Suddenly shy, Phyllida blinked and looked around. ‘What a crush!’ On the far side of the room a flash of gold and amber caught her eye. Sara, leaving the ballroom. But the ladies’ retiring room was at the other end. ‘Ashe, I may be being foolish, but I think Sara just left the room and I can think of no good reason why she should go through that door.’

  He turned, frowning, but the glimpse of gilded silk had vanished. ‘Are you sure?’ But he was already striding off the floor.

  Phyllida followed and caught his arm. ‘Slowly, do not draw attention.’ The
y reached the door, solidly closed. ‘Stand in front and face the room, let me go first, then follow in a minute. The last thing we need is any kind of fuss.’

  She opened the door, shielded by Ashe’s broad back, and slipped through, to find herself in a narrow passageway. There was light ahead and the sound of voices so she ran along it to where it opened out on to an inner service lobby. She paused, just before the opening. The voices, it became immediately clear, belonged to Sara and the chestnut-haired Cavalier.

  ‘Kindly escort me back to the ballroom, sir. This is not the way to the refreshments and well you know it!’

  ‘Don’t pretend you believed that. A little minx like you doesn’t parade about, covered in paste jewellery and with her tits hanging out and not expect a man to take an interest.’

  ‘They are yellow diamonds of the finest water, you ignorant oaf. And as for my costume, I would have you know, this is the court dress of Kalatwah!’ Sara sounded furious, but not at all alarmed.

  ‘Then let me have a feel—ow!’

  Phyllida whipped around the corner to find the Cavalier doubled up, clutching his groin, and Sara pulling the stiletto out of her plait. She tossed the man’s elaborate wig aside and tugged off his mask. ‘No, put the pin back,’ she cautioned Sara. ‘I know who he is. It is Lord Prewitt and he is a toad, but we don’t want to kill him…’

  ‘Don’t we?’ Ashe, mask discarded, stalked past Phyllida and seized the gasping Cavalier by his cravat. ‘Name your friends, Prewitt.’

  ‘Ashe.’ Phyllida tugged at his arm. ‘If you call him out, there will be a scandal you won’t be able to control.’

  He dropped the gasping baron, who fell with a thud and stayed sprawled at his feet. ‘You suggest I simply kill him here and now?’

  ‘I suggest you make him very sorry, here and now. Perhaps he would like to apologise first and promise not to say a word of this?’

  ‘Got carried away,’ Prewitt gasped. ‘Wouldn’t dream of mentioning it. Sorry.’

  ‘You will be.’ Ashe hoisted him to his feet, waited until the man was standing upright by himself, then hit him square in the mouth. He raised an eyebrow at Sara. ‘Enough?’

  ‘Enough,’ she agreed. They turned and walked away, back to the ballroom.

  In the good light Phyllida saw the girl’s face, the unshed tears and the way she bit her lip to stop it trembling. ‘Ashe, find your mother, ask her to come to the ladies’ retiring room. I think Lady Sara should go home.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He vanished into the throng and Phyllida guided Sara down the room, chatting brightly. ‘Such a noise, I am not at all surprised you have a migraine. Let us go and sit down quietly.’

  ‘I didn’t realise,’ Sara whispered miserably. ‘I honestly believed he was taking me to the refreshment room.’

  ‘You dealt with him very effectively,’ Phyllida consoled her. ‘Look, there is your mama.’ And Lord Eldonstone, looking like the wrath of God at Ashe’s side.

  ‘No harm was done, except to shock her,’ she explained as Lady Eldonstone put her arm around Sara’s shoulders. ‘I do not think anyone has noticed anything amiss and Ashe dealt with the man—he will not dare speak of it.’

  ‘Miss Hurst feels that tearing him limb from limb would be counter-productive,’ Ashe said, his voice hard.

  ‘And she is probably correct,’ his father agreed. ‘Unfortunately. Ashe, will you see Miss Hurst home? I will take your mother and sister now. If some of the party remain, it may quash any speculation.’

  Ashe watched them walk away, then took Phyllida’s arm and steered her into exactly the kind of alcove that his sister had been warned about finding herself in with a man. ‘Are you all right? You were marvellous back there. You dealt with Prewitt, you made Sara feel better, but it must have been a shock.’

  ‘No.’ No, discovering that I am in love with you, that was a shock. This had all happened so fast that she’d had no time to reflect on just what that realisation would mean, other than that it was certain to be painful. Love him or not, she was not going to marry Ashe Herriard. In fact, loving him made her even more determined. She produced a smile because he was still watching her, his unmasked face serious. ‘I am fine, truly, just worried that this might shake Sara’s lovely trusting nature.’

  ‘I would have said she was perfectly awake to all the tricks rakes play,’ he said ruefully. ‘But she is obviously not up to snuff for London society.’

  ‘The unmasking dance!’ someone called and the orchestra struck up a waltz.

  ‘Well, Phyllida, shall we be unmasked waltzing in front of everyone? One more step in our public courtship?’

  If not here and now, then soon he would move the progress of their wooing further along, push her closer to the moment where she must break her word for his own sake. Break her heart for both of them. And this would give her another perfect waltz in his arms.

  ‘Why not?’ she said with a lightness she did not feel. ‘It is probably my duty to help you perfect your steps.’

  ‘It was not me treading on my partner’s toes,’ Ashe said as he resumed his mask and led her onto the floor.

  ‘I never did! What a fib,’ Phyllida protested as they passed a small group of matrons, masked and with dominos over their gowns, but otherwise in ordinary evening dress. She saw the quick glances, the exchange of looks, the arched brows and knew she had been recognised, the ineligible Miss Hurst dancing an unsanctioned waltz with the highly eligible Lord Clere. The word had spread that he was courting her, she could tell from the way they were being watched.

  It was probably even more entertaining for the gossips than the aborted scandal of their encounter at the inn, for that was an ordinary, squalid piece of tittle-tattle whereas this, if Ashe persisted in his gallant sacrifice, would certainly give the old tabbies something to exclaim over.

  ‘I see we are being watched.’ He had noticed them, too.

  ‘I am not surprised. You look quite magnificent in that attire.’ A fact he knew perfectly well, judging by the satirical curve of his mouth.

  ‘Of course. I come from the land of the peacock.’ The music began, he took her in hold and launched into the dance.

  This time Phyllida kept her eyes open and her wits about her. They might not have been noticed last time, but this time they were definitely under scrutiny. ‘There are at least two of the patronesses here,’ she said after studying the faces around the edge of the dance floor.

  ‘What can they do?’ Ashe asked, executing a particularly ambitious turn. ‘Is it like an exorcism and they will stalk onto the floor, sprinkle us with bad claret and pronounce us unfit for Almack’s? Or perhaps it will be more military and they will strip off our epaulettes and demote us to the ranks.’

  ‘Idiot!’ Phyllida fought the urge to giggle helplessly. ‘I think I will just receive the cut direct from them. You, of course, being male and beautiful, will probably be all right.’

  ‘Are you attempting to tease me, Miss Hurst?’

  ‘Me?’ She opened her eyes wide at him and he swept her close, far too close for decency, so close that her breasts brushed his chest. Then they were dancing with perfect decorum while she fought to control her breathing and he made unexceptional small talk without the slightest indication of being affected by the woman in his arms.

  ‘Beast,’ she muttered. Ashe grinned at her and her heart contracted. She liked this man as much as she loved and desired him. She would adore to be married to him, to have his children, to share the heat and the humour he generated. She had been contented with her life, accepting of its restrictions, happy with the unconventional freedoms she had created for herself. Now she felt like a prisoner who had been taken outside the gates for a while and who must turn and walk back of her own free will.

  The music stopped. All around them partners stayed close, waiting for midnight. With the first stroke of the clock Ashe lifted his hand to her mask and she to his. He bent close and she did not retreat, feeling the heat of his breath
on her lips, watching his eyes, green and mysterious, still shadowed by the black velvet.

  Then the last stroke and he pulled her closer as they took away their masks. He would kiss her now, in front of everyone. Claim her. Phyllida held her breath as they stood like statues in the middle of laughter, cries of recognition and a pattering of applause as their fellow guests were unmasked.

  ‘Breathe,’ Ashe murmured and stepped back, lifted her hand in his and kissed her fingertips. ‘I am not going to create that much of a stir tonight.’

  The party was obviously set to continue into the small hours. Ashe took Phyllida to find their hostess and thank her. ‘A delightful ball, Lady Auderley. I regret that my parents were unable to take their leave of you, but my sister developed a severe migraine and had to return home.’

  Her ladyship was gracious, offered sympathy for Sara’s malaise and smiled, only slightly maliciously, at Phyllida. ‘You look delightful, my dear. So many people have commented on how striking you and Lord Clere look together.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Phyllida smiled back modestly. ‘But I must thank Lady Eldonstone for kindly lending me this beautiful costume and her jewellery.’ Remind her she is dealing with the patronage of a marchioness.

  ‘So gracious of her,’ the older woman replied. ‘I hope we will have the pleasure of entertaining you here again.’

  Phyllida waited until they were back in the carriage before she finally made up her mind. ‘Ashe, I must speak with you, tonight.’

  As the carriage moved off the flickering torchlight played across his face and she saw he understood her to mean more than speech. ‘We will go to the apartment over the shop,’ she said and pulled the warm velvet cloak more firmly around her shoulders. ‘We will be private there.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  At last. Ashe said nothing, only pulled the check-string and leaned out of the carriage window. ‘Drop us off at the top of Hay market, we will walk. Tell the staff to lock up and leave the front door locked, but unbolted. They can all go to bed.’