by Sandra Heath
“Then I’d hazard a guess she’ll be Mlle Arenburg’s messenger as well. They probably know de Marne’s whereabouts, or certainly where to leave a note for him to find.” He thought for a moment. “I know there are several inns in the neighborhood, but I feel they’re all a little too inconvenient for de Marne’s purpose. He wants to be close to his sweetheart, not miles away. I’ve been trying to think of somewhere actually on the estate where he might hide. All that springs to mind is the pagoda.”
The pagoda was the last thing she wished to speak about, but she had to reply. “I—I doubt it. It’s kept locked now because the stairs inside have become unsafe. Besides, it’s visible from the house.”
“The outside is, but the inside is an excellent place of concealment, is it not?” he said softly.
Color rushed into her cheeks. “If you’re seeking to remind me of—”
“There’s clearly no need to remind you, Lady Camilla, you obviously remember full well without prompting.”
“It ill becomes you to resurrect a brief lapse on my part.”
“A brief lapse maybe, but at the time it was a very telling one,” he observed coolly.
Yes, at the time, it was. She was conscious of sliding from the present of 1814 into the past of 1812. The library candlelight brightened into dazzling June sunshine, and suddenly it was the day she’d almost forsaken her marriage vows; the day immediately prior to widowhood ...
She’d never know if things would have gone the way they had if Harry hadn’t been in such an unsociable mood for well over a month. He’d changed before they left London, becoming difficult to please and too easily disposed to criticize her for little or nothing.
He’d even taken to sleeping in another bedroom, although he explained the latter by saying he was very restless and didn’t want to disturb her. She was hurt and bewildered, but when she tried to ask him about it, his response was always brusque.
Dominic was with them for the stay, and the contrast between Harry and him could not have been greater. Harry’s presence was oppressive; Dominic provided devastatingly tempting distraction. Something seemed to have emboldened him, for he began to make it more subtly clear he found her desirable. When he smiled at her, she became the only woman in the world, and it was a heady feeling. Undercurrents began to swirl between them, building up into a flood tide that almost overwhelmed them one glorious June afternoon.
They’d all three gone for a picnic, although Harry had gone under protest. She’d been trying to avoid being alone with Dominic, but that day it wasn’t to prove possible. Harry drank too much wine and fell asleep in the bamboo-edged clearing where they were lounging in the shade. He left his wife and best friend to amuse themselves. She knew it was unwise to accept when Dominic suggested they climbed the pagoda to look at the view, but she went because she had changed that day as well.
The five-storied scarlet-and-gold tower was more than one hundred feet high, and each floor had a brightly gilded upward-curving roof with golden wind chimes hanging from the eaves. At the top there was a slender pinnacle that reached out of the valley toward the sky, and as she glanced up it seemed to move against the scattered white clouds.
Dominic held her hand as they climbed the steps to the topmost balcony. The wind chimes played softly in the breeze, the scent of flowers filled the air, and the nearby waterfall splashed audibly down the hillside. Time seemed to stop, as if they’d crossed into another dimension where there was nothing to keep them apart.
He said her name, just her name, and it was as if he caressed her. He still held her hand, and she didn’t resist as he drew her toward him. She knew it was wrong, but it was also more exciting and exhilarating than anything she’d ever known. She lifted her lips naturally to meet his in a kiss that began softly but soon became more insistent. There was no innocence, for it was the culmination of the intense emotion they’d suppressed for so long.
Desire tightened her breasts so her nipples pressed through her gown as she surrendered to the onslaught of erotic pleasure. He pressed her hips to his, and wild sensations sprang inside her as she felt how aroused he was. She was shameless and abandoned, and had no right to be because she was Harry’s wife. But it was Dominic’s virility that rose for her now, and his body she craved, not Harry’s. If only she’d met this man first. If only.
Their mouths moved sensuously together as the kiss carried them away, but just as their passion reached the very brink of consummation, Harry called them from the foot of the staircase. The spell splintered into a million fragments and the air was suddenly chill on her skin. Remorse flooded accusingly over her, and when she pulled guiltily back from Dominic’s embrace, she looked up to see shattered vows reflected in his gaze. Her shattered vows. She knew she’d never stop wanting him, but also that she’d never break the solemn promises she’d made at the altar. She belonged to Harry, and had to forget forever these few wild moments of summer madness.
Dominic had put his fingertips to her cheek, but she’d shaken her head. She’d blinked back tears as she left him to go down to Harry. She’d been widowed the very next day...
As her thoughts continued to move in the past, Dominic’s voice intruded from the present. “Camilla? I asked you a question.”
Her eyes flew to him. “I—I beg your pardon?”
“Apart from the pagoda, is there anywhere else de Marne might hide on the estate?”
She struggled to collect herself. “No. He must be at one of the inns, the pagoda isn’t exactly warm and sheltered at this time of the year.”
“De Marne has love to keep him warm,” Dominic observed dryly.
His ironic tone reminded her how different he was from the man she’d kissed in the pagoda. She felt the sting of salt in her eyes as the sweet notes of the wind chimes echoed through her awareness from that lost summer day. Her conscience mocked her. Of all the fools on Fools’ Day, you are by far the greatest, it scorned.
Suddenly she couldn’t stay with him a moment longer. “You have your volume on falconry, my lord,” she said in a choked voice, and then hurried from the room.
Chapter 11
Camilla didn’t contribute much to the conversation during dinner, although her quietness wasn’t particularly noticed because Sophie had so much to say. The czar’s ward’s mood had brightened considerably, and the change heightened her companions’ suspicion that she not only knew William was somewhere nearby, but would also soon see him again. If this was so, and Mary was the lovers’ messenger, Dominic had instructed his man Thomas to follow the maid when she left for the village.
Sophie’s voice tinkled constantly in the elegant dining room, where the pale green walls were painted with white dragons and the table and chairs were richly embellished with bamboo and ivory. French windows opened into the adjoining conservatory, where a billiard table stood among the luxuriant tropical shrubs that flourished beneath the south-facing glass.
Sophie, who looked enchanting in a bluebell satin gown, revealed an unexpected talent for mimicry, especially when it came to mocking the Prince Regent, whose eccentricities made him an ideal target. She hadn’t been at Carlton House for more than a few hours, but had observed him very sharply indeed, much to Dominic’s amusement.
Camilla wished she could join in the humor, but couldn’t shake off the uneasy memories that pervaded everything now Dominic was in the house again. The room was warm, but she felt cold in her thin jonquil silk gown. His closeness affected her, forcing her to recall the good times as well as the bad. She glanced at him as the meal progressed.
The candlelight caught the jeweled pin in his lacy neckcloth, and shone with shades of purple on his indigo velvet coat. His eyes were lazily amused as he smiled at Sophie, and there was little sign of the hauteur and aloofness for which he had recently become known, nor did he seem in the least concerned to be beneath Sir Harry Summerton’s roof once more.
The meal came to an end, but as Camilla and Dominic prepared to adjourn to the drawing room, So
phie held back. “Please may we play billiards?” she asked, glancing through into the conservatory.
Dominic was prepared to humor her. “As you wish, mademoiselle.” He looked at Camilla. “Is that in order, my lady?”
“Certainly, although I will not join you. I—I wish to write to Elizabeth,” she replied as Sophie went eagerly into the conservatory. She didn’t want to write a letter at all, she merely saw an opportunity to avoid his company.
“Ah, yes, the loyal Lady Elizabeth,” he murmured.
“She’s a good friend.”
His blue eyes were disdainful. “There are some things one is better off without, madam, and a friend like Lady Elizabeth Oxforth is one.”
“I’m sure she feels the same toward you, sir.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it, but then she has good reason to be uncomfortable where I’m concerned.”
Irritation flashed through Camilla. “Yet another equivocal remark, sir? I wish you would either explain in full or stop doing it, for I’m getting tired of your continuous mysterious sniping toward Elizabeth, and indeed toward her brother. You’re a guest who has been forced upon me, but that doesn’t mean I’m obliged to put up with everything you choose to say or do.”
“The noble martyr? Is that how you see yourself?” he murmured.
Color rushed into her cheeks. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, sir.”
“And hair shirts are the least becoming form of apparel, madam.” With a cool nod, he went to join Sophie.
Camilla tossed a look of loathing after him, and then gathered her skirts to hurry up to the drawing room.
* * *
Dominic’s lace-trimmed shirt was very white in the lamplight as he watched Sophie at the billiard table. He could see she was only pretending to have her mind on the game, for her glance was too frequently averted toward the darkness outside. He would have laid odds she was waiting for Mary to return from the village. The maid would cross the terrace outside the conservatory, and that was why Sophie had this sudden urge to play billiards.
At last he saw her pause as something caught her attention through the glass. Just as he expected, Mary’s shadowy figure hurried past.
Sophie put her cue down suddenly. “I—I have a headache, Lord Ennismount.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, mademoiselle.”
“It is so bad I think I must lie down.”
“Of course. Good night, mademoiselle.”
“Good night, milord.”
He didn’t follow when she hurried out, but chalked the tip of his cue and then took aim on one of the balls. The ivory chinked satisfyingly, and the ball rolled into the far pocket. He hummed to himself as he carefully potted each ball on the table, and he was just setting them all up again when he heard the step he’d been expecting behind him.
“Yes, Thomas?” He straightened and turned.
His man was dressed in a warm cloak and had hastily removed his hat. He was a little stout, with receding hair and a pointed nose, and he was out of breath. “I did everything you said, my lord. I followed the maid into the village and waited while she called on her family. When she left, she didn’t take the same path as before, but went to a crossroad by the church. There’s a hollow oak tree there, and she took out a note that had been hidden inside.”
“There was no sign of de Marne himself?”
“No, my lord, just the note.”
“Then what?”
“She came straight back here, and as soon as she got back Mam’selle came to her.”
“Was anything said?”
“Not really. Mam’selle just seemed very excited to get the note. She didn’t say who it was from or what it said. Then she went up to her room and Mary stayed in the kitchens to have a bite of supper before attending Lady Camilla and Mam’selle later on.”
“Thank you, Thomas, you’ve been a great help.”
“My lord.” Thomas wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.
Dominic smiled. “I see you aren’t accustomed to so much exercise.”
“I haven’t walked so far since I was courting Betty Jenkins, my lord,” Thomas replied with feeling.
“I can imagine. Well, your efforts tonight are appreciated, and I’ll see you’re rewarded for your pains, but in the meantime I wish you to continue keeping a close eye on Mary. I want to hear anything that might be pertinent.”
“My lord.”
“That will be all.”
“Sir.” Thomas bowed and withdrew.
Dominic put his cue back on the rack and turned to pick up his coat. He was thoughtful. Did the czar’s defiant little ward intend to meet her lover tonight? Somehow he didn’t think so, but there was always the chance. That being the case, he had no option but to warn Camilla things were already on the move.
As he donned the coat he found himself recalling another time when he’d done the same thing in this conservatory. It had been during the summer of Harry’s disagreeable conduct, and then as now, he’d been whiling away the minutes at the billiard table. He was waiting for Camilla and Harry to return from calling upon the vicar of Summerton, when they were all to go for a picnic in the Chinese garden.
At last the open landau bowled along the drive, and he could see Camilla’s blue parasol twirling as she sat at Harry’s side. But it wasn’t twirling lightheartedly, and the closer the landau drew, the more clearly he could see the strained look on her face. She wore a white muslin gown with a blue sash, and her dark hair was pinned up beneath a dainty blue silk hat.
Harry was unsmiling beside her. He’d flung himself on the seat, with one arm resting along the carriage door and the other lying idly behind his wife, and even from a distance the awkward atmosphere between them was almost tangible. Harry was to blame, as he had been all through the visit, and Camilla was being brought quite low on account of it. Dominic remembered his own growing contempt for his old friend, but then he had guessed what lay behind Harry’s changed character.
The landau halted and Harry alighted to hold his hand out to his wife. The breeze tugged her hat as she stepped down, loosening her hairpins so much that she removed the hat altogether and allowed her dark curls to tumble down over her shoulders.
Harry didn’t respond to her quick smile, and her eyes were downcast as they proceeded into the house. Then the bitter past faded into oblivion again, taking the summer sunshine with it and leaving the night-darkened glass of the present.
Dominic’s smile was ironic. “Deceit and deception, all is deceit and deception,” he murmured, straightening his coat collar and then leaving the conservatory to go up to the drawing room. But as he reached the top of the staircase, Sophie emerged from her apartment.
She halted on seeing him. “Lord Ennismount, I was just coming down to see you.”
“How is your headache, mademoiselle?”
She lowered her eyes. “It—it is still there, milord.”
“I’m sure it will benefit from a good night’s sleep.”
“Yes, I’m sure it will too, and I was just going to retire, but then I remembered I hadn’t asked you something.”
“How may I help you, mademoiselle?” he inquired.
“I would like to go for a ride in the park tomorrow morning.”
“I see. Well, wouldn’t it be more appropriate to ask Lady Camilla? After all, this is her house, and the horses are in her stables.”
“If I ask her she will feel obliged to accompany me, but I like to ride alone. I was allowed to at St. Petersburg,” Sophie added quickly.
Dominic doubted very much if the czar’s ward, at the age of only thirteen or fourteen, which is what she had been when last in Russia, would have been permitted such liberty, but he didn’t argue. “Very well, mademoiselle, I will ask Lady Camilla for you, but I’m certain it will be in order.”
Sophie’s lilac eyes brightened. “Oh, thank you, Lord Ennismount. Good night.”
“Good night, mademoiselle.”
“Please, will you call me Sophie? Lady
Camilla does, and it is so much more friendly, n’est-ce pas?”
“As you wish, Sophie.”
“À demain, milord.”
“Until tomorrow, Sophie.”
He watched as she returned to her apartment. If she wished to ride alone in the park, he could only conclude she probably intended to meet de Marne then. Well, the czar’s ward might plan an expedition on her own, but she’d be discreetly accompanied, for he and Camilla would follow at a distance. His decision made, he continued his way to the drawing room.
Chapter 12
Camilla finished her letter to Elizabeth just before Dominic left the conservatory.
Firelight flickered over the turquoise-and-gold drawing room as she held the sealing wax to a candle. The room was the most dazzling in a house of dazzling rooms. Wall panels of exquisite Chinese floral silk alternated with tall mirrors painted with the same flowery pattern, and light was provided by golden lanterns of exquisite workmanship. The dragon-decked grandfather clock chimed the hour as she pressed her ring into the pool of wax.
The only painting in the room was a full-length portrait of Harry. It hung above the porcelain Buddhas on the mantel, and was so lifelike it seemed he might step down from the canvas at any moment. The artist had caught him well, from the unruliness of his blond hair and tilt of his head, to the faint half-smile on his lips and the way he had of looking from slightly lowered eyes. There were times when the painted smile seemed about to become flesh and blood; it was one of those times now.
She suddenly felt as if the portrait were watching her. It was a strange sensation, and she looked up swiftly. Harry seemed to look back at her, but not with the charm and warmth for which she’d loved him so. Suddenly it was the day of the picnic again, and she and Harry had just come back from Summerton village, where their visit with the vicar had been almost embarrassingly marred by Harry’s sourness and deliberate air of ennui. When they alighted from the landau they’d come straight up here to the drawing room to wait for Dominic to join them from his lonely game of billiards.