Parfit Knight

by Riley, Stella

  ‘Yes.’ Very gently, his lordship detached Rosalind’s fingers from his coat. He said, ‘It’s alright. Just wait here for a moment.’

  She clutched at his hand. ‘You won’t go away?’

  ‘No. I won’t go away.’ And he stepped unhurriedly past her to confront Mr Dacre; but silently, almost as though he was waiting for something.

  ‘No, I won’t go away,’ mimicked Robert. ‘How touching! No wonder she won’t take an offer from anyone else – she’s been hoping for one from you ever since the two of you were so cosily marooned together at Oakleigh. For I doubt you ever told her that a gentleman doesn’t take his whore as his - -‘

  And that was as far as he got before the Marquis’s fist slammed into his jaw and dropped him like a stone.

  ‘You talk too much,’ said Amberley, in a voice that could have cut bread. ‘And if you ever say that again – or lay a hand on this lady – I’ll kill you.’ Then, with one contemptuous glance at the sprawling, earth-bound figure, he turned back to Rosalind and pulling off his coat, wrapped it snugly around her. ‘Come, my dear. I’m going to take you home.’

  He did not speak again but Rosalind did not mind. It was enough to feel the comforting strength of his arm and to know herself safe and protected again. She walked exhaustedly at his side, her head leaning on his shoulder and did not care where he took her.

  Amberley’s thoughts were less pleasant and, if Rosalind had been able to see his face, she might have been roused from her lethargy for his expression was one of grim fury. As yet he knew nothing of what had happened to her – only that he had found her dishevelled and terrified, like a child lost in the dark; and it filled him with a cold, murderous rage so strong and unfamiliar that he did not know if it was directed against Robert or Philip. All he was certain of was that he felt a primitive need to do more than merely knock a man down.

  They reached the gate where his lordship summoned a hackney with a snap of his fingers and then handed Rosalind into it.

  ‘Jermyn Street,’ he told the driver.

  ‘Gawd!’ said the jarvey, impressed. ‘All the way, milord?’

  ‘Of course all the way!’ snapped Amberley, preparing to mount the steps. ‘Did you suppose we wanted to travel part of the distance by camel?’ And, without waiting for answer, he took his place beside Rosalind.

  She closed her eyes, leaned her head against the tired-looking squabs and gave a tiny, unsteady laugh.

  Amberley stared at her. ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘The thought of you on a camel,’ she replied, her voice husky with fatigue. ‘It’s not much, I know – but it’s better than crying. Am I very untidy?’

  ‘Very,’ he agreed, forcing a lightness he didn’t feel. ‘But it doesn’t matter. You look beautiful. You always do.’

  And that, surprisingly enough was true. Her face was still greeny-pale, her eyes wide and dark and the thick, blue-black hair was falling down her back; her domino was in ruins, fragments of leaf and twig adorned her foaming white gown and, over all, his coat lay round her shoulders, far too large and its green clashing nastily with the scarlet silk. And still she was beautiful. His gaze travelled to her loosely-clasped hands and he stiffened, reaching out to examine them more closely. ‘How did you come by these scratches?’

  ‘It was a rose-bush, I think. My domino got caught and I made a poor job of trying to free it.’ She paused and then, a little less evenly, said, ‘What did Robert mean – about you and I at Oakleigh?’

  ‘Nothing - except to make mischief as usual. It’s of no consequence and I want you to forget that you heard it.’

  ‘But – ‘

  ‘No. It need not concern you. I assure you that he won’t repeat it.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Rosalind, shivering a little at the memory, less of the threat itself than the tone in which he had made it. ‘I don’t suppose he will.’ And then, ‘I – I am so very grateful to you. But how did you come to be there?’

  ‘I went to Vauxhall with the Delahayes.’

  He didn’t add that he normally avoided Vauxhall like the plague and the only reason he’d inveigled an invitation from Charles Delahaye was because Rockliffe had let slip that Lord Philip was making up a party. Charles, who knew him rather well, had enjoyed a good laugh at his expense and then said, ‘God knows why you should want to, Dominic – but come and welcome. I wouldn’t go myself if it could be avoided … but well, Vauxhall, you know.’ Amberley did know. He just wasn’t convinced that Lord Philip did.

  ‘I met your brother and Mistress Dacre. Isabel said that you’d been walking just behind them with Robert but that a few minutes later you’d both vanished. So I came looking for you.’ The Marquis frowned down on the small, scratched hands that still lay in his and said abruptly, ‘What happened, Rosalind?’

  It was the first time he had used her name and it made her remember how often she’d wondered what his was; so instead of answering his question, she asked one.

  He smiled faintly. ‘My friends call me Nick – and so may you, if you wish. Now. Tell me what happened.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. It was nothing really … and I expect I over-reacted.’

  ‘I doubt that. But nevertheless I want to hear about it – and from the beginning, if you please. I take it that you didn’t go wandering about Vauxhall alone with Robert Dacre from choice?’

  ‘Hardly. I wouldn’t go to the end of the street with him!’ replied Rosalind, stung. And, keeping it as brief as possible, she explained.

  Amberley listened in silence. She spoke only of what had taken place and, he suspected, with a certain degree of under-statement. Of her feelings, she made no mention at all – nor did she need to. He had seen what they had been with his own eyes and, even if he hadn’t, it was not difficult to imagine what the experience must have been like for a gently-bred, sightless girl, alone for the first time in her life in a strange environment. The mere thought of it made him feel physically unwell.

  ‘And then you came,’ she concluded. ‘And I am so very glad that you did.’

  ‘So am I,’ came the grim reply. ‘Though the word glad in no way expresses my feelings in the matter.’

  She turned towards him and said uncertainly, ‘You sound angry. Are you?’

  The grey-green eyes were hard as slate but the pleasant voice softened a little.

  ‘Yes – very angry. But not with you. Don’t worry. I expect I’ll get over it.’

  His voice was reassuring but Rosalind was not convinced and a tiny frown creased her row. She said flatly, ‘You blame Philip, don’t you? But you’re not going to discuss it with me. I wish that I … ‘

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted.

  She gave an odd little laugh. ‘Oh – nothing. Or, at least, nothing new. It’s just that I wish … I wish I could see your face.’

  The pit of Amberley’s stomach fell away as if the carriage had bounded over a deep rut but the very faint wistfulness in her tone had its effect and he did not hesitate.

  ‘Then, since I can’t show it to you, perhaps this will help.’ And, lifting her hands, he laid her palms lightly against his face and released them.

  The effect on Rosalind was as immediate as it was cataclysmic. The breath caught in her throat and her fingers trembled, tingling, against his skin. Then, slowly, delicately, she traced the line of his cheekbones and the flat planes beneath, the angle of his jaw and the firm moulding of lips and chin; and, with a sudden, bitter-sweet joy as his face became visible in her mind, she wondered why she had never thought of this for herself.

  The Marquis remained quite still under her exploring fingers and watched with infinite tenderness as her pallor was replaced by a tinge of colour and her eyes became lit with the glow of discovery. And then he ceased to think at all.

  His arms slid round her, drawing her close, then closer still so that her hands fell to his shoulders and that ineffable, heart-stopping face was tilted back on its slender neck, only inches from his own. The long, silky lashes veiled her ey
es and there was an aura of expectancy about her – as if, like him, she had waited long for this moment; and then the waiting was over and his mouth found hers.

  As naturally as breathing, her arms crept round his neck and her body melted against his like a sweet and fragrant dream; as sweet and fragrant as the lips that parted under his or the soft, rippling hair that cascaded over his hands. Hunger flooded through him like a tidal wave, almost – but not quite – washing away his self-control. He kissed her eyelids, her throat and her hair, twining his fingers in its living silkiness … and then, helpless to resist, captured her mouth again.

  For Rosalind, time and reality ceased to exist. Her every pulse and heartbeat were one with his and there was nothing outside the warmth of his body against hers and the lingering seduction of his mouth. Fire licked her skin and fled along her veins and she sank, drowning willingly, in fathoms of unimaginable delight. And then the carriage drew to a halt.

  Very slowly, Amberley raised his head and looked down into languorous violet eyes. Then, with a sort of remote ruefulness, he said, ‘My heart, if I could do it without lying, I’d beg your pardon. It seems I’m no better than your mythological cavalier of the rose-bush.’

  A tender and strangely beautiful smile lit Rosalind’s face. ‘Are you not?’ she asked simply. ‘How odd. I had thought this was quite different.’

  There was a long pause and then the Marquis smiled back at her, smoothing away a stray lock of hair from her brow. ‘Yes. Quite different,’ he agreed quietly. He caught sight of the jarvey hovering outside the carriage window and waved him aside. ‘But there are … there are things which must be said; things that should have been said before I … before I let what just happened between us happen.’ He stopped and gave the ghost of a laugh. ‘If I call tomorrow, will you receive me?’

  ‘Don’t you know that I will?’ The husky voice was radiant. ‘But why must it wait until tomorrow?’

  ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,’ he quoted with a hint of bitterness. ‘And I think you’ve had enough excitement for one evening. Be grateful – ten minutes ago I had the firm intention of escorting you in and waiting for your esteemed brother for the purpose of asking him to explain just what his notion of looking after you actually entails. He wouldn’t have liked it – and neither, I think, would you.’

  ‘And tomorrow?’

  ‘Oh – tomorrow I may manage to be tolerably civil, should the need arise. But I can’t promise to say nothing – not even for you.’ He grinned crookedly. ‘Hardly Sir Galahad, I know. But some things are too much to ask. Does that sink me utterly below reproach and convince you to tell the butler not to admit me?’

  ‘No.’ She laid a hand very gently against his cheek. ‘As you say – some things are too much to ask.’

  *

  A large mark that would shortly become a bruise stood out against the whiteness of Robert’s face and daubs of mud adorned his rose-brocade coat as, still shaking with mingled rage and fright, he stared defiantly back at Lord Philip and his guests. If he’d had enough money in his pocket for either a carriage or a boat to take him home, he would gladly have avoided this moment altogether.

  ‘I asked you,’ repeated Philip in a low, tight voice, ‘where my sister is. And I don’t intend to wait all night for an answer. Well?’

  ‘Gone home,’ muttered Robert. Several teeth felt loose but, though swollen and exceedingly painful, his jaw did not seem to be dislocated. He added spitefully, ‘Or that’s where he said he’d take her.’

  Isabel rose to stand beside his lordship.

  ‘He?’ she asked sharply. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Robert’s gaze flickered over the faces in front of him and said as distinctly as he could, ‘Amberley. She’s gone off with the Marquis of Amberley.’

  There was a catastrophic silence. Then, in the buzz of shocked chatter that succeeded it, Robert found his arm seized in a crushing grip as Lord Philip hustled him out of the booth and away across the grass.

  ‘I don’t know what drives you to behave like a woman,’ began Philip with furious scorn, ‘and a stupid, vindictive woman at that – but now you’re deprived of your audience, perhaps you’ll be good enough to explain that remark. Quickly and in plain English.’

  Robert eyed him with nervously sullen resentment.

  ‘How much plainer does it have to be? I was about to bring her back here and then he came and asked her to go with him. And when I tried to prevent it, he knocked me down.’ It was a poor effort, he knew, but the mill-stones that were grinding inside his head made it difficult to think. ‘What more is there to say?’

  ‘Quite a lot,’ came the curt reply. ‘My sister is neither a fool nor a piece of Haymarket ware. And, whatever else he is, I doubt if Amberley is the man to treat her as such – or to use his fists without a reason.’

  ‘Then you’re a bloody fool!’ retorted Robert, his control snapping. ‘A title don’t make a gentleman – and Dominic Mallory Ballantyne is capable of doing anything that takes his fancy!’

  ‘What did you say?’

  Something in Philip’s voice made Robert’s heart skip a beat and he said lamely, ‘That he’s capable of - -‘

  ‘Not that. The name. What did you say his name was?’

  ‘Ballantyne,’ replied Robert, mystified and a little dazed. ‘Dominic Ballantyne. Didn’t you know?’

  Philip ignored the question and his oddly glittering blue stare seemed to go right through Mr Dacre.

  ‘So that’s it,’ he breathed. ‘That’s it … and I should have known. God damn it, I should have known!’ And, turning on his heel, he strode back to his guests.

  *

  He entered his house to the strains of It was a Lover and his Lass and marched straight into the parlour to find Rosalind sitting at the harpsichord clad in a blue silk peignoir with her hair hanging down her back. Philip closed the doors with a snap and leant against them breathing rather hard.

  ‘I suppose I should be grateful to find you here. But it’s a pity Lord Amberley couldn’t stay. I’d have enjoyed exchanging a few words with him.’

  With a Hey and a Ho and Hey Nonny No, tinkled the harpsichord.

  ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ replied Rosalind with a sweet, vague smile, apparently oblivious to his anger. ‘He hit Robert Dacre, you know … and, judging by the mood he was in earlier this evening, I think he’d quite like to hit you too.’

  His lordship’s lip curled derisively. ‘He’s welcome to try. But I’m no spoilt boy so it’s conceivable he may have a little trouble.’

  She did not reply but the harpsichord jeered at him. When Birds do Sing Hey Ding-a-ding-a-ding …

  ‘Why,’ demanded Philip as evenly as he could manage, ‘did you leave Vauxhall with Amberley? And why did he hit Robert?’

  Rosalind tilted her head over the keys.

  ‘Haven’t you ever wanted to hit Robert?’

  ‘That’s not the point. I asked why Amberley did?’

  ‘Didn’t Robert tell you?’ Between the Acres of the Rye …

  Perilously close to losing his temper, his lordship swept down on his sister to pull her away from the keyboard. And in doing so, he caught sight of her hands. ‘What the devil have you been doing to yourself? And you can stop playing tricks, Rose – I want the truth.’

  The truth was that Rosalind was in a slight quandary. She wanted to make sure that Philip has no misconceptions about the Marquis but was too fond of Isabel to be comfortable revealing the full extent of Robert’s perfidy. So she temporised with the slightly mendacious information that she and Mr Dacre had become separated, followed it with an account of her trials beside the rose-bush and concluded by explaining that, before Robert had re-appeared, the Marquis had found her and offered to bring her home.

  Philip frowned. ‘So what made Amberley knock him down?’

  She sighed and took refuge in maidenly modesty.

  ‘Robert said something extremely rude and deliberately unpleasant,’
she replied primly. ‘But Lord Amberley said I was to forget it and so I have.’

  ‘And a few other things too, I suspect – such as whether Robert was there or not,’ came the sarcastic response. ‘It’s the most unlikely tale I ever heard. And, thanks to Robert, by tomorrow morning, half of London will know that you came home alone with Amberley.’

  Rosalind bent her head over her hands and said cautiously, ‘I don’t think that it will matter.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous – of course it matters! What can prevent it?’

  A slow exquisite flush stained her skin and, when she raised her face, it held an expression that Philip had never seen but instantly recognised. She looked incandescent with happiness and, with a sort of shy wonder, she said, ‘Lord Amberley will. He’s coming here tomorrow and I think … I’m fairly sure … that he’s going to ask me to marry him.’

  Philip’s breath left his body with the suddenness of a physical blow and he sat down without even realising it. Then, ‘No,’ he said flatly.

  A little of Rosalind’s joy evaporated. ‘No? What do you mean?’

  There was a white shade around his lordship’s mouth.

  ‘I mean that you’re not the first to think that – and I doubt you’ll be the last. Rose, I’m sorry if it hurts you but it seems the fellow has a reputation for this kind of thing. He won’t ask you … but even if he did, I couldn’t allow it. I’d as soon see you married to Marcus Sheringham. Sooner, probably. He may be a fortune-hunter but at least he’s not lost to all sense of decency.’

  ‘Stop it!’ Rosalind came abruptly to her feet and the blood drained from her skin. ‘I know you’ve never liked him but you’ve no right to say such things and I won’t listen. I’m g – ‘

  ‘Oh yes you will!’ said Philip grimly, reaching out to grasp her hand. ‘Though you may not believe it, this gives me as little pleasure as it does you – but the time has come to stop burying your head in the sand. And I’m damned if I’m going to let you eat your heart out for him without knowing exactly what he is. Sit down.’

  ‘I know what he is! He’s kind and considerate and – and he understands!’