‘I see.’ She sent him a speculative glance that caused him to growl.
‘Look at me like that again and I shall not be responsible for my actions,’ he warned her.
‘I cannot help the way I look!’
Ace pushed his way so close to the fire that Sabine thought he might singe his coat. He turned in several tight circles, whacking their legs with his tail in the process, and then flopped down with a heavy sigh, stretching his rangy body along the length of the rug. He rested his large head on his outstretched paws and was snoring within seconds.
Chance, Sabine could see, despite the desires he had just given voice to, was struggling to stay awake himself.
‘There is plenty of time for you to rest and bathe before dinner,’ she told him. ‘You know that I don’t stand on ceremony—so if you would prefer to remain as you are and bathe later…’
‘What a delightful prospect,’ he said, chuckling as he leaned over to kiss her. ‘I have missed you, my love. I wish I could have come down more regularly. I had fully intended to but, as always…’
‘As always, the prince’s needs took priority. I quite understand, even if I resent his hold over you. I should have come up to town. I am aware that you didn’t ask me to because you know I dislike society at play, but I should have made the effort for your sake. I feel terribly guilty. The duties of a mistress are still new to me, so you must make allowances.’
‘I can assure you,’ he replied in a throaty drawl, ‘that you discharge your duties with distinction.’
‘How reassuring.’
‘They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but in my case, that would be impossible.’ He gently stroked the curve of her face and then bent his head to slowly cover her lips with his own. ‘You know I adore you to distraction.’
‘You might have mentioned it once or twice, but I have not the slightest objection to hearing it again.’
‘So insecure,’ he muttered, leaning down to kiss some reassurance into her.
She smiled, contented in ways that seemed almost indecent as she drank in the sight of his rugged profile and impulsively pushed a lock of thick dark hair that had fallen across his brow back into place.
‘You will have read the criticism in the newspapers about Prinny’s latest obsession,’ Chance said, sighing.
‘His sudden love affair with the Stuart family, I take it you mean.’ Chance nodded. ‘So it’s true. Whatever brought that on?’
Chance lifted one broad shoulder. ‘What brings any of his fads on? He has acquired a mass of Stuart papers from the executor of the Countess of Albany and is sponsoring the publication of a new biography of James the Second.’
‘Goodness.’ Sabine raised her brows. ‘Well, we have always known that he resented his own strict upbringing—possibly with some justification—so perhaps he intends to attach himself to a more agreeable royal heritage and will declare himself a descendent of the Stuarts before we know it. I wouldn’t put it past him. I mean, he is convinced that he was at Waterloo, but he’s never been anywhere near a battlefield.'
‘And all this time riots and unrest grow by the day, yet George barely notices. I am glad in some respects that the inclement weather will keep him more or less confined to the pavilion here in Brighton and make it harder for any attacks on his person to be orchestrated.’
‘Your dedication is admirable, my darling, but it is not up to you to keep him safe.’
Chance gave a weary smile as he drained his glass. ‘Would that things were that straightforward. As it is, those whose job it is to ensure his safety do not always perform their duties diligently.’
Sabine nodded. This wasn’t a new refrain. Chance was part of a coterie of aristocratic younger sons who all served the prince in various capacities. They saw the good intentions and intelligence in George that belied the womanising and extravagance that he was better known for, even if he did drive them demented with his often unreasonable demands. But, Chance often told her, the country would be a worse place if they followed France’s example and got rid of the ruling classes.
‘Sorry to throw this at you, my love,’ Chance said, ‘but your presence is required at the pavilion tomorrow evening.’
‘So soon?’ Sabine tried not to pout.
‘George knows or suspects of our liaison and enjoys your company.’
‘I was aware that I would be required to show my face, but I had hoped to have you to myself for a few days first.’
‘Prinny has decided to do something about Anglo-Greek détente,’ Chance said, rolling his eyes, ‘following the debacle with the Elgin marbles.’
‘Oh dear. I should have thought that particular problem would be better left to the politicians to squabble over.’
‘And you would be in the right of it, but you know Prinny.’ Chance took a deep breath. ‘It’s what comes from leaving him in a powerful position but with no real power, I have always thought. He takes it upon himself to interfere wherever he feels like it.’
‘What has he done?’
‘He’s engaged a Greek soprano to sing for his guests this entire summer.’
‘Surely she can’t do that much damage.’ Sabine fixed Chance with a probing look. ‘But I suspect you disagree, given that you have raised the matter.’
‘The lady is something of an enigma. An enigma that Louis Harland is doing his very best to solve,’ Chance said, referring to his friend and one of the trusted circle of younger sons who surrounded the prince. Louis was in charge of the prince’s horses, but he also had time for interests of a different variety.
‘One assumes she is very pretty, in that case,’ Sabine said, sitting forward and taking interest.
‘She has a beautiful voice and a face to match. The prince heard her sing at Covent Garden and was captivated. She was only engaged to sing there for a single night, but as soon as Prinny heard her, he decided that she should remain in England for the summer and entertain his guests here in Brighton.’
Sabine flexed a brow. ‘Just like that?’
Chance rolled his eyes. ‘Just like that. There was some difficulty with her agent, I believe, but naturally George’s will prevailed.’
‘Of course it did. What is she like, then, apart from the face and the voice? Is she a prima donna who throws things at her subordinates? One hears such stories about these theatrical types.’
‘Actually no, she is remarkably shy and modest. She puts me in mind of you in some respects. She is also very tragic in appearance, if that makes any sense.’
‘Should I be concerned?’
‘I am not the one who is smitten,’ he assured her, squeezing her hand.
‘What is her name? Will I have heard of her? And why do you describe her as tragic?’
‘So many questions,’ Chance said, smiling. ‘You need a distraction.’
‘I live an isolated existence here, so I must depend upon vicarious forms of entertainment.’
He sent her a sinful smile. ‘I will entertain you.’
Sabine moistened her lips, a little overwhelmed by his intensity. She tried not to think about the way he occupied his time when in London, surrounded by women who seemed determined to impress him. She had assumed that he didn’t live like a monk, but given his obvious frustration after a lengthy separation, she was no longer quite so sure about that.
‘I depend upon it. But,’ she added, tossing her head to chase away the salacious thoughts that had taken up residence there, ‘in the meantime, tell me all about the tragic lady. Clearly, she is on your mind.’
‘Her name is Amara Kazan, and all I can tell you about her is that she comes from a very influential Athenian family. She sang recently at La Scala and was only permitted to come on to England because her agent convinced her family that the opportunity to perform at Covent Garden was too good to pass up and that she would be an asset to Greek interests in this country. I have heard her sing at Carlton House, and I personally think it would be a travesty if she was made to return to Gree
ce and a life of obscurity.’
‘If she remains as the guest of an English prince and performs only for his guests,’ Sabine said, frowning as she tried to decide what was so unseemly about that, ‘then surely it ought to be seen as an accolade rather than something to be ashamed of. Even so, using his influence to go against her family’s plans for the lady is hardly the best way to improve Anglo-Greek relations.’
‘Quite, but try telling George that.’
Sabine flashed a sympathetic smile. ‘How old is she? Presumably she is appropriately chaperoned.’
‘She has an older woman with her, but that is all. What has become of the agent I couldn’t say. One assumes that her family are Greek Orthodox, which does not allow for unmarried daughters taking themselves off and making their own way—especially in a country that is widely seen to have stolen one of their most treasured relics.’
Sabine sighed. ‘Those wretched marbles?’
‘Those wretched marbles,’ Chance agreed, smiling at her.
‘I thought Lord Elgin claimed to have obtained an official decree from the rulers of Greece granting him ownership.’
‘A decree that has never been found, so naturally its existence is a matter of interpretation. It’s most definitely a debacle that Prinny should leave well alone, but of course he will not. Byron has likened the earl’s actions to vandalism and looting, which might well be true but certainly isn’t helpful. Anyway, the matter is being debated in Parliament and it looks as though Elgin will be exonerated as long as he agrees to sell the marbles to the British government.’
Sabine shook her head. ‘I can quite see why the Greeks are up in arms about it. Wouldn’t it be better for international relations just to give them back?’
‘Much better, my love, but we are talking about politicians and royalty, not rational people.’
‘Presumably your lovely singer is not involved in the dispute.’
‘She is not mine, but I rather think that Louis would like her to be his. Not that he will have much luck in that department, I don’t suppose, given their ethnic differences. Besides, the girl will have to defer to her family’s plans for her at some point.’
‘I fail to see why she should,’ Sabine replied, bridling. ‘However, different cultures have different expectations, and you’re right to suggest that we should not interfere. I feel sorry for her and am glad that Louis is attempting to reassure her. He is charming and affable, and hopefully he will help to provide a distraction.’
‘I can’t see any of it ending well,’ Chance replied. ‘As you rightly point out, far from helping diplomatic relationships with the Greeks, George might actually be muddying the waters, and the girl will be used as a pawn by both nations.’
‘Is she of age?’
‘If she is then only just. But that will make no difference. She is unmarried, so her father and brothers—assuming she has any—will make her return to Greece. And Amara, I suspect, will consider it her duty to do as she’s told.’
‘Which doesn’t sit well with you.’ Sabine rested the side of her face on his broad shoulder. ‘Your trouble, if you don’t mind me saying so, is that you cannot see a wrong being perpetuated without wishing to put it right.’
‘True, but on this occasion I shall leave it to Louis to protect her interests. I would much rather stay here with you.’
‘Well, if I must go to Prinny’s party tomorrow then I shall no doubt meet the lady for myself. If she needs a friend, I would be happy to offer my services, but then you knew I would say that when you told me about her, didn’t you?’
He spread his hands and his smile simultaneously. ‘You know me too well.’ Chance kissed the top of her head and stood. ‘But now that I can feel my hands and feet again, I shall attempt to make myself look a little more presentable and see you again in an hour.’
‘I suppose I should make similar attempts,’ Sabine replied, glancing down at a gown that was creased because she had fallen asleep in it and splattered with dried mud thanks to the over-exuberant attentions of a large dog.
They left the room together, climbing the stairs side by side, Ace’s paws clicking on the wooden treads as he followed behind them. We are like an old married couple, Sabine thought—except for the fact that the giddiness hadn’t yet worn off.
Chapter Two
Amara Kazan shivered. ‘Why is it so cold in this country?’ she asked, pulling a shawl tightly across her slim shoulders and sitting close to a fire that ought not to have been necessary in the middle of an English summer. ‘I have not felt warm since I arrived here.’ Except when Mr Harland sends me one of his intimate smiles. But that, Amara knew, was a taboo subject and she felt guilty at the inappropriate turn her thoughts had taken.
‘Everyone is complaining. It is not usually this bad, I am told,’ her aunt Eva replied, smiling at Amara. ‘In some respects the inclement weather will help you, since fewer people are venturing out of doors—including us—and so…’
‘And so I shall not be seen. Yes, I know that very well.’ Amara plucked at the fringe adorning her shawl. ‘I should have gone home after Covent Garden. We both know that I will not be permitted to get away with defying Papa and that you will now be the focus of his wrath as well, which is most unfair since you didn’t persuade me to stay.’
‘Don’t worry about me, my love. My brother does not intimidate me.’ Evangeline Costas, the youngest of her father’s four sisters, leaned towards Amara, her eyes sparkling with defiance. ‘Surely you are enjoying this opportunity to show off your remarkable talent in England’s most exalted company. It will be the making of you.’
‘Oh, Eva, you know that I am, but still I worry about…well, everything. Especially the trouble you will find yourself in for helping me.’
‘Let me worry about that. As for you, not even your father will dare to defy a prince.’
Amara sighed. ‘If only that were true, but we both know that he will use the opportunity to exploit his own agenda.’
Amara watched her aunt as she moved gracefully towards the window, drawn by the patter of rain that pelted relentlessly against the glass, as it had done since their arrival in Brighton a few days before. Amara had been excited by thoughts of the seaside, her imagination stirred by the stories Mr Harland had told her about the pleasures of a resort made fashionable by society’s elite thanks to the prince’s patronage. Thus far, all she had seen was a dark, angry sea sending waves crashing onto the shingle beach and the inside of the rented house on the seafront that the prince’s people had arranged for her and Eva to occupy.
She attempted to summon up a smile for her beloved aunt, aware that it was her persuasion that had convinced Papa to allow Amara to go to Italy and sing at La Scala. He had been determined that Amara would not travel on to England and accept the offer to sing at Covent Garden that had followed from her success in Italy. Only Eva pointing out that Amara’s acclaim would reflect well upon the entire family and enhance Papa’s standing in the Athenian hierarchy—that and her offer to accompany Amara as her chaperone—had changed Papa’s mind.
And then only reluctantly.
Amara had been delighted when Papa agreed that they could stay on in England, a country she had always wanted to see, and wait two months until he came to collect them in his yacht. How he would react when he learned that instead of sightseeing Amara had taken up the prince’s invitation didn’t bear thinking about. Eva had convinced Amara to leave Papa to her. She would absorb the brunt of his anger and take the blame for encouraging Amara to rebel, which hardly seemed fair.
Widowed in her thirties, Eva was still at the height of her beauty but had never remarried, despite the numerous offers that had come her way and her father’s clumsy attempts to force her into the most advantageous of them. Advantageous for whom, Amara had often wondered. Papa was the eldest of eight children; a wealthy and formidable man accustomed to getting whatever he wanted. Few allowances were made for rebellious younger sisters, and absolutely none for daughte
rs who forgot their place.
Amara could only hope that Papa would see the benefits of her connection to the prince. Not that she could have refused his invitation; one did not deny his royal highness anything, she had quickly learned. The man was charming, generous and well-informed on all manner of subjects, but she had seen his temper flare up without warning when things did not go his way.
Papa disliked England and could not understand Amara’s desire to remain in the company of people he described as ignorant infidels. He would see her remaining here as the ultimate betrayal, but despite the cold, Amara really wasn’t ready to go back. She was enjoying her independence—and, if she was honest, the acclaim her singing had brought her. She had been spoken of in the newspapers in glowing terms and she had heard the prince’s patronage described as the icing on the cake. She wasn’t sure what the term meant but was fairly sure it had nothing to do with confectionery.
She would ask Mr Harland, she decided. He knew so many things and was endlessly patient in the face of her unworldliness. She had, perhaps unwisely, come to depend upon him since being noticed by the prince. When they were apart she told herself that she would remain more circumspect upon their next meeting, but thus far she had singularly failed to achieve that ambition. He only had to look at her in that probing manner of his that caused her stomach to turn cartwheels and she was in danger of forgetting her own name.
Amara had been protected her entire life, and had never been subjected to the attentions of an attractive member of the opposite sex before—at least not without the occasions being witnessed by half a dozen guardians and chaperones, which hardly made for intimacy. The sexes mixed far more freely here in England, just as Papa had warned her to expect, but in Amara’s case no boundaries had been crossed and she was simply enjoying the freedom to be herself.
‘You are thinking about Mr Harland.’
Amara (Carlton House Cartel Book 2) Page 2