by Sophia James
‘Tempting.’
His hand closed tighter in a movement that claimed her as his wife and Lucinda was pleased not one of her brothers was present as they walked down into the crowd. Edmund Coleridge was at the front of the group and smiled at her fondly, but she did not encourage him to come forwards because a small part of her worried that Alderworth would slice any tenderness to pieces should he know of it.
The Beauchamps, Lord Daniel and his French wife Lady Camille, were the first to receive them.
‘I had heard you were back, Tay. How long are you here for?’
His brown eyes were kind and Camille Beauchamp seemed just as welcoming. Perhaps this evening would not be as difficult as Lucinda had thought it, her husband’s reputation melding with her own to produce some sort of a halfway point of acceptability.
‘Only a few weeks.’
‘Then you might come to see us before then.’ Camille joined the conversation for the first time, her lilting French accent beautiful. ‘My husband made a point of telling me that you speak French well, your Grace. I should enjoy a conversation in my native language.’
More couples drifted over towards them, amongst the group an old school friend of Lucinda’s. Annabelle Browne was as effusive as ever.
‘Why, I just absolutely cannot imagine what it must have been like for your husband to have spent three years in the Americas, Lucy. My brother, Anthony, was in Washington for only a small amount of time and he was most forthcoming about the primitive state of the place.’
‘I suspect that Alderworth managed,’ she returned.
‘The gold fields were dens of iniquity, I am told. It was a shame you could not have been there with him, to guide him through the pitfalls.’
‘Oh, I am certain my husband was able to navigate them by himself, Annabelle.’ The cutting she had received from Annabelle’s brother came to mind and in an effort to change the topic she looked around at the others present. But Annabelle Browne was as persistent as she was dull-witted.
‘Tony says the Duke was lucky in his windfall and that he left Georgia under a cloud.’
‘A cloud of what?’
‘Suspicion. His partner in the mining venture, Montcrieff, was killed and there was some discussion as to who would have benefitted most from such a tragedy. It seems Alderworth did.’ She smiled sweetly, setting Lucinda’s teeth on an edge.
‘I am certain had there been anything untoward, the constabulary would have moved in.’
‘But they did, you see, that is my very point. Tony said that your Duke was supposed to come before the courts in Atlanta, but—’
She stopped, aware of Alderworth’s glance upon her.
‘I was freed, Miss Browne, as an innocent man. The law has its uses after all, even though most of the time it is an ass.’ His smile was languid, the creases in his cheeks deep against his tan and in a room full of men who had spent the good part of the day getting ready for this evening’s entertainment he looked untamed—a ranging wolf amongst dainty chickens. The vibrant green of his eyes added to his menace.
Annabelle turned red and for a moment Lucinda viewed the world as Taylen might have, the innuendo and aspersion on his character a constant presence. She made herself smile as she faced her husband.
‘It is most trying when people insist on passing on false rumours, do you not think, Duke?’
‘Indeed,’ he returned, and they both watched as the woman gave her goodbyes and dragged the man she was with away.
‘I do not need you to defend me,’ he said as Annabelle Browne moved out of hearing and the anger in his voice was sharp.
‘Do you not, your Grace? I should have thought the very opposite.’ She stood her ground as he loomed above her.
‘Doubts begin to creep in if one crows one’s innocence too loudly, I find.’ He was back to his most infuriating best.
‘It is more than doubts that hold those in this room enthralled in the saga of the Alderworth family. Were I to name it I might chance … fear.’
A small flicker of doubt came into his face. ‘Do you fear me then, too?’
‘No.’ Surprisingly she did not. The answer tripped from her tongue in truth as their glances met and held, a living flame of heat that curled around sense and wisdom. She should fear him because every single thing she heard about him compromised all she had known before and just as they were finding a footing together some other new and terrible story pushed all accord aside leaving only this … attraction.
It would never be enough, she knew, tragedy and disaster trumping proper judgement and good sense. But she could not help it.
Intrinsically flawed.
And she was.
Lucinda was looking at him as though he might stab the next person who came to talk to them. The aspersions just aired, he supposed, as the face of Lance Montcrieff rose up in memory, an accident with their rudimentary stamp mill in Ward’s Creek slicing through his thigh just below the groin.
It had taken less than ten minutes for him to bleed out, despite Tay’s efforts to staunch the flow, and Tay had held his hand through every long and harrowing one of them, willing his friend to live even as breath dulled and stopped. Gold took no account of the integrity of its victims, for if it had it would have been him lying there with cold blue on his lips and death in his skin, thousands of miles from home.
Another loss. Another brush with the law. Another woman without a husband, another child fatherless.
Swallowing, he pulled himself back into the ballroom on Audley Street with its chandeliers and wide curtained alcoves, marbled pillars and liveried servants.
A gentle England that had not been his for a long, long time. He had forgotten its beauty and peace, he thought, as his wife swayed unconsciously to the beat of music, deliberately not looking his way.
‘Would you dance with me again?’
He expected her to refuse, but she did not. Instead he found her fingers within his outstretched hand and then they were on the floor amongst the other couples, the music of a waltz beginning.
He had always liked the way she fitted into him, her head just under the curve of his chin, liked how she allowed him to lead her, an easy flowing dancer with a light and clever step.
He did not usually dance at these social occasions, but spent the hours in the card rooms drinking away the night.
‘How did the man in America die? The one Annabelle spoke of, I mean?’ Her query was soft and he could think of no other of his acquaintance who might have asked this question so directly of him.
‘His name was Lance. Lance Montcrieff. We set up a stamp mill outside Dahlonega to crush the ore from the tunnels and release the gold. When the sapling holding the structure broke and it all came down on him, he never stood a chance. We were ten hours from the nearest township, you understand, and a lot of that was over rough terrain.’
‘Why did they blame you?’
‘Gold has the propensity to make fools of every man and a rich claim incites questions. I was the one who would profit most from his death, after all, and there was no one else about to vouch that my story was true.’
Her breath hitched against the skin at his throat. Another truth she did not want probably. Another way she would be disappointed in him.
‘Trouble never seems very far away from your door, your Grace. Do you ever wonder why?’
Shaking his head, he was amazed when she let him pull her closer, their bodies now touching almost like lovers. The firm daintiness of her breasts rubbed against his chest and he pushed his groin against her own in a quiet statement of intent.
Slender fingers tightened on his hands. Their bodies talked now in the smallest of caresses, almost accidental, never hurried—
a slight pressure here, a small stroke there, too new for words, too fragile for any true acknowledgement. Taylen had never been in a room before and felt so removed from everybody in it. Save her. Save his wife with her straightforward questions and her unexpected allegiance.
&nb
sp; ‘What is Edmund Coleridge to you?’
‘A friend who has helped me to laugh again.’
‘That is all. Just the laughter?’ He did not care for the hesitation in her words or the sudden stiffness in her body.
‘Why all these questions, your Grace?’ She smiled as she asked, a smile that made her look so beautiful, with her deep-set dimples and pale spun-gold hair, that he had to glance away.
‘My father may have had no problem with being cuckolded, Duchess, but I most certainly do.’ He did not like the unease he could so plainly hear in his words.
‘Three years of absence makes your insistence on celibacy rather hard to take, your Grace. Perhaps I should inform you that a woman, contrary to belief, has as many needs as a man.’
‘Needs I wish to fill, sweetheart, and tonight if you would let me.’
He felt shock run down through all the parts of her body in a hot and hard wash, and was glad for it. If he had been anywhere else save in a crowded ballroom, he could have used such a reaction to persuade her to take a chance on him. Such an easy seduction. He had done it so many times before, after all, and not one woman had ever held complaint.
Yet as he gritted his teeth those faceless paramours dissolved into the ether just as they had done for a while now, lost to him and formless, lovers with the word skewered into only faithless lust. The broken promises of his childhood bound into the present.
When the music stopped they came apart and he was glad for the distance as he went to find a drink.
Lucinda felt giddy. A ridiculous word, she knew, but it explained her lack of certainty entirely. Taylen Ellesmere threw her into a place that was without compass, directionless and wanton.
Wanton? Another word she smiled at. Tonight her vocabulary regarding misdirected emotions was growing and she did not wish for it to stop. Already she looked for him across the room, tall and dark amongst a sea of others.
She was like a moth to his light, fluttering unheeded, waiting to be burnt. Her brothers had warned her, her sisters-in-law had told her stories about him and none of the tales had been kind. Yet still some invisible bond drew her to him, the wedding ring circling her finger a part of it, but nowhere near the total. Her nails dug into the soft flesh of her palms as she pondered her intentions.
What did she want of him? She could not even begin to name it.
Posy Tompkins came to her side and took her hand. Lucinda liked the warm familiarity of the action.
‘You look beautiful tonight, Luce, and I think that fact has something to do with the return of your mysterious husband. Edmund has already been whining to me about your lack of attention.’
‘You never liked him, Posy. I am not certain why.’
‘He is a boy compared to the Duke of Alderworth, a boy who in the end would disappoint you.’
‘And you think that the Duke would not?’
‘I think he has been misjudged by society. I think he is strong like your brothers and honourable in his way. I think, if you gave him a chance, he might surprise you.’
‘You were always the romantic, Posy.’
‘To find the happiness you haven’t had ever since your wedding, Luce, you might need to allow Alderworth some ground for compromise, for a bending is better than a breaking. If it were me, I would grab him with both hands and never let him go.’
‘Fine words from a woman who has sworn off relationships for ever.’
Posy’s more normal optimism was sliced by a sadness Lucinda had sometimes seen in her friend before. ‘He reminds me of a man I knew a long time ago, in Italy.’
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the Elliott twins, their voices louder than they needed to be.
‘Lucinda, it is so wonderful that your husband is finally back. You must be thrilled that he has returned after all this time?’
Elizabeth Elliott was as effusive as her sister, Louise. ‘Everybody is talking about him, of course, and it seems he has arrived back in England a lot richer than when he left it. Perhaps you might both come to our ball on Saturday night—for Edmund Coleridge had already said that he will be there.’
The questionable undercurrents of the ton at play, Lucinda thought, and was glad when Posy took charge.
‘I had heard a rumour that you are to be married, Lady Elizabeth. Is it true?’
A scream of delight and then much was made of a ring on the third finger of her left hand. Lucinda scanned the room for any sign of her husband and was disappointed when she could not see him at all. Had he simply left or was he in the card room, drinking himself into oblivion and losing a fortune? The excitement she had felt before was suddenly changed into cold hard worry and she did not like the feeling at all.
Ten minutes later she made her way to a large terrace overlooking the garden and was about to walk out on to the edge of it when a scuffle and shouting at the far end caught her attention. Richard Allenby, the Earl of Halsey, was pummelling someone on the ground, a number of others around the prone body adding their particular attentions. Turning away in order to find somebody to help, she saw the profile of the person they were hurting suddenly in the light.
‘Taylen.’ Shouting, she moved forwards, catching the group unawares, each one of them looking towards her with a varying degree of disbelief on their faces. Then she was amongst them, sheltering her husband with her body and daring them to go through her person to get to him.
Blood was on his nose and his chin, a long cut across the back of his head and a metal bar lying down beside him. He looked groggy and dazed, his collar crooked and his jacket torn.
‘You have no business here.’ Allenby’s voice. She turned to face him with pure wrath.
‘No business, Lord Halsey?’ Her hand came out to push him back. ‘Will you hit me next, then? Do you creep up on defenceless women as well as men?’ She stooped as she spoke; her fingers found the bar and she raised it above her head. ‘If anyone comes closer, I will use it on them and I will scream the place down as I do it, you understand. And then when people come running I will tell them exactly what I saw; a bunch of cowardly thugs beating up a badly injured, half-conscious man in their midst and enjoying it.’
Silence reigned except for the breath of her husband, taken noisily through blood and mucus, then they were gone, all of them, the door to the ballroom shutting, leaving them alone.
She leant down to him, his blood staining her blue silk as she tried to mop up his face with her hem. Her hands shook with the shock of it all and she made an effort to still them.
She knew the moment he came back into full consciousness because he stiffened and tried to stand, coming up to his haunches in a way that suggested great pain and swaying with the movement.
‘The bastards hit me from behind.’ His fingers worked around into his hair, finding a gash as he looked at the bar. ‘They used that, I suppose. Halsey always was a coward.’
Lucinda thought that his pupils looked larger than they should be, green shrunk into darkness. He blinked a lot, too, as though his vision was impaired and he was trying to find the way to correct it.
‘There are stairs at the other end of the terrace. If we went through the garden, we could get to the road to find your carriage.’
‘You would come with me?’
‘Of course I would. You need help.’
‘If people see us, they will talk.’
When she laughed it felt free and real and good, a surprising discovery with the trauma of all that was happening around her. ‘They talk now, your Grace, and there is too much blood to go back into the ballroom. If they see you like this, everything will be worse.’
Nodding, he came up into a standing position, though his hands used the balustrade to steady himself, to find his balance. ‘I have ruined your gown.’ His top lip was thickening even as he spoke.
‘A small consideration given all of the others.’
The music had begun again, calling those present to the dancing, and Lucinda was pleased for it.
With so much happening inside it would be far less likely for a guest to take the air on the terrace. Placing her arm across his, she led him down the steps, the small pathways amongst the plants lined with white chip stone which made it easy to traverse in the moonlight. Before a moment or so had passed they were out at the gate and Lucinda hailed the Alderworth conveyance, which languished further down the road, the driver throwing a cheroot to the ground and stomping it underfoot before climbing up into the driving box.
Another moment and they were inside with the door closed behind them and, for the first time since finding her husband at the feet of his assailants, Lucinda took in an easy breath. They would not be discovered like this, battered and bloodied after such a scandalous attack. They were safe.
Reaching into her reticule, she found a handkerchief. ‘Here, let me help you.’
His hand came out as he shook away the offer, anger evident in his refusal.
‘Why would Halsey waylay you in the way he did?’
Taylen Ellesmere raised his head slightly and had the temerity to smile.
‘Because, once upon a time, I did just the same to him.’
Chapter Nine
‘You crept up on him like a coward and knocked him out?’
He shook his head and then clutched at the side of it.
‘With a whole group of others to help you do your dirty work?’
‘Of course not.’
‘You used an iron bar on his scalp and hit him with it from behind, allowing him no chance to defend himself, and when he was down you kicked at his face?’
He seemed to suddenly lose patience with her questions, leaning forwards to take her hand into his.
‘Thank you, Lucinda.’
‘You are welcome, Taylen.’
His blood had made his palm sticky and he was careful to wipe her fingers with the tail of his shirt when he let go. Such a simple action and so much imbued within it. She looked away so that he would not see the emotion on her face. Outside the London streets were as busy as usual, nothing changed. Inside her world had shifted, though, the touch of his fingers against her own different now, more familiar. His smell. His warmth. The breadth of his thighs as they pressed against the velour on the seat.