When he did not return to town along with the other racegoers, the rumourmongers became more inventive. Perhaps he’d taken off with Mrs Yardley, an attractive widow in straitened circumstances who’d been resolutely refusing offers of protection from various well-heeled members of the aristocracy for the past two years. It would certainly account for the fact that she’d disappeared at about the same time.
For three days Henrietta tortured herself by imagining him slaking his desires in some out-of-the way love nest with this glamorous, beautiful widow, until Mrs Yardley appeared in Green Park, walking with the maiden aunt who acted as her companion and chaperon. They were both, according to the buck who’d accosted them, stunned to discover they’d been thought missing and indignant to hear of what Mrs Yardley was suspected. They had both merely been suffering from a minor indisposition which had made them stay within doors for a few days. To judge from the redness of both their noses, came the report, and the bleariness of their eyes, they’d most likely had a summer cold.
Henrietta soon perceived she’d been incredibly naïve when she’d imagined Lord Deben would be the one who’d have to face the aftermath of their public quarrel. Because he was a man, he didn’t need to face up to anything. He had the power to order his carriage and slink off to one of his estates. Or go to the races. Or snap his fingers to some eager, experienced woman, who would be only too glad to satisfy his needs in a way she could not. A woman who would, when he was done with her, leave him absolutely free. If not Mrs Yardley, then another.
It became increasingly difficult to pretend she didn’t care about the spiteful asides being whispered behind gloved hands wherever she went—loudly enough to ensure she overheard every one. Even her aunt conceded that there was no need to accept every invitation that came from what Mildred had taken to referring to as ‘the top-lofty set’. And so Henrietta began, discreetly, to remove herself from the sphere in which Lord Deben would naturally move, when eventually he did return.
Apart from anything else, she did not know how she would cope with seeing him, knowing he’d spent the intervening time with some other woman, touching her the way he’d touched Hentrietta. Kissing her. Driving her wild with desire. And then taking his own pleasure in her body. To the full.
For what else could he be doing?
Every night, in her lonely bed, she lay there, wondering. She could think of nothing else, when she had nothing else to distract her. Every time she almost drifted off to sleep, the weight of the blankets on top of her became the echo of his body, pressing her into that sofa. Her skin reminded her of the paths his hands had traced. She grew heated and restless, and didn’t know what to do with herself. In vain did she throw off the covers. He haunted her. And she had nobody to blame but herself. He’d warned her that if he kissed her she would never be the same again. That he would make her a woman, aware of her body.
He’d also said she would look at men and wonder if their lips could rouse her to the heights he’d boasted he could show her.
It was no consolation to discover he’d been wrong about that. That the only man whose lips she would ever want on her were his.
Sometimes, when she had a few moments to herself during the day, she would take out the three monogrammed handkerchiefs she’d never quite been able to bring herself to return to him, close her eyes and press them to her lips. It wasn’t the same. They were cool and dead, and, having spent weeks tucked at the bottom of her underwear drawer, they no longer bore even the remotest trace of his uniquely masculine scent.
But, because she did not want anyone to suspect how badly Lord Deben had hurt her, she took far more care over her appearance than she ever had before. She applied rice powder to the shadows under her eyes, made sure her gowns were taken in so that her loss of weight did not become apparent and even went so far as applying a little rouge to disguise her pallor.
It had been bad enough to have had her aunt accusing her of moping, after the Richard fiasco. At least then she’d been able to believe everything would have been better if she could return to Much Wakering. Now she knew it would be useless to go anywhere else. Wherever she went, it would be without him, so she would still feel as though she was slowly dying. Besides, he’d rather taken the gloss off the life she’d lived in Much Wakering. She’d always thought of herself as indispensable to her family’s happiness. She’d assumed her brothers loved her as much as she loved them. It had taken the cynical Lord Deben to point out that they’d all been taking her for granted for years.
No, if she was going to be miserable, she might as well be in London, with at least the benefit of theatre trips and art exhibitions to act as a distraction. Besides, her aunt and uncle were planning a lavish wedding for Mildred and Mr Crimmer. She did not want to spoil their happiness by waving her own misery in their faces like a banner.
Then one day, about a week after Mrs Yardley put paid to the rumours she was Lord Deben’s latest mistress, Julia Twining and Lady Susan Pettiffer came to call on her.
She received them gladly, since they had been about the only people who had never treated her any differently, while she’d been entangled with Lord Deben, or afterwards.
‘I have come,’ Julia began, once they’d taken a cup of tea, and after Lady Susan had nudged her in the ribs, ‘to speak to you about my literary evening. You have to buy a ticket, you know. It is in aid of the foundling home.’
‘What Julia means,’ put in Lady Susan with a quick frown of reproof, ‘is that we very much hope you will attend. We have both noticed you are not going about as much as usual and, in certain ways, I can understand why not. But this,’ she said leaning forwards to make her point, ‘is important.’
‘I think we are supposed to be going to dinner with some business connections of my uncle’s that evening.’
Lady Susan looked annoyed. ‘There is no reason why you have to go, too, is there? Don’t you think you might be excused? You could still reach Julia’s house in time if I sent a carriage and a brace of footmen to fetch you.’
‘Surely my attendance won’t make any difference …’
‘Oh, yes, it will,’ Lady Susan snapped. ‘We need you there because of Cynthia Lutterworth. Cynthia means to read us some of her poems. You do remember Cynthia, do you not?’
She put the term ‘poetess’ alongside the name of Lutterworth and came up with the image of a wild-haired creature, just as Lady Susan went on, ‘And I’m quite sure, having been the target of malicious gossip yourself, that you understand how cruel some people can be. How unfair. Just because she is a woman, and her parents’ money comes from trade, some people will take delight in mocking her.’
‘It isn’t fair,’ put in Julia. ‘When she is just doing her part to raise money for charity.’
‘But surely, if her poetry is any good, people will have no call to mock …’ Henrietta trailed away as the two visitors exchanged a significant look.
‘It isn’t that her verses are dreadful,’ said Julia.
‘No, they’re certainly no worse than many others I could name,’ finished Lady Susan. ‘And if she were only pretty, or had a title, they would garner a great deal of rapturous applause,’ she added with a sneer.
Henrietta promptly changed her mind about Lady Susan. Though she had not been able to warm to her to begin with, it seemed that once Lady Susan had made a friend, she was loyal. And that counted for much, in the circles she inhabited. She could so easily have bowed to the prevailing opinions and joined in the mockery of one who had no means of defending herself. But for some reason, Lady Susan had decided she liked Cynthia, or her poems, and was not afraid to say so.
And had Lady Carelyon not predicted she would be in need of friends, once she and Lord Deben were finished? Having friends would help. Not that she would dream of confiding in them, but at least it would be comforting to think there were some people who actually wanted to be with her for no other reason than that they appeared to like her.
‘Very well, I shall come and a
pplaud with great enthusiasm, no matter how dreadful I find her verse.’
Julia beamed at her.
‘Thank you,’ said Lady Susan. ‘That will be a great help. I have already persuaded Lady Twining to have Mr Wythenshawe go on first.’
Henrietta wondered briefly why Lady Twining had allowed Lady Susan to have any say in the running order of the evening at an event to be held in her house. But then she decided there were probably not very many people who could put a halt to Lady Susan once she’d got the bit between her teeth.
‘His poetry is so awful,’ explained Lady Susan, ‘that Cynthia’s offerings will come as a positive relief to the audience. There is nothing we can do about Lord Smedly-Fotherington, unfortunately,’ she said with a frown. ‘He is of noble birth, has long curly hair and has lately taken to dressing like a Turkish prince.’
‘But is his poetry any good?’
Lady Susan’s lip curled. ‘What does that matter? He out-Byron’s Byron.’
‘He is actually very accomplished,’ put in Julia.
‘And very vain.’
‘I promise,’ said Henrietta, feeling for the first time in days that she was no longer completely without value, or completely without friends, ‘that I shall not be in the slightest bit impressed by him.’
‘You haven’t seen him push his curls off his forehead with his long white fingers,’ Julia warned her.
‘That will have no effect upon me.’
‘No,’ put in Lady Susan with approval. ‘If you have managed to stand firm against a man of Lord Deben’s breathtaking masculinity, you will be quite immune to a young fop like Smedly-Fotherington. Didn’t I tell you so, Julia? Miss Gibson has a mind of her own.’
It didn’t occur to Henrietta, until she was actually entering the house two nights later, that the guest list would be much the same as it had been on the night of Julia Twining’s ball. Not until the moment, in fact, when she saw Richard—with Miss Waverley on his arm, smiling up at him coquettishly.
The sight left her almost entirely unmoved, apart from a brief spurt of something like annoyance that she had to see either of them at all.
As far as she was concerned, Miss Waverley was welcome to Richard. And he to her.
Unfortunately, good manners dictated that she not ignore them, for Richard hailed from her own home town. And whatever he’d done to her, he not only had no idea that he’d done it, but he was, still, her brother’s friend.
When, therefore, she was on the point of passing them, she stopped and dipped a brief curtsy.
‘You here, Hen? Well, it’s good to see you,’ said Richard. ‘Though I must say you’re looking a trifle hagged. London too rackety for you, eh? Told you it would be. Don’t say I didn’t.’
Miss Waverley arched a brow at him. ‘You know Miss Gibson?’
‘Lord, yes! Practically grew up together. Like brother and sister.’
Henrietta gave him a level stare. Brothers did not grab sisters and kiss them under the mistletoe with such enthusiasm, thereby leading them to expect that feelings ran deeper, or rather, sprang from a source that was very far removed from filial affection.
‘There you are!’ Lady Susan was bearing down on the trio with a determined look on her face. ‘Miss Gibson,’ she said, ‘I am saving a seat for you next to me, on the front row. Once Miss Lutterworth puts on her spectacles to do her reading I don’t suppose she will be able to see us, but at least on the way to the dais, she might notice some friendly faces among the crowd. You will excuse us,’ she said to Miss Waverley and Richard dismissively.
‘Of course, Lady Susan,’ said Miss Waverley.
‘Had no idea you was friends with Lady Susan,’ said Richard at the same time, looking a bit put out.
Lady Susan smiled at them both, that cat-like smile which Henrietta was coming to recognise as preceding one of her acid barbs.
‘I value Miss Gibson so greatly that I sent my own carriage and footmen to make sure she would be here tonight. It is so rare that one finds a person who does not delight in tittle-tattle, in spiteful speculation, or stabbing her acquaintances in the back,’ she said to Richard, whilst darting a meaningful look in Miss Waverley’s direction.
Henrietta felt a little winded by Lady Susan’s spirited defence. ‘I had no idea you were aware that Miss Waverley dislikes me so much,’ she said as they moved further into the room.
‘She makes no secret of it. I do not know what you can have done to put that vain creature’s perfect little nose out of joint, but I am inclined to think whatever it was, she deserved it.’
They were the only two people moving with any purpose. Everyone else was milling about, greeting acquaintances, taking drinks from circulating waiters, or, in the case of most of the men, edging towards the exit that led to the card room. She noticed, though, a knot of people gathered around a rather beautiful young man with flowing silken curls, dressed in flowing silken robes.
‘Smedly-Fotherington’s admirers,’ muttered Lady Susan, noticing the direction of her gaze. ‘They are the ones who will be most inclined to snigger when Cynthia steps on to the stage.’
At the front of the room, to which they were steadily making their way, was a small raised platform, containing a lectern, upon which the various speakers would be able to rest their pages of verse. Four rows of chairs were arranged before it, in a semi-circle, with a break every few chairs to allow ease of access.
As she took a chair upon the very front row, Henrietta glanced over her shoulder. Richard, she was certain, would be longing to join the group of men sidling out of the doors. He had no interest in poetry whatsoever, and, by the sound of it, he was about to be treated to several samples of the very worst sort. But from the looks of things, Miss Waverley had no intention of letting him off the leash.
Henrietta unfurled her fan and raised it to her face to conceal her smile, which was bordering on a most unladylike grin. Richard was about to undergo a most fitting punishment. If he’d gone to the bother of offering to escort her anywhere, she would at least have chosen something he might enjoy too. Miss Waverley was too selfish to care whether he liked poetry or not. His purpose was merely to play the part of devoted swain. Which, she reflected with a mental sneer, he did to perfection.
‘Is this seat taken?’
She jolted out of her reverie to see Lord Deben standing before her, indicating the empty chair to her right.
‘No,’ she said, her cheeks burning. It had been almost three weeks since they’d last been together, and yet, because she’d relived that encounter so many times, it felt as though it had happened only yesterday. It was impossible to look him in the face, considering how wantonly she’d behaved. Yet she wanted to look. She’d been so parched of his company she wanted to drink him in. Yet all she dared do, since they were in such a public place, was sip by darting a series of thirsty little glances at him as he took his seat beside her. And when he had done so, his thigh was so close to her own that she could feel the heat from it. For a second, she relived, incredibly vividly, the sensations she’d experienced when that very leg had pinned hers beneath him as he unfastened her bodice. Oh, lord, she hoped nobody could tell that her heart was pounding. And were her cheeks as flushed as they felt? She plied her fan rapidly, hoping against hope to dispel at least some of the heat that was making her face burn.
‘My presence unsettles you,’ he observed.
‘Considering that nearly all the other chairs are as yet unoccupied, everyone must be wondering why you have chosen to sit on the one next to mine.’
‘Obviously,’ he said, draping his arm along the back of her chair, and leaning in to murmur in her ear, ‘I cannot bear to be apart from you one moment longer. Though I have nursed my broken heart in private, I cannot endure not to see you. Though you spurn me, I had to return to your side.’
‘Stop it,’ she hissed out of the corner of her mouth. His voice had shimmied all the way down her spine, making it almost impossible for her not to arch her neck in a si
lent invitation to him to nip it.
‘I cannot play such games any more,’ she said with a catch in her voice. ‘I told you …’
‘And yet you did not tell me I could not sit beside you. If you will give me such encouragement, you will never shake me off.’
‘As if it would do any good to tell you I didn’t want you to sit next to me. You would have just ignored my objections and sat down anyway.’
‘True. But you could have got up and walked away, quivering with indignation at my temerity. Instead of which, you are darting me hungry little looks out of the corner of your eye.’
Oh lord, she’d forgotten how good he was at interpreting her without her having to say a word. Could he tell that it was taking all her concentration to keep her unruly body in subjection? That she wanted to clamber on to his lap and shower his beloved face with kisses, whilst simultaneously wanting to slap that mocking expression from his face, and scream at him to stop tormenting her?
‘I have good reasons for staying exactly where I am,’ she retorted. ‘And they have nothing to do with you.’
‘You have painted your face,’ he said. ‘In an attempt to replicate the natural bloom I so admired, and which you appear to have lost. Does that mean you have spent some sleepless nights since we last met? Dare I hope it is because you have missed me?’
‘I think you would dare anything.’
‘I have missed you,’ he said silkily. ‘I only returned to town yesterday and have spent most of today discovering where I could find you tonight.’
‘Have you?’ Henrietta’s heart leapt. He’d done this before. Sought her out, when she had truly thought she would never see him again. But she dared not assume that he’d done it because she really meant something to him. She needed to find out why he’d so particularly wished to speak to her tonight before she said something stupidly revealing.
Knowing her attractiveness to the males of the species, it was more than likely that he wished to make quite sure that she really had relinquished all claims on him. That thought was so depressing that it had the effect of dousing nearly all the physical reactions that had been thrumming through her. But that was probably it. He’d been so keen to get her out of the room that he had not told her how he expected her to handle future meetings, should there be any. And he was so used to females pursuing him that he would probably need reassuring that she would not make capital of the intimacy they’d shared at their last meeting by … by … Well, actually, she couldn’t see how she could make capital of it, except by confessing to someone that she’d met him in private and let him …
Never Trust a Rake Page 20