Minette, conscious that her own fair skin was similarly blemished, could not bring herself to scold. ‘I only beg you to reflect. An honourable man would not seduce you while he is a guest under your brother’s roof.’
‘He has not—we have not—it was just—kisses.’
‘Kisses such as these could ruin you.’
‘Oh, let be! Naturally, I know where to draw the line.’
‘Do you? And where is that?’
Bella flushed. ‘You know quite well. I would never allow anything that would make me unmarriageable.’
‘If you are to get a reputation for easy kisses, you will not need to.’
‘What a horrible thing to say!’
Minette reflected that it was as well that Bella did not know the truth. To be lectured upon a few kisses by a woman as irremediably compromised as she would have been the outside of enough, even for Bella.
Nineteen
Meeting Rochford with indifference over the breakfast table was one of the hardest things Minette had ever had to do. Before he had left her in the lightening dawn, he had reminded her that, for her own safety, Franklyn must believe them to be estranged. So, while she longed to run into his arms, she merely nodded a cool greeting to the Duke and uttered, ‘Good morning,’ in a cold, little voice. Her attention was immediately claimed by William, who appeared a little weak still but recovered enough to leave his bed and make his way downstairs without assistance.
‘Cousin, shall we not begin rehearsals this morning?’
‘Rehearsals?’
‘For my masque.’ He seemed hurt that she had forgotten. She made haste to reassure him.
‘Certainly. But you must tell us how to set about it. I have never acted before, you know.’
He stared at her. ‘But, of course, you have. Why it was seeing you in Lady Fortescue’s private theatricals that inspired me to write The Fairy’s Tragedy.’
She clapped her hands to her mouth, shaken by his words. So used had she become to her role that she had almost forgotten that she was an imposter. She had stepped, all unaware, into the snare. ‘Oh that. I do not consider that acting in comparison with your play, my dear William.’
He flushed with pleasure, and she breathed more easily. ‘How should we begin?’
‘With a reading of the entire piece this morning, and after luncheon I will work with the actors in Scene One.’
It was not, perhaps, how most of her guests would have chosen to spend their morning; but William was a general favourite, and they complied good-naturedly to give him pleasure. They therefore seated themselves in a circle around the room and sat for a while, chatting, smoothing out their manuscripts, and glancing over their roles until William called them to order and the reading began.
Minette thought the play far superior to anything one might have expected to be written by so young an author. Not only was the poetry most beautiful but the emotions expressed therein were of a maturity and depth quite staggering in one so inexperienced. She could only assume that suffering had fostered his talent and sincerely pitied him.
He seemed, however, happy and animated enough. He had praise for those of his company who could act, and mock despair for those that mangled his words. His brightest looks and smiles were for Minette. ‘You see! As though you could disappoint me.’
She smiled. ‘I am thankful I have not lost my touch.’
‘I should say you are, if anything, improved,’ drawled Rochford. ‘Should you tire of being my Duchess, I dare swear they would welcome you at Covent Garden.’
She blushed but, remembering, frowned and cast him a sullen look. ‘How could you think I should tire of my position? To be Rochford’s Duchess is surely to reach the heights of feminine happiness.’ Her tone was heavily ironic, only the Duke knew that she spoke the simple truth. He raised his eyebrows, quizzing her, and she stared back at him gravely.
The company were released for luncheon and, as only the four young people, Edmund, Bella, Georgie, and Selina were required for the afternoon rehearsal, the rest of the house party retired to their bedchambers, the billiard room, or the stables, according to their inclination. Minette was halted by Rochford’s voice just as she was leaving the room. ‘You are a little pale, my love. I suggest you have your sled out for a run. It will do you good.’
‘I am perfectly well, thank you,’ she replied repressively, well aware that Franklyn was listening and watching them. ‘I prefer to rest in my room.’
‘And I prefer that my wife should pay attention to my wishes.’
‘Good Heavens! Must I be under your control every moment of the day? I am your wife, not your slave!’
‘I like to know where you are, certainly. If you find that unreasonable, you must blame yourself. You and your belongings have a way of becoming—misplaced.’
Minette lowered her voice, but her words were still perfectly audible to Franklyn when she said, ‘I have told you over and over that I have no idea how my brooch came to be in that room.’
Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed a satisfied smirk upon Franklyn’s face, and her pretty fingers curled into talons as she envisioned wiping the smile from that complacent countenance.
‘If you say so, my love, then, of course, I believe you,’ replied Rochford with a shrug. ‘But it does not alter the issue. I spent considerable time, effort and, I may say, money on your Christmas gift, and it would please me if you were to make use of it.’
‘Oh, very well; since you make such a point of it.’
‘Good. I will send to the stables. Your sled will be at the door in half-an-hour.’
It was no surprise to Minette to find, when she stepped into the sled, that it was Rochford, not Yuri, who held the reins in his gloved hands. She said nothing, only leant against him as his arm encircled her and the beautiful animal in harness moved off, tossing her head and lifting her hooves with dainty precision. Presently, she murmured, ‘You did not have to be so very horrid to me.’
‘The temptation to kiss you was so strong that only the most stringent measures served to counteract it. You may take it, my darling, that the more bearlike my behaviour, the more I am longing to make love to you.’ He glanced down into her serene countenance. ‘You are a notable actress. Even I thought I had vexed you for a moment.’
She lifted her hand to his cheek and stroked it. ‘Never, my love. Where are you taking me?’
‘That is my surprise. Since my dear cousin Franklyn has rendered your bedchamber a forbidden paradise I have prepared an alternative trysting place for us.’ He turned the horse’s head and sent her headlong towards a path that led through a little wood of fir trees, all heavy with the gently drifting snow. Within a few moments, they were hidden from view, either from the Castle or the road. Deep within the wood, the sleigh crossed a little stone bridge that spanned a stream, now frozen solid. A few yards further on, there was set a charming, stone cottage, its tall chimney sending sweet-smelling wood smoke into the chill air. Rochford brought the horse to a halt before the little gravel path that led to the door.
‘Go in, my love. I must settle the mare. I shall be with you directly.’ He handed her down and unlocked the cottage door, which was very much more sturdy and modern than the rest of the building. There was a little lean-to next to the cottage and, having unharnessed Désirée and covered her with a thick rug, he led her into the shed.
‘She’ll do for an hour or two,’ he commented. ‘Why did you not go in?’
‘I was waiting for you.’
‘You might take cold.’
‘I depend upon you to warm me.’
‘That you may safely do.’ He tossed her into his arms and carried her inside the bower he had prepared for her. ‘How do you like it?’
She had noticed nothing of their surroundings, being occupied with the buttons of his waistcoat, but at his words, she glanced around and gave an exclamation of delight. What had, from the outside, appeared to be a modest, rustic cottage was furnished upon the insid
e with treasures so exquisite that the whole was like some brilliant jewel. Rochford had taken the riches of his castle and squandered their beauty on one, glorious room. There were silk hangings and carpets from China, cabinets from Persia, icons from Russia, and divans covered in silken cushions, tasselled and jewel-bright in ruby red, sapphire blue, and deep emerald green. Set beside the fire was a kettle from which there came the most delicious scent of spiced wine. ‘I had this recipe in Germany. Drink it, my darling.’
She did as she was bid, choking a little as the hot, spiced beverage stung the back of her throat. ‘I think, my lord Duke,’ she said, a little unsteadily, ‘that you are trying to seduce me.’
‘I am happy you noticed that. Am I succeeding?’
For an answer she slipped out of the fur-lined cloak that enveloped her and let it fall to the floor. Her naked form, glinting in the firelight, might have been that of Venus arising from the foam, or Eve, no longer innocent, in Eden. ‘Yes.’
For long moments, he did not move or speak, yet she felt as though she were caressed and enfolded in the very heat of his gaze. Then, in one quick stride, he grasped her, his mouth came down upon hers, and she strained against his chest, all uncaring that the mother of pearl buttons on his coat bit into the delicate skin of her breasts and the rough wool chafed her thighs as she twined her legs, catlike, around his waist. She fell back in a graceful arc, as he had taught her, until her unbound hair almost touched the floor behind her while he bent forward to press his kisses into her belly.
The next moment, he turned her in his arms, and she fell forward, across the arm of a low couch. His hands cupped her breasts, his mouth was pressed against the back of her neck, and then he entered her, bringing her to fulfilment swiftly with quick, hard strokes that might have pained her but did not because she was as impatient for the end as he and did not need, indeed would have spurned, his gentleness. There would be time enough for that later.
She cried out his name as she sank her face into the cushions, biting the crimson silk as her whole body seemed torn apart in an explosion of light and heat beyond anything she had achieved before. Rochford gave one last thrust that seemed to her to reach into the very centre of her being; then he fell against her with a triumphant cry and lay still. They remained joined for long moments, he covering her with his body, and his cheek pressed against her hair.
As he slid from her body, he turned her gently to face him. ‘Forgive me.’
‘For what?’
‘I was a little—carried away. I did not mean to be so forceful.’
She smiled and pressed her lips against the palm of his hand. ‘It does not matter, for I was carried away, too. But—’ she ran her hand down the front of his shirt and tugged at it, ‘Do not you think it would be nice if you were to, at least, take your boots off?’
Within a very few moments his shirt, breeches and, indeed, boots were all discarded and they lay in each other’s arms, and their lips and tongues were joined in deep, languorous kisses.
He lifted the cup of wine to her swollen lips, kissing away the drops that spilled upon her breast. He brought her sweetmeats redolent of almonds, honey, and cinnamon and fed them to her in small, delectable bites. Then he made love to her again, taking infinite pains to please her, each breath a caress, every sigh a benediction. Only when at last her soft moans ceased and she lay quiescent beneath his weight, did he gather her close and allow himself to take his own satisfaction. Then he pulled a silken cover over them both and curved his body around hers; his warm breath stirring the curls at the nape of her neck.
It was then that she turned her head and encountered the face at the window. Although it was twilight and the snow had fallen thickly upon his hair and shoulders, she had no difficulty in recognising that pallid, ravaged visage. It was the face of the Chevalier D’Evremont, Eugénie’s lover and the father of her baby, who had drowned at sea over three months earlier.
Twenty
When she had, at last, stopped screaming, Rochford brought his flask to her lips and tipped a measure of brandy down her throat. She coughed and choked; but a little colour came back into her cheeks, and the violent shuddering ceased. He held her in his arms, rocking and caressing her. ‘My darling, my darling, what did I do to frighten you so?’
She trembled despite the sheltering strength of his arms. ‘No, no it was not you! I saw—I saw—’
‘What? What did you see?’
‘A face at the window!’
‘The Devil! Why did you not tell me this before?’ He laid her carefully upon the cushions and sprang up. ‘Was it Franklyn?’ He was at the door, but the snow fell so fast that he could not see more than a few feet. ‘Damnation! And his footsteps will have been covered by now.’
‘It would not leave any footprints,’ Minette whispered, pulling her cloak over her nakedness.
He stared down at her, with an arrested expression. ‘It? I thought you said you saw a man?’
She murmured something he did not catch, and he dropped to his knees beside her, taking her back into his arms. ‘What did you say, my love?’
She swallowed and wound her arms around his neck. ‘I said it was a dead man.’
Much to her indignation, he laughed. ‘We have no ghosts at the Castle, I promise you. It was probably old Ted Beddoes. He is simple, but he means no harm. We’ll draw the curtains next time.’
She sat up and said rather crossly, ‘It was not old Ted anyone! I recognised him. It was Charles D’Evremont!’
‘And who is Charles D’Evremont, my precious?’
‘He was a friend of the family, a sea captain, and he was in love with—my sister. His ship went down just before you and—and I—were married.’
‘Really? Well, if we are to accept that this vision was indeed a ghostly one, it raises two very interesting questions.’
She looked at him doubtfully. ‘It does?’
‘It does, indeed. Firstly, why have I never been given the slightest hint of this sister’s existence; and, secondly, why should this apparition appear to you and not to her?’
‘How can I tell what goes on in the mind of a spectre?’ she demanded reasonably. ‘But I can tell you why you have never heard of my sister in one word—Grandmère!’
‘Ah, always we return to Grandmère.’
‘You see, the family had just enough money to give one of us a Season and a respectable dowry. But Grandmère was too proud to let it be known that the family could not afford to similarly dower a second daughter. So—I—was forbidden to mention her existence, and she was—informed—that she had no desire to go to London.’
‘I see. But now the cat is, so to speak, out of the bag, there is no reason why she cannot join us here. I am more than ready to dower any sister of yours handsomely and if she is near as beautiful as you, she should make a very eligible match.’
Minette stared at him, aghast. The complications that must ensue if he insisted on bringing her twin to the Castle were more than she could contemplate. Why Génie would have to pretend to be her! ‘No—no—she cannot come to Camer. She is in France, with the family in Avignon. To recover from the tragedy of D’Evremont’s death, you know.’
‘It would seem that we have a very confused spectre upon our hands. Perhaps we can direct him to Provence where, no doubt, they are more accustomed to that kind of thing.’
‘You do not believe I saw Charles at all. Do you?’ she said accusingly.
‘I believe you saw something but, my darling, you were almost asleep, and you have drunk strong wine. Is it not possible that you were half-dreaming? You cannot really believe that the dead return to haunt us?’ He smiled a little grimly. ‘And, if they should, the only spirit likely to walk these woods is that of poor, foolish Rachael—for Franklyn’s curricle overturned upon that little stone bridge we crossed, and her body was found under it.’
Minette shivered and flung her arms around his neck like a frightened child. ‘Do you think she does? Walk, I mean?’
&
nbsp; His arm tightened around her. ‘No, I do not. Believe me, if there had ever been the slightest hint of such a thing, the villagers would avoid this wood like the plague. But, instead, I have the greatest trouble keeping them out. What with maids a’maying in the spring and lads poaching in the autumn, the place is scarce ever empty. Now, do not trouble your head any further. It was a bad dream, no more.’
She allowed herself to be soothed and caressed back to composure; but the romance of the afternoon had fled and, in any event, they must return in time to dress for dinner.
Rochford wrapped her in her furs, donned his coat and breeches and, sensing that any further displays of ardour would be rebuffed, carried her to the sleigh with commendable dispatch.
When Minette reached her bedchamber, she cast off her furs, donned her dressing gown, and lay down upon the coverlet. By the time Becky arrived to assist her to dress, she presented all the appearance of a lady who had passed an unexceptionable afternoon resting in her own bed. The spectre had faded and, instead, she remembered the magical hour she had spent with Rochford in the enchanted haven he had created for her.
She sat in front of the fire brooding, as her maidservant prepared her bath. As the days passed, she was the more determined that she would never leave the Duke. She must remain, not as his wife, but as his mistress. Of course, he would be very angry when he learned the truth, but he would—he must—forgive her. Surely, he could no more turn his back on the passion they had shared than she could. Just then Becky poured a pitcher of warm water over her head and she leant back sighing as the physical memory of his touch flooded over her with the warmth of the water against her naked breasts.
‘Are you all right, Ma’am?’ came her abigail’s concerned voice.
‘Perfectly, thank you.’
‘What will you wear tonight?’
‘Oh, I do not care. You choose something. Something I have not worn before.’
Becky opened the door of the big wardrobe and dived within its murky depths. ‘There’s this one, Ma’am. You had it sent home just before you were ill. Beautiful it is, and never worn once.’
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