The day of the party promised clement weather, which meant an even more pleasant event for their guests. Sophia, despite being a featherbrain, was an excellent hostess and arrangements for the party rolled out smoothly. The musicians were booked, the ballroom made ready, the food prepared, and the ices and other treats from Gunter’s safely stowed in the kitchen. The butler advised his mistress that he had arranged every last detail, with enough champagne to keep the guests happy until the wee hours. Roxanne felt unsure about attending a ball while still in mourning, but Sophia quickly assured her that a party was not the same as a ball.
“Of course, darling Roxanne, I would not expect you to attend a ball!” she exclaimed in shocked tones. “After all, this is just a party with some of my oldest and dearest friends.”
Roxanne was not fooled. As the guest list grew, it became apparent that either the Silvertons were throwing a ball of grand proportions, or they just happened to be close friends with most of the rich, famous, and fashionable members of London society. She smiled to herself. Dear Sophia was a lovable and incorrigible creature; she would miss her pretend sister-in-law very much when the charade finally came to an end.
The lovable and incorrigible creature chased Roxanne to her bedroom for a nap before dressing for the party. Roxanne, more tired than she thought, slept longer than anticipated. When she woke up, Sally was tapping softly at the door with hot water. This apprentice lady’s maid also proved herself to be an able dresser and an even more competent hairdresser. Roxanne put on the pearl necklace and earrings Julian had lent her and surveyed her appearance.
“Oh, Miss!” Sally exclaimed with reverence. “You look so beautiful.”
Roxanne stared at her reflection. Although not vain enough to call herself beautiful, she knew the image gazing back at her was a vision of loveliness. The pearly grey tones of the dress flattered her complexion and illuminated her emerald eyes. Sally had curled her hair and dressed it in an elegant style atop her head, with a quantity of glossy ringlets falling in artless profusion to her shoulders.
“You’ve got such a way with hair,” said Roxanne, turning her head from one side to another. “You’ll make a splendid ladies’ maid soon.”
Overcome, Sally blinked back grateful tears, savouring the moment when she would divulge such high praise to her superiors below stairs later that evening.
Roxanne walked carefully down the staircase where Julian waited to escort her into dinner. She noted with rising pleasure the admiration in his eyes when he saw her. He looked handsome in the correct evening attire of white waistcoat and long-tailed black satin coat. As he slipped his arm through hers, he placed a fan in her hand. She unfurled the confection of silvery feathers and diamanté.
“It’s delightful, but you shouldn’t have bought me this.”
Julian cocked his head to one side, surveying Roxanne. “And tell me why I shouldn’t buy my beautiful wife, the Countess of Pennington, a fan to complement her magnificent attire?”
Because I’m only your pretend wife, Roxanne wanted to say. In a few months it will all come to an end.
However, she said nothing of the sort, but murmured her thanks and mentally vowed to leave any expensive gifts behind when the time came for them to part.
Sophia wore a peach-coloured ball gown, with plenty of satin trimmings, a demi-train, and her usual quantity of trailing scarves adorned with so many spangles that her husband confided to Julian an inclination to strangle Mr. Augustus Hardwicke for putting frippery ideas into his wife’s head.
Only a few select people dined with them that evening. Nervous, Roxanne picked at her food with no appetite. As soon as dinner was over, the remaining party guests began arriving. The ballroom quickly filled up. Any ball or party given by the Duke of Silverton was bound to be an enormous success, so all invitations were accepted. Roxanne felt a moment’s trepidation as she surveyed what appeared to be a sea of faces, some familiar, most unfamiliar. She shook innumerable hands, and received countless compliments.
Sophia darted hither and thither, indefatigable as ever when it came to social events. This evening she surpassed herself. Roxanne cringed at the thought of ever trying to throw a ball of such magnitude and again reminded herself that such an occasion was unlikely. She would be out of Julian’s life very soon.
Trying to ignore the beginnings of a headache, she allowed Julian to steer her through the throng and, again, smiling and accepting either compliments or congratulations. Somehow word had quickly spread of their betrothal. With a sinking heart Roxanne realised that the sooner they disappeared back into the countryside, the better. Once they were out of circulation people would forget the engagement. Right now this happy occasion seemed to be uppermost in most of the guests’ minds.
Then she heard someone calling her name. She turned to see Mr. Hardwicke making his way towards her. Someone was with him. Roxanne felt a shock like a massive blow to her heart. For a moment, her knees went weak and she almost fainted. The blood drained from her face. A blinding light flashed in her brain as the headache pounded with full force. It could not be…it was impossible! The man smiling at her, reaching out his hand, affecting not to recognise her, calling her “dearest cousin” was Edgar Doyle. Summoning a strength she did not know she possessed, she put out her hand.
Edgar clasped it. “Forgive me, but can it be? Are you Miss Roxanne Chesney?”
Her lips numb, her mind racing as to fathom why he had engaged in this pretence of not knowing her, she replied, “Yes, sir, I am Roxanne Chesney.”
Edgar pressed her hand to his lips and then released it. He turned to Mr. Hardwicke. “Augustus, you were right. This is my Cousin Horace’s daughter.” Edgar took Roxanne’s hand again, holding it loosely in his fingers. “You don’t know me, but I am your dear departed father’s second cousin once removed, a very distant relation to be sure, but a relation nonetheless.”
He noticed Julian’s faint scowl and made his bow.
“I must apologise. So forward of me,” he murmured, “but I am overcome with emotion. You see, apart from Miss Chesney, I have no living relatives after poor Oswald’s death.”
Julian’s brow cleared. “What a fortunate coincidence that we meet here tonight,” he said, smiling at Edgar. He held out his hand. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. Julian Trevallon.”
Edgar shook Julian’s hand. “Edgar Doyle.”
The next hour passed in a painful blur for Roxanne. Mr. Hardwicke, overjoyed to see the happy reunion as he perceived it, lost no time in presenting Edgar to Sophia and apologising for taking the liberty of bringing along his dear friend. Roxanne saw a tiny hint of revulsion on Sophia’s part as Edgar took her hand, but she flashed him a brilliant smile and declared him to be most welcome before flitting off in the opposite direction.
“This is all very mysterious,” said Julian, “but how did you discover Miss Chesney’s whereabouts? London is a very big place and if my memory serves me, Horace Chesney hails from Brentham.”
Roxanne noticed the flicker of astonishment on Edgar’s face as Julian added, “I have his book.”
Edgar nodded. “Yes, a masterpiece, I believe, although I have not read it myself.” He injected a note of sorrow into his voice. “An academic whose death will surely cast a blight over circles of learning.”
He glanced at Roxanne. The dull pebble eyes, the greasy mouse-coloured hair combed with care over his thinning patch, the loose wet lips…nothing about him had changed, she reflected. He was still repulsive, despite his correct evening attire.
Edgar addressed Julian. “What an amazing coincidence and I feel profoundly that my steps were directed by Providence. I heard the news too late to be at my cousin’s deathbed and did not even know I had a fair cousin still living until I made enquiries. Family bonds are so very important.”
Roxanne felt a sense of calm returning even though the headache continued to beat a relentless tattoo in her head. She was in a crowded ballroom, she reasoned, in the Duke of S
ilverton’s house, in the middle of London. She had Julian and Philip to protect her. Then Edgar shot her a glance so filled with sly triumph that she tried not to recoil.
“As I was saying,” he continued, “it was only the merest chance that my path crossed with that of this celebrated poet, Augustus Hardwicke.”
Mr. Hardwicke blushed and tried to appear diffident.
Roxanne could believe how, with just the slightest encouragement, her most devoted admirer would have freely told Edgar all about her.
Edgar made her a slight bow. “And I believe congratulations are in order. Allow me to felicitate you both on this happy occasion.”
Roxanne murmured something noncommittal and looked around helplessly for a way to escape. There was none. She was aghast when Julian suggested she sit for a few moments with her new-found cousin and discover their family roots. He must have sensed her discomfort because he said reassuringly, “I will return shortly. I must speak to Lord Cluverwell before he disappears off to play cards. He was one of my father’s oldest friends.”
When Mr. Hardwicke gave his excuses, declaring he was on the verge of another inspired poem, Roxanne nodded, perilously close to tears. It was clear she had to confront Edgar alone. Once Mr. Hardwicke had scurried off through the crowd in search, no doubt, of ink and paper to capture his budding verses, Edgar took Roxanne’s arm with a show of consideration and steered her to an alcove where guests could sit between dance sets.
“So my pretty, you’ve done very well for yourself. I bet you ain’t pleased to see me. Thought you could bash me over the head and get away with it?”
Edgar laughed in his familiar sneering way. But his usual braying was muted, as befitting the gentleman’s role he seemed to perform so well. Roxanne sat stiff and unresponsive. Edgar sat next to her, his face at a slight angle so that anyone observing them could not see his expression.
“What do you want?” she murmured though stiff lips.
Edgar snorted. “Want? I want what’s due to me, that’s what I want.”
Roxanne avoided looking directly at him. She knew his hypnotic stare would wear her down again. She watched the happy throng of guests twirling around the room, laughing and enjoying themselves. A terrible sense of suffocation began to overwhelm her. Fighting to retain her self-control, Roxanne unfurled her fan and waved it in front of her face. The regular movement helped calm her and provided a flimsy shield against Edgar’s dreadful gaze.
“I have no money, if that’s what you’re looking for,” she said with calm hauteur.
Another derisive snort. “D’ye expect me to believe that? What with you engaged to the wealthy young Earl of Pennington?”
“He’s not wealthy.”
Edgar sniggered as he leered at her in triumph. He lifted her hand and pressed his mouth on the inside of her wrist. Roxanne squirmed at the feel of those loose wet lips against her skin. She snatched her hand from his grasp.
“Not yet, me darlin’, not yet. I hear he’ll be inheriting soon, once he’s married. Something about an old uncle or aunt?”
“His Great-Uncle Oswald,” Roxanne said, without thinking.
Edgar’s reaction made her wish she’d bitten her tongue instead.
“So you do know there’s money coming then?”
Roxanne tossed her head, affecting nonchalance. “The whole of London knows he had a wealthy old relative. His great-uncle wanted to see him married.”
Edgar leaned closer. The smell of stale sweat mixed with cheap cologne wafted towards her. She wrinkled her nose. Julian always smelled so clean, so masculine.
He sat back, an angry look in his eyes. “Don’t put on airs and graces with me. You were grateful enough to have me, weren’t you? When you thought you’d be all alone in the world. Pity you didn’t stay long enough to let me show you what you’ve been missing.”
Roxanne felt as if she could explode with rage as she turned to face him. “Let me explain something to you, Mr. Doyle.”
Her voice was low and hard, without a shred of fear. Anger had burned away all her previous terrors. Edgar recoiled in his seat just a fraction. It was enough to tell Roxanne that he was taken aback by her sudden courage.
“I despise you in every possible way. I knew from the start you were not my father’s cousin. You are a fraud. You intimidated my father into thinking marriage with you would protect me in society. Then you forced me into marrying you and tried to rape me. But I won’t have it, Edgar Doyle. I won’t stand for it.”
Edgar narrowed his eyes. His lips pinched in anger. “Now you look here, my girl,” he blustered.
“No, you look here,” Roxanne retorted. “How dare you think you can bully me in the Duke of Silverton’s house? Who do you think you are?” She waved a hand at the crowd of guests. “This is the cream of London society. You are nothing but a fraud, a poseur and a charlatan.”
Edgar curled his lip as he grasped her wrist, squeezing hard. “Don’t forget something, me darlin’. You and me—we’re married. So if you get hitched to your high and mighty Earl of Pennington, won’t he get a nasty shock when it comes out his new bride is already wed.”
Roxanne’s heart thudded with a mixture of rage and the old fear which had risen to haunt her. “Are we married, Mr. Doyle?”
His face reddened with frustration and rage. “You damn well know we are!”
Roxanne felt a wave of triumph inside as she rose gracefully from her seat. She knew from his expression that he did not have a copy of the marriage certificate. There was only the original hidden in her portmanteau. She stared down at him, one eyebrow raised in contempt. It was time to call his bluff.
“Really? Prove it. Who will believe you? I am Miss Roxanne Chesney of Brentham, and my father was a respected gentleman and academic. Who are you? What is your background? And who will people believe?”
She turned on her heel and bumped into Julian.
“Apologies for abandoning you, my love. Lord Cluverwell is a garrulous old codger and kept me talking for ages.” He took her arm as he shot a smile at the fuming Edgar. “Many thanks for taking care of my fiancée, Doyle.”
Roxanne did not look back as Julian swept her into a waltz, whirling her around the floor. Although her headache had reached the point of making her feel ill, Roxanne was determined to prove to Edgar that he had no hold over her. She laughed gaily, drank two glasses of champagne, which made her headache worse, and only confessed to feeling awful when Julian noticed her white face. He scolded her gently and then took her to her own room where Sally, shocked at her haggard appearance, promised to get Roxanne into bed right away.
Chapter Ten
Roxanne fell into a troubled sleep. Not even a few drops of laudanum in water could help ease her jangled nerves. She drifted in and out of slumber, tossing restlessly and kicking off the bedclothes. As the laudanum took effect, her imagination recreated the monstrous nightmare she’d already experienced at Edgar’s hands. She felt the weight of his body pushing her into the bed. His hands tore at the delicate lace of her nightgown. Breathless, she fought back, pounding her fists against his face and chest. His horrible braying laughter echoed in her ears as he grabbed her hands in one big paw and held them above her head. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, choking her. She gasped, and then screamed, fighting back with a fury born of desperation. As Edgar’s face hovered above her, Roxanne heard a voice calling her name. She opened her eyes.
“Roxanne, my dearest, what is it?”
The crushing sensation faded. Edgar had disappeared. In his place sat Julian, hands reaching out to comfort her, a look of concern on his face. Sobbing, Roxanne flung herself into his arms, longing to feel his warmth and strength enveloping her. Julian held her tightly while she cried until she had shed all her tears. Finally, he shifted her back against the pillows and fetched a damp cloth from the dresser.
“Whatever is the matter?” he asked as he wiped her flushed face.
Roxanne smoothed down her nightdress now halfway up her thi
ghs from tossing and turning. If Julian observed her long, slim legs he didn’t indicate it by even a flicker of acknowledgement. She noticed he wore only a loosely tied robe, and as he turned towards her a glimpse of his strong muscular body startled her. He was naked under the robe. She could see fine blond curls on his chest and several scars, still livid and purple below his collarbone. A legacy from the war, she thought. Roxanne’s heart began to beat with an unusual excitement and her breath caught in her throat. He patted her hand in a comforting way.
“Bad dream?”
She nodded, not daring to speak.
“Was it about the night…er…your accident at the inn?”
She nodded again.
“Poor darling,” he said, reaching out to smooth a stray curl from her cheek. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m here.”
She caught his hand as it rested fleetingly against her face.
“Don’t go! Please don’t go!”
The look on his face took her by surprise. It was a look of longing, of desire, a brief look that was quickly replaced by his usual pleasant smile. He lay down next to her and drew the bedclothes over both of them. His manner was not that of a lover, but of a friend, and he acted as if slipping into bed with her was the most natural thing in the world.
“Of course, my dear. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
Roxanne felt a mixture of relief and annoyance. She did not know what she wanted and, as he settled himself against the pillows, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her, she chided herself inwardly for wanting more when they had an agreement in place. She snuggled against him, feeling the most delicious sensation of warmth and comfort. His body felt lean and hard. He dropped a brief kiss on her forehead. She smiled and closed her eyes.
Strangely, it was not easy to relax. After a few moments the cosy feeling was replaced by another sensation, something like the feelings she had experienced when they had very foolishly kissed on their wedding night. Tingling feelings began to chase up and down her body.
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