He dragged his attention to his hostess and summoned a smile.
‘There is nothing to forgive, madam. I have been well entertained, I assure you.’ He stole another look across the room.
She followed his glance and laughed. ‘You would like to meet the golden widow? I should have guessed! She is quite a diamond, is she not? And possessed of a fortune, I understand.’ She laughed. ‘No wonder her late husband’s family want to keep her under their wing.’
‘They do?’
‘Why else would they open up their townhouse for her, if it wasn’t to keep her within their grasp? They have installed an impoverished cousin as her companion, too, but she is a timid, mouse-like little creature and it is no wonder that the widow prefers to go about without her.’ She touched his arm. ‘Allow me to present you.’
‘No!’ Arabella had not yet seen him. He remembered all too clearly the last time he had surprised her. ‘No,’ he said again, softening the word with a smile. ‘Thank you. I recently made the lady’s acquaintance and I shall speak to her later. She is engaged at present.’
‘Oh. Well, if you are sure, my lord...?’
‘Quite sure.’ He held out his arm to her. ‘There are any number of other ladies here I have yet to meet.’
* * *
Arabella was already wishing she had not come. She had not intended to accept, even when Lady Aldenham had been most pressing.
‘You have been a widow for more than six months now, my dear. No one will consider it odd that you should be going out a little into society.’
‘But not to a ball,’ Arabella had objected.
‘Even a ball, as long as it is a private affair, and you do not dance.’
As she made her way through the crowded rooms, Arabella thought there was very little that was private about Lady Aldenham’s ball and nothing would have tempted her to attend, had she not been led to believe she might learn something of how George had died. She could not ignore that.
She moved unhurriedly from the ballroom into an elegant gilded salon where chairs and tables had been placed for guests to converse at their ease. It was quieter here and cooler. Perhaps she might sit down for a moment. A small group of ladies and gentlemen were seated in one corner, most of whom she recognised, and she went across to join them. She was gratified that Lord Haverford jumped to his feet as soon as he saw her.
‘My dear Mrs Roffey, do, pray you, come and sit down with us. Seeking refuge from the music, are you?’ He guided Arabella to an empty chair. ‘My dear lady was just saying it is all very well for these young people, but when you get to our age, we prefer to hear ourselves think, what?’
‘My dear sir, Mrs Roffey is far younger than us and I am sure she does not object to a little noise.’ His wife leaned across to pat Arabella’s hand. ‘Take no notice of him, my dear, but do stay and talk to us. You know Sir Kenelm Prees and his lady and Mrs Darby, I dare say?’ She waited until Arabella had nodded before continuing. ‘We shall be glad of your company. Haverford, my love, fetch Mrs Roffey a glass of wine. My dear, Sir Kenelm was just telling us about the play last night, The Fate of Frankenstein. Have you seen it?’
Arabella shook her head. ‘No, but pray, do continue, Sir Kenelm...’
She allowed the conversation to flow around her while she sipped her wine and hid her frustration. This was not what she had wanted, what she had hoped for, this evening.
The gentleman who had promised to meet her here had not yet appeared. Perhaps he had never intended to do so. A glance at the clock told her it was yet early. If he did not appear within the next hour, she would leave.
Her stretched nerves caught a movement by the door. Someone had entered the salon. It was not the man she was expecting, but that did not prevent the breath from hitching in her throat when Lord Westray walked in. Yearning stabbed her, so strong it was like a physical blow. She could not drag her eyes away from his upright form. He walked with a lithe grace, exuding power and confidence. The candlelight gleamed on his mane of fair hair and his skin glowed with the golden tan of a man who had lived in the sun. Not a man, she thought wildly. A god.
A sun god.
She should not feel like this about another man so soon after George’s death. A man she had known for barely a sennight. She was racked by guilt, but it made not a jot of difference. Since leaving Devonshire she had tried so hard to convince herself she did not care about Randolph, but now, just seeing him brought on a wave of desire. Oh, how she had missed him!
‘Loneliness,’ she told herself. ‘Loneliness and grief have combined to make you susceptible to the attentions of a charming man. That is all it is.’
Arabella clutched the wineglass with both hands to keep it steady. She was barely aware of the laughter and chatter going on around her.
‘...heavens, Sir Kenelm, how dare the theatre put on such a play?’ Mrs Darby was fanning herself vigorously. ‘It sounds quite terrifying.’
‘The monster was more farcical than frightening, madam, I assure you.’
‘Just the talk of it has turned our young friend as white as my fichu!’ declared Lady Haverford. ‘Mrs Roffey...’ She reached across and touched Arabella’s arm. ‘Good heavens, my dear, you really do look quite upset. It is only a play, after all.’
‘What? Oh. Oh, yes,’ Arabella forced herself to answer. She struggled to remain calm, to remember what they were discussing. Ah, yes, Frankenstein. ‘I have read the book and always felt a little sorry for the creature.’
Randolph must have seen her, she was sure of it, but he had walked across to the far wall and was studying a large painting. A servant approached him, offering a glass of wine from a laden tray. The Earl waved him away, but he turned now to look about the room, and when his eyes met Arabella’s, he gave a tiny nod of recognition.
‘Damme if it isn’t the new Earl!’ exclaimed Sir Kenelm, raising his quizzing glass. ‘And he’s coming over. Well, if that don’t beat all!’
‘And why should it?’ demanded Lord Haverford, rising and raising his hand in greeting. ‘Servant, Westray!’
‘Aye, evening to you, my lord,’ put in Sir Kenelm, bowing. ‘When we met at Drury Lane last night you wasn’t minded to come tonight.’
‘Then my thoughts were for the play,’ came the smooth reply. ‘Tonight, I needed more agreeable entertainment.’ He bowed towards the ladies, murmuring each of their names in turn, ending with Arabella. ‘Mrs Roffey.’
She was thankful she was sitting, for her bones had turned to water. He was even more handsome than she remembered and heaven knew he had barely been out of her thoughts since she had left Devon. She gave him a cold little nod, reminding herself he was the reason she had left Devon.
He was smiling at her, those blue eyes piercing her very soul. The little smile playing about his lips suggested he knew very well what she was thinking.
‘You are looking very pale, Mrs Roffey,’ the Earl remarked. ‘Are you quite well?’
‘Perfectly, my lord.’
Mrs Darby laughed. ‘We are all of us atremble, my lord. Sir Kenelm has been regaling us with a description of the play last night. The Fate of Frankenstein! And now we learn that you were there, too.’
‘I was. In my opinion Mrs Shelley’s book is far superior.’ He turned his attention back to Arabella, his countenance, his manner, all concern. ‘Mrs Roffey, perhaps you are in need of a little sustenance. Shall I escort you to the supper room?’
‘No, thank you. I want nothing.’
‘Are you sure, madam?’ Lord Haverford lifted his head. ‘Aha, listen! The music has stopped, so I suppose everyone will be going down to supper now. Perhaps we should all join ’em before those young people devour everything!’
‘No, no, I assure you I want nothing.’
Arabella’s words were almost lost as everyone started to rise. She was about to follow suit when Randolph put his h
and on her arm.
‘If you are not hungry, then stay where you are, madam. You will recover all the sooner if you remain here, in peace and quiet.’
‘I am not ill,’ she muttered.
‘Of course you are not ill.’ He laughed, casting a look about at the rest of the group. ‘It is merely that you have no appetite.’ He lowered himself into the chair beside her and waved the others away. ‘You may safely leave Mrs Roffey to my care while you are all at supper.’
Sir Kenelm gave a hearty chuckle. ‘Impudent young dog! You see what he’s done, Haverford? Stolen the march on us with a pretty woman.’
‘I doubt Mrs Roffey will object to having the Earl keep her company,’ put in Mrs Darby, directing a twinkling smile at Arabella. ‘We shall return later, my dear, to see how you are.’
Arabella watched them move off, her cheeks burning with mortification.
‘I beg your pardon.’ The Earl’s voice was a nice blend of sympathy and laughter. ‘I could not ignore the opportunity to talk to you alone.’
The room was almost empty, save for an elderly gentleman snoring gently in the far corner. Arabella glared at Randolph.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I received an invitation from Lady Aldenham.’ She almost ground her teeth at his innocent reply and his eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘I have been looking for you.’
‘Why?’
‘I thought you might need my assistance.’
‘I do not want your help!’
‘You told me so, at our last meeting. I wanted to assure myself that you are well.’
She put up her chin. ‘I am very well. Thank you.’
‘Truly?’ He remained in his chair, seemingly at ease, but she knew he was watching her closely. ‘Tell me where you have been, what you have done since you left Beaumount. Did you come directly to town?’
‘No. I returned to Revesby Hall.’ She folded her hands in her lap. ‘I decided I should tell Sir Adam and Lady Roffey the truth, that I had not been visiting friends but had been to Devon to discover what I could about George’s last stay there.’ Her eyes flickered briefly to his face. ‘I did not tell them quite everything. I thought it best not to say I had pretended to be your wife.’
He said nothing and she was grateful he did not tease her or make light of it. After a few moments she continued.
‘They were most forbearing and forgave me my deception.’ She sat up a little straighter and looked him in the eye. ‘I asked Lady Roffey if George took laudanum. If that was the cause of his demise. She denied it, most emphatically. She assured me that was not the case.’
‘And did you tell them why you were coming to London?’
‘Yes. They tried to dissuade me, but I expected that. In the end they gave their consent, albeit reluctantly.’
‘And they allowed you to come here alone?’
‘You are incredulous, but why should you be? They do not believe there is any danger.’ She frowned. ‘Lady Roffey said that if George was poisoned it was accidental. Something he had eaten. But that does not make any sense.’
‘It does not make sense that they did not accompany you to London!’
‘They wanted to do so, but Sir Adam is not well,’ she told him. ‘They insisted on making all the arrangements. They opened the townhouse and found a companion for me.’
‘And how long have you been here?’
‘Four weeks. There was a memorial service for George at Christmas and then I remained in Lincolnshire until the end of January.’
Arabella looked down at her folded hands. She had spent much of her time at Revesby Hall alone, in her room or sitting in the little chapel which housed the family vaults. The Roffeys had assumed she was mourning her husband, which was the truth, but only part of it.
She had been trying to forget Randolph, telling herself that grief had made her vulnerable. Convincing herself that he meant nothing to her. She believed she had succeeded. Until he had walked into the room tonight and she had thought she might faint with the desire to throw herself into his arms.
‘And what have you learned?’ he asked now.
Arabella hesitated. She had discovered woefully little.
‘It has been very slow,’ she said cautiously. ‘But I have met someone who has promised to tell me more about George’s visit to Meon House. I am meeting him here, tonight.’
She glanced towards the door, looking for her informant. He had suggested they meet here. Perhaps he had arrived late and was even now in one of the other rooms, looking for her.
‘May I ask who?’
She shook her head and rose to her feet. Her limbs still felt remarkably shaky, but she was determined to get away from Randolph.
‘If you will excuse me, I think I should be going.’
She hoped he would remain but he accompanied her. The ballroom was filling up again now, as guests returned from their supper, and she stood by the wall, her eyes searching the crowd. She did not look at Randolph, but she was aware of him beside her, like a magnet pulling her closer. She had only to lean a couple of inches closer and her shoulder would touch his arm. She was sorely tempted to do so, to take advantage of his strength, the protection and comfort she knew he would offer. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps, in the months since she had last seen him, he no longer wanted to help her.
The musicians were tuning up again and Arabella had an unexpected and vivid memory of her first ball. It had been at the assembly rooms in Lincoln. She recalled being giddy with excitement, the eager anticipation she had experienced when a gentleman solicited her hand for a dance. If only she was still in those carefree days. Ran might take her hand to lead her out and her heart would sing with the sheer pleasure of being his partner. He would be a good dancer; she was sure of it. He would be both graceful and energetic, and when it ended, she would smile and thank him, and he would reach for her hands, pull her closer and...
‘I did not expect to see you here tonight.’
The Earl’s voice brought her crashing back to the present. She was not a debutante, but a widow. A widow of less than twelve months. She was not free.
‘I came here only to learn more of my husband’s death,’ she told him. ‘My informant has not arrived.’
‘And will he come now, at this late hour?’
‘I doubt it.’ She should leave. Distance herself from this man whose very presence made her tingle with forbidden desires.
‘An odd place to exchange information. Are you sure he isn’t hoping to persuade you to dance with him?’
Even his voice had the power to distract her. Rich and dark. Smooth as velvet and twice as sensuous.
Stop it, Arabella. You are not a schoolgirl to swoon over a deep voice or a handsome face. How can you forget George so soon?
The rush of guilt brought with it resentment for the man standing beside her.
She gestured to her gown. ‘My demi-train indicates I do not dance tonight.’
‘Even so, a man might hope.’
She drew herself up and gave him a disdainful look.
‘Only a most insensitive creature could think I would dishonour my husband’s memory with such frivolity! Goodnight, Lord Westray.’
* * *
Arabella turned to walk away, flinging aside her skirts so that the short train slapped against Ran’s legs like a rebuke. He cursed silently. He had not meant to insult her. The words had slipped out.
A man might hope.
Inflammatory. Wishful thinking. She was almost at the open doorway to the ballroom as he set off after her, determined to apologise. She had stopped just outside, on the landing leading to the grand staircase, and was looking at something or someone he could not see. Her hand went out and was grasped by a man’s gloved fingers. The next moment a man himself came into sight and Randolph stopped abruptly.
Teddi
ngton! Was this the man she had arranged to meet? There was no denying, with his handsome face and glossy black whiskers, he was just the sort of fellow to appeal to the ladies. Arabella was smiling at him. Surely she had not fallen under his spell? He felt a sharp stab of anger. She had berated him for suggesting she might dance, and yet here she was, allowing Charles Teddington to kiss her fingers. Bah! What did he know of ladies, after all? He had been living a very different life for the past six years.
Teddington did not release that small, dainty hand. He drew it on to his sleeve and turned to escort her back into the ballroom. They were already deep in conversation and did not see Randolph until they were a few steps away. He had had time to school his face to indifference, but it was impossible to smile.
‘Ah, Lord Westray. Servant, sir.’ Teddington’s black brows rose. ‘Leaving already, my lord?’
‘Yes. It is late.’ Ran gave faint but definite emphasis to the last word, but if Arabella noticed she gave no sign. She was gazing straight ahead, her face as cold and indifferent as stone.
‘I suppose it is.’ Charles Teddington laughed. ‘I was just telling Mrs Roffey, got held up at Brooks’s. Middle of a game, you see, impossible to withdraw. But I am here now. If you will excuse us, my lord, my fair partner has expressed a wish for a little wine.’
A bow, a smile and he was gone, carrying Arabella away while Randolph remained frozen to the spot. He had come to London for the sole purpose of warning Arabella about Teddington. He scowled, remembering how the fellow had smirked at her. How she had smiled back. She might think he was helping her, but Ran doubted it, very much. He tried to pull together his thoughts. He had said he was leaving; it would look odd if he turned around and followed them to the refreshment table. He set off down the stairs. Perhaps the fresh air would help him to think clearly.
As he made his way back to his rooms at Mivart’s Hotel, he remembered everything Chislett had told him about Charles Teddington. Arabella was still a wealthy woman. Lady Aldenham had confirmed tonight that it was common knowledge. The golden widow. If Teddington was indeed a fortune hunter, he might consider her a prize worth winning, at any cost.
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