Unable to prevent the unbidden tears that suddenly sprang to her eyes, she turned away from the dressing-table and walked swiftly across to the window where, leaning her forehead on the cool glass, she tried to summon up the will-power to take herself downstairs and demand that dinner be served at once.
As if in answer to her unspoken thoughts, the plangent tones of the dinner gong suddenly sounded out, their tremulous echo reverberating to every corner of the house.
Blinking back the tears, she lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders and made ready to leave. But, scarcely had the last vibrations of the gong died away than her bedroom door was suddenly thrust open to reveal a decidedly dishevelled Markfield who, hurling himself across the room, threw his arms around her.
‘I’m so dreadfully sorry!’ he panted. ‘What must you have been thinking of me?’ and then, totally ignoring the dumbfounded gasp of the maidservant, he bent his head and sought her lips.
Helena, however, had no intention of allowing her husband’s well-practised charm to win her over twice in one day. Wrenching herself away, she glared up at him.
‘May I ask where it is that you have been all this time, my lord?’ she enquired, her tone decidedly chill.
A disconcerted frown crossed his forehead. ‘Over at the stables, of course,’ he explained. ‘Surely Mrs Wainwright informed you—Grimthorpe was worried about Copperlady—she had a bad colic—we were obliged to send to Epsom for the veterinary.’
Pausing, he then added, ‘I dare say it all sounds of little consequence to you, my dear, but I swear I did my best to get away sooner.’
One look at Helena’s stony expression, however, was more than enough to convince him that there was little point in telling her that he had spent the better part of his time at the stables all but tearing out his hair in his utter frustration and fury at having had to abandon his new bride so abruptly. Those final, precious few moments in the carriage having encouraged him to believe that Helena was not quite as averse to his advances as he had originally feared, he had been so desperate to get back to her that the majority of the horse doctor’s pontificating advice had sailed totally over his head.
‘I trust she has recovered—this Copperlady—one of your brood mares, I take it?’
He nodded and, stepping forwards, reached out to take hold of her hands.
‘Don’t be cross with me, sweetheart,’ he cajoled her. ‘I swear it won’t happen again.’
Not until the next time, I suspect, thought Helena as, repressing a sigh, she could feel herself succumbing, once again, to the irresistible appeal in his eyes and the compelling pressure of his hands on hers. Why do I allow him to have this effect on me? she wondered hopelessly as, with a brief kiss on her fingertips, the earl sketched her an extravagant bow and made for the connecting door that led to his chamber, saying, ‘Ten minutes—no more!’
A quarter of an hour later, having changed out of his soiled garments into a black dinner jacket, his skilfully tied neckcloth of snowy white linen a fine testament to his valet’s expertise, Richard proudly escorted his blushing bride through the doors of the impressive dining room she had inspected some hours earlier.
The grand banqueting table itself, she was relieved to observe, had had several of its leaves wheeled away and its two end pieces had been slotted together to form a table of a more intimate size, enabling the couple to sit a mere eight feet distant from each other.
It was clear to Helena that the cook had gone to considerable trouble to show off her culinary skills, thereby occasioning her new mistress to feel obliged to taste a little of everything, lest the woman take offence. And, as one after another, the courses and removes were set before her, in seemingly never-ending succession, she was obliged to resort to a number of different stratagems in order to give the impression that she was enjoying every mouthful.
In point of fact, she found the presence of so many attendants hovering around her rather unnerving, quite apart from the fact that it proved a decided hindrance to any sort of a private conversation between Markfield and herself. Whilst she, in the normal way, would have been perfectly content to have him enlarge upon the ongoing health of his ailing mare—or, indeed, any other matter upon which he might have cared to converse—the eight feet of highly polished mahogany that lay between them was more than enough to quell any desire she might have had to introduce a topic, since the very idea of having to listen to the sound of her own voice rebounding off the panelled walls was hardly conducive to friendly discourse. As for her husband, other than the hurried apology blurted out before dashing off to change, the only observations he had managed had been in reference to the meal itself—yet another sad indication of their future life together!
Had she but known it, Richard’s silence had rather more to do with the odd sense of unease that he had, all at once, found himself experiencing, as his thoughts dwelt increasingly upon the upcoming nuptial scene.
Not that he had any reservations as to his own competence in that direction—as his many successful conquests in the past would, no doubt, have been prepared to stand surety! No, the difficulty that confronted him at present was in regard to his wife’s total lack of knowledge—a situation that fell well outside his customary range of experience, since he had always been pretty careful to ensure that his amatory adventures only ever involved the sort of female whose familiarity with such matters was well on a par with his own—women such as Rachel Cummings, for instance.
Innocent virgins, he realised, as he stole a quick look at his silent wife, were, on the other hand, an entirely different matter, and one that would require a somewhat more delicate approach. Especially if one wanted to be certain of not making a great hash of the whole event, he cautioned himself grimly, reflecting that he’d made more than enough of those recently to see him well into his dotage.
Signalling to Teddington to serve the port, he clenched his jaw. If he was to have any hope of breaking through the barriers of reserve that Helena seemed to have erected between them, it was clear that he was going to have to subjugate his own wayward emotions and concentrate all his efforts on a slow, gentle seduction, the very prospect of which was distinctly at odds with his current desires!
Taking her husband’s gesture as the sign for which she had been waiting, Helena rose purposefully from her seat, having told herself that there was little point in her sitting there in silence if it was Markfield’s intention to drink himself into oblivion.
‘If you will excuse me, my lord,’ she said, with a quick glance at the decanter at his elbow, ‘I will leave you to enjoy your port and retire to my room—it has been a long day and I am feeling rather tired.’
Richard rose hurriedly to his feet. ‘I had rather hoped you would stay and join me,’ he exclaimed. ‘We have scarcely had a moment to ourselves all day…’
Her look of incredulity was sufficient to indicate that this particular phrase was not the most ideal to have chosen in the circumstances.
‘Yes, well, I realise that I have been greatly at fault in that respect,’ he said. ‘But that’s all over and done with now, surely? I thought we might take our glasses across to the sitting room and relax for a few minutes.’
‘I don’t actually care for port, my lord,’ returned Helena, in a last-ditch effort to put off the fateful moment for as long as possible. ‘And, it is getting rather late, so—if you have no objection?’
Despite his earlier good intentions, Richard was unable to prevent the sudden wave of irritation that washed over him at her rejection. Why couldn’t she just accept his apology and be done with it? he fumed silently. It was not as though he had enjoyed walking out and leaving her—particularly not with the heady taste of that kiss still lingering on his lips. Perhaps it was time to exercise a little of that male dominance for which he had, until fairly recently, been well renowned.
‘I hesitate to remind you, my dear,’ he said as, pushing back his chair, he moved purposefully towards her, ‘but, as you are no doubt
aware, this is supposed to be our wedding night—an occasion which generally requires the observation of certain—how shall I put it?—formalities. Taking yourself off to bed alone is hardly in keeping with the moment, to my way of thinking!’
Helena backed away, her cheeks flooding with colour. ‘I assure you that I have no intention of avoiding my—obligations, my lord—’
‘And, for God’s sake, stop calling me “my lord”!’ interrupted the earl hotly, his fingers raking through his hair in frustration. ‘My given name is Richard, as well you know, and I would be greatly obliged if you could bring yourself to use it, on the odd occasion!’
‘Whatever you say, Richard!’ retorted Helena pointedly but then, fearing that she had finally outrun his patience, she held her breath.
There was a brief pause, during which Markfield regarded her steadily then, with a slight twitch of his lips, he executed a polite bow and lifting her unresisting hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm and started to make for the door.
‘You are quite right, my dear,’ he said, as he led her through the hall towards the staircase. ‘The hour is getting rather late—well past our bedtime, I hazard a guess!’
Trembling with a mixture of fear and expectation, Helena could do nothing other than follow where he chose to lead her. On reaching her bedroom door, she had every reason to suppose that he would accompany her inside. Instead of which, he halted and, spinning her round to face him, wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly against his chest.
‘Please stop fighting me, my sweet,’ he breathed into her hair. ‘I simply cannot bear to be at odds with you. I’ll submit to whatever penance you care to drum up for me—just don’t shut me out of your life, I beg you!’
‘Penance, my lord?’ Helena stared up at him in confusion. ‘I don’t understand.’
He gave her a brief smile and released her. ‘I realise that I’ve made a complete mess of things from start to finish, Helena, for which I truly beg your forgiveness. I want you to know that, from this moment on, I mean to do whatever it takes to make this marriage work. I just need to hear that you’re willing to give me the chance.’
Totally lost in the glow of the absolute sincerity that shone from her husband’s eyes, Helena was so full of love for him that she could scarcely breathe. No longer afraid of whatever mystery lay in store for her, for she felt that she could trust him with her very life, she reached out her hands and pulled him towards her, yearning for the feel of his lips on hers and the comfort of his arms around her once again.
His heart skipping several beats, Richard found himself in a wild state of euphoria. Having cast aside all his former cleverly conceived plans, he had been perfectly prepared to bid his wife a respectful goodnight and adjourn to the solitude of his lonely bedroom, with nothing more than a bumper of brandy to keep him company through the coming night. Instead—and he could hardly believe it possible—it seemed that she had forgiven him and, more than that, appeared to be actually inviting his caresses!
With a husky groan, he swept her into his arms and lowered his lips, revelling once again, in the captivating sweetness of that earlier embrace. Clinging to him, it seemed to Helena that the whole world had spun away, leaving the two of them suspended in a kind of enchanted oblivion, where nothing mattered but the heat of the spiralling passion within which they were both locked.
Gasping for breath, Richard reluctantly tore his lips away from hers and, hefting his shoulder against the bedroom door, thrust it open; lifting Helena in his arms, he strode swiftly to the bed and, without taking his eyes from hers, deposited her none too gently on its lilac-coloured counterpane. Ripping off his jacket, he tossed it carelessly to one side, likewise his waistcoat. Then, tearing at his neckcloth, he dragged it from his neck and sent it sailing across the room. With scarcely a pause, he kicked off his shoes and leapt on to the bed beside her, his fingers busy with the fastenings of her gown.
The raucous creak of a floorboard on the far side of the room cut across his senses like an icy shower. With a muttered oath he lunged to his feet and at once perceived the scarlet-faced figure of Helena’s maid tiptoeing gingerly towards the door.
‘What the blazes do you think you are doing?’ he rapped out, barely able to control his fury.
‘B-beg pardon, sir!’ stammered Fran, utterly beside herself with mortification. ‘I was turning down madam’s bed when you—that is, I…’
At the earl’s pointed gaze, her voice trailed away and she shrank back in embarrassment.
‘Very well,’ he barked curtly. ‘Now go!’
Dipping a hasty curtsy, Fran scurried for the door but then, as a sudden thought occurred to her, she hesitated and turning, she held out her hand and faltered, ‘It’s just that I found this, sir—madam—and I know it isn’t yours, Mi—my lady, so I just wondered what I should do with it?’
‘What is it, Fran?’
Having rolled over and hidden her face in the coverlet in her humiliation at being discovered by her maid in such a wild state of abandon, Helena, her curiosity gradually overcoming her, raised herself into a sitting position and, screwing up her eyes, squinted at the shiny object dangling from Fran’s fingers.
All at once, it was as if her very breath had been torn from her body; the room seemed to be closing in on her and she could feel herself sinking into some vast bottomless void.
A stifled moan escaped her lips, bringing Richard instantly to her side.
‘What’s wrong, my love?’ he asked urgently, reaching out for her.
Thrusting his hands aside, Helena scrambled away from him, her face numb with shock.
‘Get out!’ she said hoarsely, her voice quivering with anger. ‘Get out of this room and take your paramour’s bauble with you!’
Then, leaning forwards, she snatched the offending object out of her maid’s trembling fingers and hurled it at him.
Although Richard was at a complete loss as to why Helena had erupted in such a sudden fury, his reaction was instinctive, his hand coming up to catch the object in mid-flight. Uncurling his fingers, he stared down at it, in stupefied incomprehension.
There, in the palm of his hand, its ruby eye glinting up at him, lay one of Rachel Cummings’s earrings!
Chapter Eighteen
As the insistent sound of tinkling chinaware broke into Helena’s consciousness, a dejected groan escaped her lips and she made a futile attempt to block out the invasive noise by burrowing more deeply into the mound of pillows.
‘I’m that sorry to have to wake you up, Mi—my lady,’ came Fran’s hesitant tones. ‘But it’s gone half-past ten and the cook and housekeeper are waiting downstairs for you to give them their orders.’
Like a bolt of lightning, awareness suddenly returned and, shooting up, Helena stared at her maid in wide-eyed consternation. ‘You haven’t mentioned anything about—what happened last night?’ she breathed fearfully.
‘Hardly!’ retorted the woman drily, pulling open one of the drawers and extracting a soft shawl. ‘What goes on between a husband and wife in the privacy of their bedroom is nobody’s business but their own, to my way of thinking,’ she added, and returning to the bedside, draped the shawl across her mistress’s shoulders. ‘Now, you drink up your chocolate and then we’ll see what we can do about those dark rings under your eyes—else that lot down there will have a field day making much out of nothing!’
Having spent most of the night curled up in one of the fireside chairs, still fully dressed and with her eyes pinned to the adjoining door, lest her husband should choose to return and catch her unawares, Helena was too exhausted to do anything other than offer a weak smile in reply.
‘I think we’d best forgo the bath this morning, ma’am,’ continued the maid, as she selected an assortment of undergarments from the chest of drawers and piled it neatly on top of the ottoman at the foot of the bed. ‘The quicker you get downstairs and start taking up your duties, the less they’ll have to gossip about.’
Spurred
on by the woman’s matter-of-fact attitude, Helena quickly gulped down the remainder of her hot chocolate and slid out of bed.
‘There’s hot water in the basin, waiting for you,’ Fran advised her, indicating the marble washstand, on which reposed a pretty rose-patterned washbowl and its matching water jug, along with Helena’s own toilet accessories. ‘And I brought up a few bits of ice, as well—a cooling compress for those swollen eyes will make all the difference, you’ll see.’
Barely twenty minutes later, thanks to Fran’s deft administrations, her neatly dressed and fully coiffed mistress stood at the door to her bedchamber, willing herself to go down and face whatever lay before her.
Having already ascertained from her maidservant that his lordship had taken himself off to the stables some three hours earlier, her nerves were not nearly as strung up as they would have been had she been required to confront him head-on.
The violent altercation of the previous evening had left her feeling both physically and mentally drained. After taking one look at the ruby earring, so clearly recognisable as one of the pair that Lady Cummings had worn at the Kettleshams’ rout, Markfield had flung it from him in angry refutation, disclaiming any knowledge of how it had come to be in her bedroom.
Nevertheless, despite the fact that his robust denials had eventually dissolved into an anguished and frantic entreaty, Helena, by clamping her hands over her ears, had refused to listen to a word he said, the discovery of her rival’s earring being the final insult in a day that had seemed to her to have consisted of one indignity after another. She was thoroughly ashamed of herself for having been so totally gulled by his charismatic love-making techniques and had sworn that, as far as she was concerned, he had played that card for the last time. No matter what he might do or say to try to persuade her otherwise, she would never again allow him to cozen her in such a despicable manner. To think that she had been so utterly captivated by the feel of his arms around her and the compelling pressure of his lips on hers that she had been within a whisper of succumbing to his persuasive overtures. But for Fran’s timely interruption—!
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