by Louise Allen
She ignored the automatic compliment. ‘Not with discreditable offers it is not,’ she said with feeling, then blushed again. ‘Oh dear, I should not have mentioned that, should I? But I feel I know you, Major Carlow.’
‘Is that why you were looking at me just now?’ he asked. ‘I hoped you wanted to make my acquaintance.’
She bit her lip in charming confusion. ‘I really do not know. It was very brassy of me, but there was something about you I thought I recognized.’ She recovered her composure a little and her chin lifted. ‘And you stared right back at me.’
‘True.’ Hal stooped to pick up the ball and sent Phillip chasing towards the fountain in its octagonal basin. ‘But then, I am a rake and we are supposed to stare at ladies and put them to the blush.’
‘You are? A rake I mean?’
‘Indeed. I am precisely the kind of man your mama would warn you about and, now I think on it, you may have leapt from frying pan to fire. I am absolutely the last man you should be seen walking with in the Parc.’
‘No, Major Fellowes is that,’ she retorted. ‘You rescued me.’
Hal was not given to flirting with young unmarried ladies. For a start, whenever he hove into sight, their mothers herded them together like hens with chicks on seeing a fox. And he had absolutely no intention of finding himself confronting a furious father demanding that he did the decent thing by his compromised daughter.
Society was full enough of carefree widows and dashing matrons—and the demi-monde of skilled light skirts—to keep a gentleman of an amorous disposition amused without him needing to venture amongst the ingénues adorning the Marriage Mart.
But Miss Tresilian was not one of those young ladies either. She was, to his experienced eye, a good three and twenty, her manner was open and her wits sharp. She was not one of the fashionable set either: he did not recognize her name and her bonnet was a Season out of style. There was something about her that argued both virtue and a lack of so phisticated boredom.
‘My reputation is worse,’ he observed, reverting to Major Fellowes. ‘I have not heard of him—but he had heard of me.’
‘And he was very wary of you.’ Miss Tresilian nodded. ‘So you are a notorious duellist as well as a rake?’
‘I confess I fight, gamble, drink and amuse myself with some dedication,’ Hal told her with a shrug, feeling he might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb so far as his reputation with Miss Tresilian was concerned. He did not have to mention loose women in his list of sins: the slight lift of one eyebrow showed that she could add those herself.
A shadow passed over her face. ‘Gamble? What on, Major?’
‘Anything, everything. Cards, dice, horses, what colour gown Miss Tresilian will wear for her next appearance in the Parc.’
‘Do you often win, Major?’
‘Almost inevitably.’ She raised the brow again. ‘I play cards well, but I have the knack of calculating odds even better. I enjoy gambling, not throwing money away. You disapprove of gambling, Miss Tresilian?’
‘My mother and I are in Brussels on what is called the economical plan,’ she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste for the term. ‘In other words, we are compelled to live abroad where it is cheap in order to husband our re sources. Many of the British community are here for the same reason, and for most of them, it is because the head of the house hold has gambled away a fortune.’
‘Your father is not with you?’
‘Papa died just before Phillip was born.’ Miss Tresilian looked round, sighting her brother standing hope fully in front of the refreshment stand. His nankeens, Hal saw with amusement, were now an absolute disgrace. ‘Thank you, Major Carlow, for rescuing me and for your escort. I am sure you must be wanting to rejoin your friends now.’ Whatever her reasons for staring at him so fixedly before, they were evidently nothing to do with flirtation. She was now intent on politely disengaging herself.
‘Not at all. At least, not until I have put a stop to any tittle-tattle that you being seen walking with me might arouse.’ Hal scanned the array of elegant ladies gathered in little parties around the pavilion. ‘What we need is a matron of influence and reputation. Ah yes, just the person.’ He tucked Julia’s hand under his arm and led her across the gravel to a lady sitting alone, delicately spooning vanilla ice from a glass. Behind her, in the shadows of one of the trees, stood her maid.
‘Lady Geraldine. How very lovely you look today.’
‘Major Carlow, a delightful surprise to see you doing something as tame as walking in the Parc, and at such an early hour! Perhaps you never got to sleep last night.’ Her ladyship smiled wickedly from under the brim of her hat as Hal bowed, returning a smile every bit as wicked.
‘May I introduce Miss Tresilian, ma’am? Miss Tresilian, Lady Geraldine Masters. I have just rescued Miss Tresilian from a rather slimy dragon. I have done my utmost not to flirt with her, but she will now have been observed by the censorious walking with me for quite ten minutes.’
‘And requires some respectable cha per on age? Indeed. Do sit by me, Miss Tresilian. My first duty is to warn you against associating with bloods of Major Carlow’s ilk. However, I must congratulate you upon escaping from a dragon’s clutches. Major, take yourself off so I may restore Miss Tresilian’s reputation as required.’
‘Ma’am.’ Hal bowed, repressing a smile at the expression of barely concealed alarm on Miss Tresilian’s face. Lady Geraldine, daughter of the Duke of Wilming ton and wife of the indecently wealthy Mr John Masters, was one of the leading Ladies of the Park, as the reigning English set in Brussels Society were known. She was a handsome woman in her late thirties, kind, out spoken and apt to be amused by handsome young men of address of whom she had a number in her train. Her devotion to her husband was, however, in no doubt. He should know, he had tested it personally. ‘I leave her in safe hands. Good day, Miss Tresilian.’
‘Good day, Major. And thank you.’ She smiled, an expression of genuine sweetness, and her face, that he had thought merely pleasant, was trans formed.
Hal swallowed, bowed and took himself off, pausing to direct a waiter to send ices and tea across to Lady Geraldine’s table. He handed the coins to pay for it to Phillip. ‘Settle the account, there’s a good chap,’ he said, amused by the de lighted expression on the small boy’s face as he followed the waiter, the coins clasped tight in his grubby fist.
A charming pair, the Tresilians, he thought as he strode towards the Place Royale exit, heading for his hotel and a couple of hours’ sleep. One grubby urchin and one respectable young lady. One virtuous young lady, he thought and told himself to forget about her.
‘Tell me about your slimy dragon, Miss Tresilian.’ Lady Geraldine fixed her eyes on Julia’s face and smiled. Her regard wavered as someone approached their table.
‘My brother, ma’am,’ Julia apologised as Phillip marched up, waiter in tow, a huge grin on his grubby face. ‘He is not usually such a ragamuffin.’
‘Boys will be boys,’ her ladyship remarked, with a glance at Major Carlow’s disappearing figure. Julia dragged her own eyes away from broad shoulders in dark blue cloth. Did every officer have his uniform tailored to such a pitch of perfection? If they did, she had never noticed before.
‘However,’ Lady Geraldine continued, ‘I am sure he does not need to hear the tale of the dragon. Monique!’ Her maid came forward. ‘Please take Master Tresilian to a table in the shade to eat his ice. There, no-one can overhear us. Now tell me, what necessitated your rescue by Major Carlow?’
Julia could see no way out of telling her everything. ‘I presume Fellowes thinks that because we are not well off and I have no male relatives in Brussels, I am open to such offers,’ she concluded. ‘It is very lowering to think such a man assumes something like that about one.’
‘It is nothing to do with your appearance or manner,’ Lady Geraldine said soothingly. ‘After all, Major Carlow obviously recognized you as a respectable young lady, or he would not have brought you to me. And
if the worst rake in Brussels sees that, then you have no need to fear.’
‘He warned me he was,’ Julia said with a frown. ‘Not that I have any experience of rakes, but he did not seem so very shocking.’
Although she had been very aware of a faint, and very feminine perfume when she had taken his arm and there had been a smudge of what might have been face powder on his shoulder. And perhaps the tiny red mark on his cheek was rouge and not a shaving nick. There had been dark shadows under those beautiful blue eyes: it was beginning to dawn on her that the gallant major had probably come straight from a woman’s bed to join his friends in the Parc.
‘Charm is a rake’s stock in trade. He did not flirt with you?’ Lady Geraldine appeared surprised.
‘I don’t think so, ma’am.’
‘Extraordinary.’
Julia told herself that her good opinion of Major Carlow would have suffered if he had flirted, but she had the uncomfortable suspicion that she might have enjoyed it. No-one had ever flirted with her, and the fact that such a notorious rake had not at tempted it was disappointing. Unflattering, even. From a purely academic point of view, it would have been interesting to see what all the fuss was about.
‘May I have your direction, my dear?’
Julia jerked her wandering attention back from Major Carlow and opened her reticule. ‘Mama’s card, ma’am.’ Lady Geraldine was hardly likely to call on the Tresilians, although Mama would want to write and thank her for her help.
‘A good address,’ Lady Geraldine observed.
‘I know. We were lucky to arrive before the rush.’
‘Indeed you were. After all, the Richmonds have had to settle for that barn of a place on Rue de la Blanchisserie in the Lower Town.’ Something in her lady ship’s smile hinted that she was not over-fond of the Duchess of Richmond. ‘When does Mrs Tresilian receive?’ Goodness, she did intend to call! ‘Between two and four on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thurs days, ma’am.’ But their usual callers were modestly circumstanced people such as themselves, not Society ladies. ‘Thank you for the tea, and for lending me countenance, Lady Geraldine. I must take Philip home.’ Julia gathered up her reticule and her scattered wits and shook the proffered hand in its tight kid glove.
‘Will we meet the major again?’ Phillip demanded, as they left the Parc and negotiated the crowd outside the Duke of Wellington’s house. ‘I liked him.’
So did I… ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Julia said. ‘But he had a lovely uniform: you must tell Mama all about it.’
‘And a great big sword for killing Boney with,’ Phillip said with a blood thirsty chuckle, dancing off down the pavement swinging an imaginary weapon. Julia followed, suddenly sombre.
Chapter Two
Two days later, Lady Geraldine duly called and was received by Mrs Tresilian and Julia, Phillip having been deposited with the landlady and a litter of kittens in the kitchen.
‘My niece has just gone back to England to be married,’ Lady Geraldine observed once tea had been poured. ‘I find I miss having a young lady to go about with quite dreadfully— I have no daughter of my own, you see, and I do so enjoy the company of young people.’ Mrs Tresilian made sym pathetic noises. ‘So, if you would lend Julia to me, I would be de lighted to chaperone her to parties and so forth.’
‘Lend?’ Mrs Tresilian said faintly. ‘Parties?’
‘And balls: we seem to have them every night, after all. Routs, receptions, picnics. You know the sort of thing.’
‘Me?’ Julia felt she had to add something, however inane.
‘You do enjoy parties, Miss Tresilian?’
‘Yes, ma’am. But I know no-one in Society…’
‘But I do. Mrs Tresilian? I would not be depriving you?’
‘Not at all,’ Mrs Tresilian said with emphasis. ‘I live very quietly, which is so dull for Julia.’
We cannot afford to live any other way! Julia thought in alarm. Parties? Balls? Picnics? That means gowns and silk stocking and gloves and…money. What is Mama thinking of? I cannot spend like that just to enjoy myself!
Lady Geraldine stayed the regulation half hour then departed in a froth of green muslin leaving promises of invitations, a wave of chypre perfume and two astonished Tresilians behind her.
‘Mama! I have not got a thing to wear.’
‘Well, that would present an original appearance!’ her mother observed with a smile. ‘Let us make a list of what you will need. We can trim up somethings with fresh ribbons, and we can look at my lace, see what can be done with that. But a ball gown is essential. A new afternoon dress, a walking dress. And something for half-dress occasions. We will make a list.’
‘But how can we afford it?’
‘It will be an investment. This is a miraculous chance, to be here just now when Brussels Society must be full of men who do not need to hang out for a rich wife. It will not be as it has been up to now, with so many people like us, here to save money. Dip lo mats, confidential secretaries, cha plains, officers—think of it!’ Julia did, and very improbable it seemed that any of them might be interested in her.
‘We cannot hope for a title, of course, just a com fort ably circumstanced gentleman, but even so, it will be worth the effort.’ Mrs Tresilian gave a happy sigh. ‘You are a good girl, Julia, you deserve some enjoyment and the opportunity to find a husband worthy of you.’
Julia sat down on the hard horse hair sofa and tried to imagine being part of that social whirl. But it would be a huge responsibility, and a gamble. If Mama spent their precious savings on gowns, then she must find a husband. It had been so long since she had come to accept that without dowry or connections she was never likely to marry, that the idea of setting out in cold blood to find a husband was daunting.
‘You are quite right, Mama.’ Julia managed a smile. This was her duty and she must try, however diffident or awkward she felt. ‘It is a wonderful opportunity and I will do my best to attach a respectable gentleman.’ It was disconcerting to find that despite this worthy resolution, the only feature she could imagine that this unknown paragon should possess was a pair of stormy blue-grey eyes.
Hal sauntered into Lady Fanshawe’s reception on the stroke of eleven with every intention of enjoying himself and no particular scruples about how. He had spent a hard day drilling with his troop at their base near Ninove, ten miles from the city. It had meant a long gallop to get back to bathe and for his valet to insinuate his long limbs into his skin-tight dress uniform. After that, he had been ready for supper and a bottle of claret with friends in one of the little bistros that had sprung up to serve the influx of officers.
Now, refreshed and relaxed, he smiled at the prospect of an evening surrounded by beautiful, intelligent and, above all, so phisticated women. He would drink champagne, find a willing partner and arrange an assignation for later. He greeted his hostess and turned to view the throng: heated, chattering, animated with the heady mix of alcohol, gossip and sexual intrigue. And there was a woman who might have been de signed for exactly what he had in mind: Lady Horton. Her husband, as always, was nowhere to be seen. Hal strolled across, amused by the way in which she pre tended she had not seen him, posing and laughing to show off face and figure to best ad vantage.
And what a figure, he thought appreciatively—lush, graceful and provocatively displayed in shell-pink satin silk that clung to every curve. And if she was wearing a stitch of under wear beneath it, he was a French general. Hal made himself a small bet that he would discover the truth of that by sun-up.
‘Lady Horton. Barbara—’ he lowered his voice ‘—you look edible.’
She turned, laughing up at him, every line of her body confirming the wanton message in her big brown eyes. If he wanted her, she was his.
‘Edible?’ She pouted and his body tightened as the tip of her tongue touched her full lower lip.
‘A perfect bonbon. Sweet straw berry cream encased in wicked dark chocolate,’ Hal murmured, reaching out to flick one glossy curl over her should
er. ‘It makes me want to bite. And lick. Very slowly.’ She moved close so the scent of her skin—warm woman, musky perfume, desire—filled his nostrils.
‘How will you keep your elegant figure,’ she murmured back, reaching up to brush an imaginary fleck from the braid on his chest, ‘if you eat such naughty sweet things?’
‘I will have to exercise it off.’ Hal held her eyes. ‘Hard.’
Barbara’s lips parted and her lids drooped heavy over those insolently beautiful eyes. She adored this, lived for it—the compliments, the suggestion, the intrigue. And by reputation she was magnificent in bed: skilled, demanding and tireless. ‘We should discuss that at our leisure. You know where I live. The side door will be open,’ she said, husky promise in every syllable. ‘Untillater.’
‘Later,’ he agreed, lifting her hand to kiss her fingertips. Then as he straightened up, he found his gaze captured by another pair of fine brown eyes, only these were wide, clear and, he could tell from right across the room, shocked.
Hell. Miss Tresilian, here, looking like a snowdrop in a hothouse, all simple purity against glaring colour and elaboration. And with an expression akin to a nun who had walked into a brothel. What was she doing here? His assessment of her as outside Society must have been adrift. Hal was conscious of the tingling along his nerves, a sharpening of his attention that signalled the urge to flirt, to hunt, to… No, this one was an in no cent.
By his side, Lady Horton had turned to another guest. She would flit through the rooms, garnering compliments and outrageous offers, laughing and teasing, becoming heated and excited. Becoming ready for him.
Hal bowed slightly towards Miss Tresilian, and her chin went up, infinitesimally. She inclined her head and turned back to speak to the young lady at her side. A display that would not have shamed a duchess acknowledging a distant, and not very desirable acquaintance—if it were not for the fact that she had blushed like a peony.