by Godman, Jane
Jack took her face between his hands and leaned in, his breath fanning Rosie’s cheek and igniting a tingle across her flesh. This time, his mouth against hers was infinitely tender in a kiss that seemed to last forever. Rosie responded with a soft purr as her lips parted to welcome his tongue. Turning so that she was pinned beneath him, Jack pressed his knee between her legs. It was a statement of possession and he delighted in the responsive way her body arched upwards against him.
Torn apart by the strength of his emotions, Jack lifted his head and studied her face, delighting in every plane and angle of her precious features. Gently he stroked the soft cushion of her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, a familiar gesture which brought tears to her eyes in a way his harsh words had not. With a sound close to a sob, he buried his head in the curve of her neck and Rosie brought her hand up to touch his face wonderingly. As she did so, Clive’s heavy ring brushed his cheek and, with a shudder of something close to revulsion, he drew himself up and resolutely put her from him.
“Your lips are every bit as beautiful as I remember them,” his mouth twisted briefly into a bitter, self- mocking smile. “And so very sweet are your kisses ... almost as practised as your lies.”
Bewildered by this abrupt change, her emotions in turmoil, Rosie could only watch as he rose and strode towards the door. Pausing, he turned back,
“What was it you said to me, Rosie? ‘If it takes forever, Jack, I will wait for you’?” he mimicked her voice cruelly and she flinched to hear him mock the loving promises they had exchanged. “Yet, the bed we shared had not had time to grow cold before he was between your thighs.”
His deliberate, uncharacteristic coarseness made her flinch. When she did not answer, he gave a short, harsh laugh,
“My apologies for troubling you, Miss Delacourt, let me assure you that it will not happen again.”
And, with a brief bow, he left. Instinctively, Rosie started after him then, realising the futility of her actions, she stopped and listened to his footsteps ringing across the tiled floor of the hall. Once she was sure he had gone, Rosie allowed her shaking legs to give way and sank to her knees before the fire, covering her face with her hands.
Jack stormed back into the ballroom like a man pursued by daemons and promptly threw back several glasses of Lady Marchmont’s finest champagne in quick succession. Bella, unceremoniously abandoning her eager court of admirers, made a bee-line to his side. He regarded her morosely for a moment and then informed her curtly.
“Your pardon, my lady, I am not in the mood for conversation and am unlikely to be good company this evening.”
“Oh, I think you should allow me to be the judge of that.”
Bella informed him with her fascinating, witchy smile. She laid a hand on his forearm and leaned in close. It was a practised movement and afforded him an excellent view of her ample bosom, which swelled enticingly with every breath. The musky scent she wore filled his nostrils. The unspoken invitation was clear.
“I believe that silence can be conducive to pleasure, do not you, my lord? In fact,” she continued with the boldness for which she was known, “Conversation can sometimes be a hindrance to two people’s enjoyment of each other’s … ah, company. I have several bottles of the finest, sweetest cognac you have ever tasted … in my boudoir, at my house.”
Bella pressed herself closer against him and Jack studied her face thoughtfully, dashing off the last of his champagne. Why not? She was undoubtedly beautiful and more than willing. Perhaps in her experienced arms he could finally erase the pain of Rosie’s duplicity.
“What are we waiting for?” he asked and Bella’s lips twitched appreciatively.
“What indeed?” she asked, taking his hand and, oblivious to the clucking of a gaggle of disapproving dowagers, leading him out of the ballroom.
“Dash it all, Bella!” One of her admirers demanded as she waited for her carriage. “What does St Anton have that I do not?”
Bella chuckled naughtily and patted his cheek, “Me,” she replied and ran lightly down the steps.
In the carriage, she sat next to Jack, reaching out a hand to test the hard, sinews of his thigh. An expert in the art of seduction, she gave an anticipatory shudder.
“I cannot wait to feel this,” she squeezed his leg, “Between my own ... later.”
“You are shameless, my lady,” Jack told her.
“Bella,” she prompted.
“You are shameless, Bella,” he corrected himself and she nodded her agreement, pulling his head down so that she could tease his lips with her tongue.
“I work hard to maintain that reputation,” she whispered.
When they arrived at her house, Bella took his hand and led him straight to her boudoir. A room furnished in the most decadent style imaginable, with opulent, red and gold silk hangings and a bed so large it filled most of the room. Pushing him down onto a chaise longue, Bella leaned in close to kiss him. She slid an exploratory hand up the length of his thigh and trailed lingering fingers experimentally across his crotch. Moving away again, she poured him a generous measure of brandy, all of which Jack knocked back immediately. Bella obligingly went to fetch him another, saying playfully,
“I do hope, my lord, that your prowess is enhanced rather than inhibited by alcohol?”
She went to her dressing table and began to remove her jewellery watching him thoughtfully in the mirror as she did so. Jack was glad of a little distance between them. If truth be told, he was finding her attentions a little claustrophobic and - even more alarming - his libido was remaining stubbornly indifferent to her blatant invitation! When Bella eventually came to sit next to him, he decided a determined effort was required on his part. Sliding a hand about her waist he bent his head towards her but she forestalled him, placing her own hand on his chest. Jack quirked a questioning eyebrow at her and she smiled – a genuine smile, quite unlike the usual curving, courtesan’s pout she showed the world.
“Do you know how many lovers I have had, Jack?”
He was taken aback at the question, “Your ladyship’s beauty is such that many men must have been smitten by your charms,” he said, removing her hand from his chest and dropping a kiss onto it.
He wondered idly if she intended to inflame him with accounts of her many conquests. He hoped not. The way he was feeling tonight, he really wasn’t sure his own performance would compare favourably.
“My charms, yes, but more often than not ‘tis my availability which proves to be my greatest attraction,” she told him honestly. “I have had so many men that I have lost count myself. Often they have been married, betrothed or somehow involved with another woman. But very few of them, Jack, have ever been truly in love with someone else.” She had his full attention now, “It may surprise you to know that I am a proud woman …” he opened his mouth to protest, and she pressed a silencing finger against his lips. “I won’t settle for second best, when a man is with me I want all of his attention on me. I’m not prepared to be a mild diversion when I know his thoughts are elsewhere … perhaps in Grosvenor Square? To be precise … in that simpering ninny Aurelia Drummond’s house.”
“I’m sorry,” and she knew that Jack meant it. “I thought if anyone could make me forget her, Bella, it would be you.”
“And I shall take that as the greatest of compliments,” she patted his cheek. “You are quite sure you cannot resolve this with your little country maid?”
Jack shook his head, “She claims she thought I was killed at Culloden.” It was a relief to talk about Rosie. “And, so thinking, she accepted Sheridan’s offer of marriage.”
“And now?” Bella prompted.
“And now, having chosen him, she is sticking with that decision,” his face hardened, “I have said some dreadful things to her, things which can never be unsaid.”
“You were hurt. If she loves you, she will understand.”
He smiled and she was struck again by his appeal.
“Aye, that’s the only word wh
ich matters … ‘if’,”
His eyes were beginning to cross with a combination of tiredness and brandy.
Bella’s outrage was genuine. “The man is repulsive and there is a touch of wildness about him which I like not. Also there has been talk about his preferences in the bedchamber which, if true, make him the most perverse monster imaginable. She cannot prefer him over you!”
“Bless you for that, Bella,”
He leaned his head wearily back against the silken cushions and, within seconds, was sound asleep. Bella regarded him thoughtfully before kneeling to remove his shoes and then fetching a throw to cover him. He did not stir during these ministrations and she pressed light, regretful lips to his forehead. Such a handsome, virile man! What a waste!
“You are an angel, Bella,” Jack, finished a hearty breakfast and, rising to take his leave of her, paused to plant a grateful kiss on her cheek. He had slept like a baby and woke feeling much refreshed. It seemed he had found an unexpected friend in the notorious Lady Bella.
“Palaverer!” she said fondly, “You are quite sure I can’t tempt you …?”
Jack was still laughing at her brazenness as he descended the steps of her house, aware that he presented an incongruous sight in his formal evening attire. Unfortunately, a group of young gentlemen with whom he was very well acquainted were on their way to a prize fight on horseback. They chose that very moment to pass by the elegant, narrow townhouse.
“What-ho, St Anton!” Sir Dudley Ramsbotham hailed Jack with ribald delight and the whole cavalcade promptly reined in and regarded him with interest.
“You are about mighty early for a morning call, old chap,” Mr Willoughby-Watson, a perceptive young gentleman, pointed out slyly. “One would expect Lady Bella to still be abed at this hour.”
Sir Peregrine, pleased to see his friend finding solace of a carnal nature at long last, chipped in, “’Tis a rare sight, Jack … a man who can walk out on his own two feet after a night spent in Bella Cavendish’s …” he coughed diplomatically, “ … boudoir”. There was a general ripple of lewd laughter. “More often than not, it takes two strong men to carry the unfortunate soul away and an enforced period of rest and recuperation is prescribed.”
Jack sighed. Their ribbing was good natured and a denial on his part that anything had happened between him and Bella would only lead to disbelief and more witticisms. He was tired, his head ached from a surfeit of alcohol. He wanted nothing more than to get home and out of his velvet and lace.
“Gentlemen,” he bowed low, “You flatter me with your assumptions, I do assure you. I pray you will excuse me; I must away.”
A few ribald comments about the reason for his exhausted appearance and Bella’s legendary expertise followed him before the horsemen rode on. By noon it was all over town that a party of reliable witnesses had encountered a weary, but laughing, Lord St Anton leaving Lady Cavendish’s house, still attired in the clothes he had been wearing the previous evening.
The story came to Rosie’s ears the following day. Lady Aurelia’s dearest friend, Mrs Henderson, called to pay a morning visit, bringing her eldest daughter with her. Miss Lucinda Henderson was rather plain and so painfully shy that, when she spoke – which was not often – it was in a monosyllabic whisper. While Rosie struggled to make conversation with her, the two older ladies enjoyed a comfortable prose.
“They say he was quite brazen.” Mrs Henderson reported in shocked accents. “Leaving her house in broad daylight, in his evening dress, and openly joking with his friends about his exploits.”
Lady Aurelia tutted, “Really, Bella Cavendish is truly shameless! Why, ‘tis well known that she has had Lord Dereham in her toils these three months, and already it appears she has moved on. One cannot blame a gentleman for succumbing to his baser instincts when there are trollops such as Lady Bella to pander to them.”
Mrs Henderson smoothed her skirts primly, “Well, you must admit, my dear, that St Anton is a sight more attractive than Dereham. I, for one, cannot find it in me to blame Lady Cavendish for switching her affections to him,” she tittered girlishly.
Rosie, listening with half an ear as she engaged in desultory small talk with Miss Henderson, stiffened alarmingly at that comment, causing her companion to cast a scared glance in her direction.
Lady Aurelia permitted herself a smile, “His lordship is quite devastatingly attractive,” she agreed, “But ‘tis not so very long ago he was in disgrace for following his wild, Jacobite tendencies. To set the town talking by openly cavorting with Bella Cavendish is not the best way to go about restoring his damaged reputation.”
“Your face is very pale, Miss Delacourt,” it was the longest sentence she had ever heard Miss Henderson speak. “Are you sure you are quite well?”
Rosie found she was pressing her hands together so tightly that her fingers ached. Drawing in a long, slow breath she turned to Miss Henderson with what she hoped was a bright smile.
“No, indeed, I am fine,” she reassured her. “What will you wear to Lady Hadley’s soiree tonight?”
Miss Henderson smiled and went on to describe the glory of her outfit in some detail, her shyness momentarily forgotten in the pleasure of a new gown. Then, lowering her voice to a whisper so that her mama did not hear, she changed the subject.
“How shocking it is that Lady Bella has become Lord St Anton’s mistress! But, Miss Delacourt,” she bit her lip, “Is he not truly the most handsome man you have ever seen? Indeed, that smile, the way he looks at one with that twinkle in his eye, he is simply the most charming …” she broke off in consternation at Rosie’s stricken expression.
“Oh, Miss Delacourt, so poorly you do look … I am persuaded that you do, indeed, have the headache!”
Rosie wore a new gown of bronze silk with detailed embroidery on the bodice and gold lace trim which – like most of the colours she chose – enhanced her dark colouring and the luminous glow of her skin. Studying her reflection dispassionately in her bedchamber mirror, she knew she had never looked so well. How odd that the storm of emotions which had bruised and battered her all day had not left their mark. Her expression was serene, her eyes bright and her hand steady. Jack must never know, or even suspect, how deeply the news of his new-found love had wounded her. The numerous flirtations she had witnessed had cut her to the core … but Lady Bella was in a whole other league. Even if he did not hate me, I could not compete with her, a small inner voice cried and she silenced it ruthlessly. But he does hate you, she told it sternly, he told you he would move on and this proves he has done it.
When they arrived at Hadley House, Sir Clive, no longer bothering to make any attempt to hide his desperate cravings, made straight for the card room. In spite, or perhaps because, of this circumstance, Rosie soon found herself at the centre of a cluster of admiring young gentlemen who vied for the honour of procuring her a glass of champagne. Busy laughing at their nonsense, it was some minutes before she realised that Lady Cavendish had joined the little group. Rosie, hiding her feelings well, sketched a slight curtsey in her ladyship’s direction and Bella acknowledged the salute with a tiny inclination of her head.
Just then a commotion occurred as Jack, accompanied by Sir Peregrine Pomeroy, entered the ballroom and, since he had been the topic of most conversations, all eyes turned in his direction.
“Dash it all, St Anton,” his companion drawled in complaining accents, raising his brows as he surveyed the room, “Your bed hopping exploits have quite drawn attention away from this devilish fine waistcoat I had especially made in Paris.”
Bella deftly drew Rosie slightly to one side, “Do you not agree with me, Miss Delacourt, when I say that Lord St Anton is beyond doubt the most handsome man in London?”
She murmured, unconsciously echoing Miss Drummond’s sentiments, and Rosie found herself itching to slap that smug, beautiful face.
“The lady who secures his affections must indeed count herself fortunate,” Bella continued.
“It woul
d appear that your ladyship has been more successful than most in that respect.”
Although Rosie’s tone was neutral, there was a flash of fire in her eyes. Bella bit back a smile as Rosie curtseyed again before walking away, her trim frame rigid with restrained anger. So the girl had spirit, after all. She and Jack would be well suited. What on earth was keeping her with that obnoxious dog, Sheridan? This new role of confidante and match maker, in which Bella appeared to unexpectedly have been cast, might be an interesting one after all.
Later, as she danced with him, she told Jack about the encounter, hoping to make him smile.