Harlequin Historical May 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Sarah Mallory

  But it had been damned hard, he thought with a defeated sigh, to refuse her, but he must retain his self-control or he would be lost. She was a distraction he did not need. He was here to sort out his future, not to become entangled with the delectable Miss Walsh in a fascinating web of intrigue. It was a hare-brained scheme she had concocted anyway. If he were to do as she asked, when her father found out he had abetted her in her wild escapade, he would be well within his rights to call him out. He was determined not to let her impossible request interfere with what he had to do.

  He did ask himself why the inheritance should matter to him, but it did matter. Very much, in fact. The Wildings were an old and respected family and he would not have the name sullied by scandal. He could not allow himself to be distracted once he had decided on a course of action.

  Suddenly irritated with her for needing his help and angry with himself for feeling guilty about refusing to give it, he snatched up the satchel and took it into the office, undid the straps and took out the papers.

  ‘Oh, hell,’ he muttered, wondering how Lucy Walsh had managed to get under his skin and make him feel like such a cad for refusing her, but he realised there must be more to her need to escape London than a mere feminine whim. He thought of her facing her troubles alone, without anyone there to protect her, and he knew that if her godmother didn’t return soon the pressure would only increase.

  * * *

  Perhaps it was her eventful meeting with Captain Wilding earlier that day that made Lucy unable to sleep that night, for when she retired to her room, sleep evaded her. An inexplicable heaviness weighed on her heart. It didn’t help that her thoughts kept returning to that devastating meeting with Captain Wilding. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. When she had been with him at the fair his rugged strength and the attention he had given her had made her feel so very feminine, his earthy sensuousness so very desirable. If his treatment of her earlier had been anything to go by, then he probably hadn’t been as affected by their meeting as she had been. No doubt he was the kind of seafaring adventurer with a woman in every port. After their acrimonious parting earlier, he would have forgotten about her entirely.

  Yet she could not forget. She kept remembering the intensity of her feelings when he had snatched her out of the path of the rampaging horse, his tall strong body and his arms crushing her against him, and she remembered the sensations that had exploded inside her like tiny petals unfurling. She remembered the musky scent of his flesh and a warm, potent and unmistakable sense of longing deep inside her. She wondered what it would have felt like to be kissed by him. Abruptly she shook her head. Such fantasies were not acceptable for an unmarried young woman. She sighed. She couldn’t imagine why she was thinking this way. She would do far better to try to sleep.

  Drawing a robe over her white nightdress, she slipped downstairs to warm herself some milk, hoping it would help settle her. A full moon shone brightly through the windows, lighting her way as she went back up the stairs. The house was large with several bedrooms on the first floor. Reaching the landing, she was about to turn to go to her bedroom when she heard muffled voices coming from further down the landing, dragging her from her melancholy thoughts. Puzzled, she went to investigate, her bare feet making no sound on the thickly carpeted floor.

  On reaching Sofia’s door she paused to listen, hearing Sofia’s muffled laughter and a man’s voice within. He seemed to be urging her in subdued tones to be silent. Recognising the voice as belonging to Mr Barrington, for a moment she was transfixed with horror, for finding the two of them together in Sofia’s bedroom could mean only one thing. Moving closer to the door, she strained her ears better to hear what was being said, shocked by what she heard next.

  ‘I hope this is worth it, Mark,’ she heard Sofia say, ‘marrying a chaste little virgin. She won’t give you what I can.’

  Mr Barrington chuckled low in his throat. ‘Of course she won’t, but I have to go through the motions. Not only is she more annoyingly intelligent than I gave her credit for, she is perceptive as well—and suspicious. She is quite prepared to speak her mind.’

  ‘Is it your intention to take her out in society?’

  ‘To alleviate suspicion and secure our betrothal, yes—but we will keep it limited. When does her godmother return to London?’

  ‘I really don’t know. Hopefully not for some time—and not until our business is concluded.’

  Lucy’s mind reeled as she sought some explanation that might excuse their conduct, telling herself that things weren’t always as they appeared, but there wasn’t one. Feeling physically sick, she backed away from the door. How could they? How could they do this? How could Mr Barrington, with his insufferable arrogance, behave so disgustingly? As she experienced the full impact of their treachery, anger leaped in her.

  She returned to her room as silently as she had come. Leaning on the closed door, she waited a moment for her limbs to stop shaking and her rage to lessen. She never wanted to look upon either of their faces again. It made her realise how little she knew of them. Mr Barrington was a bad individual and her stepmother a hard-hearted, selfish and greedy woman.

  ‘I think I hate them both,’ she whispered.

  Getting into bed, she lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes. Only gradually did she come to accept that bringing the incident out into the open would resolve nothing. Having listened to their conversation, now she had managed to get over the impact of what she had heard, she realised that her fears were not unfounded after all. Her whole life was in the hands of these two people. But what did they intend for her? What did it mean? That was when she began to fear for her father. What were they up to? Was she a pawn in some game they were playing? That was the moment she cursed her own ineptitude and her inability to control her own life.

  Gradually she calmed down, but she was left feeling drained and utterly exhausted. For the time being she must swallow her own feelings of outrage and keep what she had seen and heard to herself, but she could not pretend it had never happened—nor could she forget and she would never forgive. Her natural pride and honesty urged her to a confrontation and a final settling of accounts with them, but she couldn’t. Not yet. She must bide her time until she heard from her godmother—or her father.

  * * *

  Much to Lucy’s relief there was no sign of Mr Barrington the next morning. Over the days that followed she minimised the time she spent with him and Sofia. She remained constantly alert and focused, bearing in mind everything that was happening. As a result she began to notice their small, silent exchanges.

  Sofia seemed determined to create an easy atmosphere. She was always bright and encouraged Lucy to look favourably on her marriage to Mr Barrington. She took Lucy on shopping expeditions, where she was fitted for a number of gowns that Sofia insisted were necessary for the future Mrs Barrington. There were morning gowns in muslin, silks, satins and tulle, all trimmed with delicate lace. There were walking gowns with matching spencers, hats and bonnets, boots for walking and slippers for soirées in fashionable drawing rooms and, Sofia told her, no wardrobe could be complete without a ball gown. Never had Lucy seen, let alone possessed, such a fine selection of clothes. Sofia soon inveigled her way into society and was invited to soirées and even a ball at Lord and Lady Skeffington’s house in Mayfair.

  After attending a couple of soirées with Sofia and Mr Barrington, which left her feeling unimpressed and even more reticent towards her would-be betrothed, the day of the ball arrived. Mr Barrington intended to use the occasion to present her as his betrothed, no matter how often she reminded him that she would not marry him. He always looked at her with disdain and told her it was what her father wanted.

  The Skeffington ball was to be a glittering, grand occasion, and in spite of herself Lucy was nervous about attending. She had to bathe and dress extra carefully, but her heart wasn’t in it. She tried to remain patient while her maid fu
ssed around, lacing up her stays, coiffing her hair, a white gardenia caught up in the ribbons among the crown of glossy black ringlets piled high on her head and artful tendrils caressing her cheeks. A simple gown of ivory silk, its skirt frosted with intricate silver lace, was slipped over her petticoats. The bodice was cut far lower than she considered decent, with full, puffed sleeves set well off her shoulders. By the time she was ready she was weary of the preparations.

  Her hands were clad in long white gloves. The silk gown rustled softly as she made a slow progress down the stairs, where Mr Barrington draped an ermine-lined cloak over her shoulders, his hands brushing her bare flesh and lingering longer than was necessary. Attired in purple satin knee breeches and matching jacket and white silk stockings, with a frilled shirt it was Lucy’s opinion that he looked overdressed, an opinion that she kept to herself.

  ‘You look quite charming, Lucy,’ Sofia said, resplendently dressed in saffron spangled gauze, her hair arranged in high and elaborate curls. ‘But come along now. We must hurry. We’re late as it is.’

  * * *

  They arrived at Skeffington House to find an unending line of carriages stretched all the way down the street. When Lucy stepped down from the carriage, never had she looked so fine and never had she felt so wretched. She looked like a lovely gilded statue and no man watching her could fail to admire her, but there was something at once remote and detached in the dazzling young woman herself. How they would laugh, she thought bitterly, if they could but know how miserable she was and how heavy her heart, which lay in her breast as silent and dead as a lump of rock.

  They arrived late, hoping to avoid the early influx of guests, but there was still a crush of an elegantly dressed assembly in the hall. The smell was a unique mixture of powder, perfume and sweat that always heralded a society event. After being received by their hosts—Mr Barrington making a point of introducing Lucy as his betrothed—they moved on, mingling with other guests. How she would have liked to tell them all that he was a liar, that he was nothing to her, but thrust into the midst of this glittering event stuffed with English elite, the last thing she wanted was to cause a scene and make herself the centre of attention.

  Some of the guests Sofia knew already and lost no time in introducing Mr Barrington and Lucy to them. Lucy hated it, hated the way in which they manipulated her every move. She felt their control all around her. Mr Barrington moved to stand beside her.

  ‘Come, my dear. Let us proceed to the ballroom.’

  Giving Sofia a nod which implied she must follow, he held out his arm, leaving Lucy no recourse but to take it. Their progress up the stairs was slow since there were so many people all heading for the ballroom. Music and flowers filled the house. She noticed how the eyes of the ladies lingered on her tall, impressive escort. Then suddenly, as if a barrier had come down between them, they stopped. The man who stood before them was none other than Christopher Wilding. His gaze abruptly snapped to her face, registering not only her presence for the first time, but her worried eyes and wan smile as well. A brief impersonal smile touched the corner of his mouth before he glanced at her escort.

  Lucy’s attention was riveted suddenly on this man whose head rose above those of the crowd of guests. For a moment she thought she must be seeing things, suffering from a delusion brought about by some wish of her own to see him. But those handsome features—that fine-boned face and bronzed skin, those deep-set silver-grey eyes, that crooked smile at once impudent and gay—could not belong to any other man that she knew. Her heart gave a joyful leap and she almost said his name out loud, but, remembering the embarrassment of their last encounter, she lowered her eyes. As she moved past him, her eyes were drawn of their own volition to his figure in a plain but perfectly cut black coat, the darkness alleviated by the pristine whiteness of his cravat and silver waistcoat that matched his eyes.

  Then, without a word, Barrington swerved away, just as if the incident had never happened. But Lucy had sensed a change in her escort. She had felt the muscles of his arm tense under her hand. Clearly aggravated by the encounter with Captain Wilding, he cursed softly, but his voice remained quite normal when he said, ‘They are playing a waltz. Let’s dance.’

  ‘Are you acquainted with that particular gentleman, Lucy?’ Sofia enquired, having closely observed her stepdaughter’s reaction to the encounter.

  ‘Yes, I am. We met at Broughton Fair, on the day you arrived at the academy.’

  ‘What do you know about him?’

  ‘Very little, only that he is a sea captain with his own vessel.’

  ‘Well—at least he isn’t a common sailor—though why any man would want to spend his life at sea when he could be on dry land is beyond me.’

  ‘I imagine he likes the sea best or he would not do what he does,’ Lucy replied coolly.

  Sofia shot her a frosty stare. ‘Be that is it may, if he should ask you to dance you must refuse him.’

  * * *

  Unbeknown to Lucy, tonight Christopher had taken his first privileged step into the realms of nobility as Viscount Rockley, attending the ball to represent his grandfather. His grandfather no longer attended society affairs so Christopher’s presence tonight was bound to stir excitement in the curious.

  He was unable to ignore the tide of black anger that consumed him on encountering Mark Barrington, or the contempt in which he was held. It would have been far preferable if the meeting appeared as nothing more than a chance encounter. But who would have thought Barrington, the man who had ruined his sister, had hurt her so much that she had tried taking her own life, would turn up here in London?

  Mark Barrington was the son of a gambler and—like father like son—cared for nothing beyond the gaming tables. He had managed to make his money in the West Indies and New Orleans, only to lose it again. He was a social climbing individual who was well beneath the notice of London society. He was also a detestable character, but he was clever. If he had come all this way with the intention of wedding Miss Walsh, then there had to be something sinister behind it.

  He had no illusions with regard to the character of the man he hated above all others. He was dangerous. They had a past. Christopher wouldn’t put it past Barrington to put a bullet or a blade in his back.

  He now believed Miss Walsh to be in grave danger. Had he known that Barrington was her intended when she came to call on him, he would not have made light of the issue and considered how best to protect her. Mark Barrington would not willingly allow her to slip from his grasp. Men like him were used to taking what they wanted and would use force if necessary. He could not allow her to reside in that house for much longer.

  Barrington was capable of forcing her into marriage by ruining her. What did he intend for her afterwards? There had to be more to this. What was in it for him—and what part did Miss Walsh’s own father play in this? He recalled her telling him that Barrington was a ranch owner himself. Christopher knew this to be a blatant lie.

  Standing on the sidelines, he continued to watch her. He regarded the elegant older woman who hovered protectively at her side, ready to steer her young charge through the set of rules of society with smooth efficiency. He assumed the woman to be Miss Walsh’s stepmother. Miss Walsh had a delicate loveliness, a bright, strong spirit, which he felt would never be cast down. Just why he was drawn to her was something that eluded him.

  He told himself that it was because he didn’t want Barrington panting after her, but it was more than that. Her smile warmed his heart and her most innocent look sent desire raging through his veins. There was a provocative sensuality about her, a natural, unaffected sophistication that drew him to her. Even surrounded by London’s most famous beauties, she managed to shine with an innocent kind of splendour that would draw the attention of any gentleman.

  Feeling compelled and at liberty to look his fill, he felt his heart contract, not having grasped the full reality of her beauty u
ntil that moment. Her dark hair set off by the white gardenia gleamed in the light of the chandeliers, her face so elegantly carved that it appeared to be a magnificent work of art, yet it was pale and there was a strained look about her. He recalled their first meeting at the fair, the deep glow of admiration in her warm eyes as she had listened to him relate tales of his travels and derring-do with such rapt attention.

  * * *

  Lucy did her duty and danced two dances with Mr Barrington, and in between acknowledged the good wishes of those who came to congratulate them on their betrothal. Lucy would have liked to shout from the rafters that she had no intention of marrying him, but considered it prudent to keep quiet for the time being. He was not the best of dancers and she welcomed the dances she had with some of the younger set. She had her first taste of champagne, which she liked well enough, but she would drink it sparingly. Miss Brody was of the opinion that it weakened one’s inhibitions and she wanted to remain in full control of her wits. The ladies, some who flirted outrageously, fascinated her. She observed the ones who used fans and eyelashes to their advantage.

  From a distance she noticed how Captain Wilding moved with ease among the crowd. There was a restless energy about him. He seemed to shine with a potent, relentless force that demanded unwavering attention. He wore his magnetism with casual disdain, taking it for granted that any woman he encountered would succumb at the snap of his fingers. She imagined that most of them did. She wanted to believe it was surprise that was causing her heart to leap and her body to tingle with excitement, but that would not explain why her gaze lingered on his tall figure that was shown to advantage by the black and white clothes he wore, or why she was wishing he would seek her out and ask her to dance.

  Mr Barrington watched her constantly through heavy lidded eyes—until the draw of the card room proved too tempting for his addictive nature to resist, leaving Lucy to sip her champagne with no one but Sofia for company. It was when Sofia took to the dance floor with an elderly gentleman that Captain Wilding suddenly appeared, as if he had been awaiting the moment when she would be alone. She had surreptitiously glanced in his direction, caught up in her private impressions of his elegance and noting that he danced with no one. Now he bowed his head while holding her gaze, his expression both sombre and tender, a smile curving his lips.