Footmen circulated through the room, offering iced champagne to guests in crystal glasses while other footmen opened the doors to the veranda and the rose garden beyond. Zara took a glass, appreciating the coldness of it against the heat raised by thoughts of Kael. Suddenly a hush took the room and everyone turned to stare out of the doors. Torches were lit, one by one, illuminating the figures. Wellington was there, Brockmore and his duchess on one side of him, Verity Fairholme on the other. Everyone applauded. Brockmore raised his hand to signal for quiet and opened his mouth to speak. Another mouth whispered at her ear with a far more interesting message.
‘Does the duke’s pomposity know no limits? This is quite a coup to steal Wellington away on the Waterloo anniversary,’ Kael whispered irreverently, his hand going to the small of her back in an intimate, possessive gesture. ‘I wonder how many statues he had to commission to get Wellington here.’
‘Just one.’ Zara laughed. In the press of people eager to move forward towards the doors, she’d been able to move away from her mother’s watchful eye, which was fixated upon the rose-garden display. ‘I heard rumour he’s going to unveil a statue tonight.’
‘I’d like to unveil something a little more alive.’ Kael drawled. ‘Care to meet me in the pinery after dinner?’ It was becoming ‘their place’, where they always started their adventures.
She nodded and felt him drift off before his attentions could draw her mother’s eye. The pinery would be perfect for what she intended. Just the thought of what she had planned brought a tingling heat to her core. Tonight, she would seduce Kael.
She was so caught up in the anticipation of ‘dessert’ she’d nearly missed Wellington’s reveal of the bust. Just moments later as Markham came to lead her into dinner, she couldn’t have told anyone anything about the specifics of the statue. Neither could she have told anyone what had been served for dinner, although she was acutely aware of how long the formal dinner was.
Markham tried to draw her into conversation with discussion of the elegantly painted ceiling depicting the four seasons and the continents, but she managed only superfluous replies. ‘You would, of course, be able to have any kind of painting you wanted at Daunton,’ he said, mentioning his family home. ‘It’s a beautiful house, but it needs a woman’s touch. It hasn’t been updated since my great-grandmother took it over in 1750.’
She favoured him with a smile and a demure downward cast of her eyes, the appropriate response to such a compliment and what it implied when uttered by a gentleman. ‘I’ve heard many good things about Daunton, my lord.’ She had, courtesy of her mother. Daunton had one of the finest art collections in the north of England, an excellent stable patterned after Chatsworth, and exquisite gardens. There were heirlooms galore: china from the Elizabethan era and silver that dated back to Henry Tudor.
Markham smiled, his brown eyes crinkling in friendly appreciation. ‘Your interest in my home does me an honour.’ Zara would have sworn she could feel Kael bristling from across the table.
* * *
Kael was fuming by the time he reached the pinery. His emotions ranged from anger at Zara—how dare she flirt with Markham!—to anger over his own impotence to do anything about it. How could she not flirt with Markham, reeling the wealthy lord in like a fish? And why shouldn’t she? Beyond their own more intimate flirtation, what did he have to offer her that could even compete with Markham? What did he want to offer her?
Marriage swam to the fore of his thoughts. In the past two days he’d come to question the wily duke’s motives for planting such a seed. Had the duke done it to tie his hands, a piece of reverse reasoning in the belief that a marriage offer would drive him off? Or had Brockmore done it to prompt him to action, did Brockmore really want to see him offer for Zara? This was all Brockmore’s fault. He hadn’t allowed himself to think in terms of marriage until the duke had prompted such an idea.
But now that it had taken root, he was having a deuced difficult time shaking it. Not because of the benefits Brockmore had outlined, but because of Zara herself. He wanted her, not her dowry, not her family’s connections. Just her, her passion, her enthusiasm for living, the wildness in her heart that yearned to match his. When she’d said she wanted nothing more than to ride horses, his soul had sung. What a life they could have. If she meant the words. If she understood all she’d be trading. Perhaps she did and perhaps she wasn’t as ready to give it all up as she professed. Markham was still on her string as she’d demonstrated tonight at dinner, a back-up plan. Or maybe he was the back-up plan. Maybe he was too arrogant assuming even that. Maybe he wasn’t part of any plan except a daring virgin’s exploration into sin. He didn’t want to believe that, but experience said he shouldn’t put it past her. It hadn’t been past Ella Davison so many years ago.
His blood had fairly boiled watching her with Markham yesterday and today, no matter that he had got the better part of her afternoon and he would definitely have the better part of her that evening.
The door to the pinery opened, letting in a draught of cooler evening air to mingle with the smell of hothouse pineapples, sweetness with the sharp. Zara stepped inside, her cheeks flushed. She’d looked stunning tonight in a white-silk gown with a wide scarlet sash about her waist in homage to the heroes and to Wellington. A delicately framed ruby pendant hung about her neck, a subtle reminder of her wealth. She would expect to always wear gems. He would not be able to provide them.
‘At last! Oh, it’s warm in here.’ She fanned herself and then began to roll down her gloves, pulling one off and then the other. ‘I thought I would never get away!’ Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she moved towards him, gloves in hand as her arms wound about his neck.
‘Perhaps you didn’t want to get away,’ Kael said cuttingly, his exasperation getting the best of him.
Her exuberance faded. ‘What does that mean?’ He could feel her stiffen at the rebuke.
‘Am I supposed to simply sit across the table from you while you and Markham discuss your future at Daunton?’ He pulled out of her embrace. ‘The two of you were so cosy tonight, already discussing plans to redecorate.’ What would she think of redecorating his twelve-room cottage when she could be redesigning the majestic Daunton with its heirlooms and big airy chambers? Daunton probably never got hot in the summer or cold in the winter.
‘Are you jealous? Am I supposed to ignore him?’ Zara was incredulous, but not cowed. Even in the dim light, he could see she was ready to defend her choice.
‘Yes, and, yes!’ Kael raged, his fist coming down on a work table. The pottery jumped. ‘You are hedging your bets, Zara. You say you want to be free, to make your own choices, but you don’t. In public you are on Markham’s arm, hanging on his every word, but it’s me you run to in private, it’s me you sneak off to see in the bushes, in the pinery.’
He could feel her body go still. Her voice was steely when she spoke. ‘Is the issue really me owning my freedom? I don’t think it is. I think the real issue is you, Kael. You want to claim me publicly and you can’t.’
She might as well have slapped him in the face with those long white gloves of her, so thoroughly had she thrown down her own gauntlet. ‘You won’t allow me to, Zara. You are too afraid of what it might mean.’
‘So are you. By the way, I’m curious. What would it mean, Kael?’ He thought he saw the arching of a dark brow, the quirk of a wry, sad half-smile. ‘That’s what scares you most, isn’t it? What if this thing between us meant something? What if it had to mean something?’
It was the first time since Ella Davison he was entirely out of his depth with a woman. She had hit the nail of truth soundly on the head. What if it had to mean something? She couldn’t possibly guess that it already did, that the possibility of meaning something had kept him up two nights now.
‘Zara, be careful,’ he warned, pushing his hands through his hair. His anger was starting
to ebb, replaced by frustration. These were questions they couldn’t and shouldn’t answer. He never wanted her to know about the deal the duke had put to him. ‘What do you think happens in three days?’
She was quiet for a while. ‘I don’t know.’ They were stepping closer to one another as their fight left them, each of them recognising they weren’t really fighting about Markham. They were fighting about all the uncertainty that lay between them.
‘I’m sorry, Zara. I didn’t want to quarrel with you, it wasn’t my intention when I invited you out here.’ But that had been before dinner, while memories of their afternoon were still strong in his mind, before he’d had to endure three hours of watching her and Markham, watching a prelude of what her life would be like if she made the practical choice, and it had hurt most unexpectedly. ‘We only have four nights left. I don’t want to spend them at odds with you. Just tell me, do you want to spend them with me? If it’s Markham you want, we can stop this right now.’ They would have to stop it.
Zara set her gloves down and closed the remaining distance, her body coming up against his, her arms returning around his neck. ‘It’s you I want, Kael, even if we don’t know what happens next. You are the reason I came out here.’ She kissed him then, long and slow on the mouth as the sound of fireworks filled the night sky outside and he began to forget his insecurities, his lack of rank, his lack of extraordinary wealth. Only the press of her body against his mattered. But nothing compared to what she did next.
She drew his hand between her legs. He could feel how warm and damp she was through the delicate thin summer silk of her gown. ‘I’m ready for you, Kael. I want you tonight, all of you, not just your mouth or your hands, but you, inside me. If we only have three days, I want it all.’ She levered herself up on a potting table and spread her legs, encouraging him into the vee of her thighs.
Not even a monk could resist such an invitation. When had he ever been so blatantly seduced? His throat was dry. Before Monday he might have said yes, he might have granted her wish because it was his wish too—their wishes alone with nothing to interfere. But that was before the duke and his damnable dare. If he took her now, and the duke’s dare-cum-offer ever became public, she would never trust him. She would think he’d engineered this to set himself up. ‘Zara, I can’t.’
She kissed him softly. ‘Why can’t you?’ she teased, pulling on his lip with her teeth.
‘I just can’t. Trust me, Zara.’ They needed to settle some things between them first. He needed to settle some things for himself like what he could offer her. If he took her and she didn’t marry Markham, he would be responsible for her. She would need to decide in truth if that could ever be enough. He wanted her to choose without the spectre of lost virginity between them. There was a loud burst of noise over the roof of the pinery as the fireworks moved into their finale. He took her hands. ‘Not tonight, Zara, although the saints know I’m tempted.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Zara pressed. ‘I can wait one more night.’
‘Maybe.’ He helped her down from the table. ‘You go out first.’
Kael didn’t leave the pinery for a long while after she left. His thoughts were still raging, only now not with anger but with possibility. Zara stoked all nature of fantasies in him. Why shouldn’t he have it all? Why shouldn’t he have her? Why should he let his past dictate his future?
There was a race tomorrow, with the prize being first pick of Brockmore’s excellent foals next spring or use of the Brockmore stud for one year, a gorgeous thoroughbred stallion proven at Newmarket named Excelsior. Kael knew what he’d pick if he won: the stud. He had two excellent mares, but no breeding options for them at present. To breed with Excelsior could be the start of something great for him, a chance to finally grow his farm.
Kael thought about his grey hunter, Merlin, strong and steady and fast. He would show excellently in the field laid out for tomorrow’s midsummer ride. Whatever else he lacked in fine worldly goods, Kael had never lacked for a good horse. Would Merlin be enough?
Something white stood out in the dark. Zara’s gloves. He picked them up and put them in his pocket as he passed. There would be no incriminating evidence left behind of their rendezvous. But she would have to decide soon if she would acknowledge him, a thought that both thrilled and scared him. So much hinged on that public recognition.
Damn the duke for giving him hope. Marry Zara and give his sister a future. Win the race and give his farm a future. It would be hard to sleep knowing that tomorrow, everything could change.
Chapter Nine
Thursday June 19th
Brockmore Manor House Party
Programme of Events
The Annual Midsummer Ride
Lunch and Auction on the Village Green
By Thursday, the tone of the house party had definitely changed. Zara sat among the crowd of guests and villagers in the stands along the starting line of the race, watching the horses line up for the annual midsummer ride. Did anyone else feel the mounting pressure? There was an ominous tension in the air that was owed to more than the oppressive grey clouds overhead and the humid stillness of late morning. In the next three days, fates would be decided. ‘Auditions’, as Kael would put it, had shifted to something more aggressive. If the first days of the party had been about testing the potential of certain matches, the last three were about closing those deals.
Some matches seemed inevitable and obvious like Giltner and Catherine Downing, but there was competition in other arenas. Melton Colter insisted on vying with Jessamy Addington for Florence Canby’s affection, and Verity Fairholme had apparently re-thought the cold shoulder she’d been giving the handsome colonel if Wednesday’s Waterloo celebrations had been any indicator, while Brigstock was paying marked attentions to one of the Kilmun twins.
Even the activities had ratcheted up a notch to reflect the change in the party’s tempo. Activities had moved from low-key outings involving ruins and picnics to more competitive displays. The midsummer revels, which would span the remainder of the party, began today with the ride and culminated in the midsummer ball Saturday night—ostensibly a chance to celebrate the success of the party.
When all this was over, what would her fate be? On one hand, she was only three days away from escaping Markham’s intentions. Three measly days! Surely, she could hold out. On the other hand, there were only three days until she was thrust into the unknown and the remainder of the Season. What would become of her in August when the parties were over and everyone went home? Her more conservative, practical side counselled minimising her odds. She should take Markham’s offer when it came and be done with it. But that was not the decision the girl who continued to sneak out with Kael Gage would make. That girl would not settle for a polite marriage devoid of any true passion.
Zara shifted her position, craning her neck, to get a better look at Kael, mounted on a sleek grey stallion. He looked utterly at ease amid the other horsemen. There were fifteen riders in all, seven of them from the house party, another seven from local gentry and one from the village. Fergus Kennedy was among them, of course. As an officer, he had no choice but to ride. The ladies would have been gravely disappointed otherwise. Markham was there too on a stunning chestnut, no doubt an expensive thoroughbred, and Jeremy Giltner on a strong-chested bay recently acquired from Tattersalls for this very race.
In the spirit of chivalry and fun, a few of the men had tied favours about their arms. She noted Mr Giltner sported a blue ribbon very similar to the one Catherine Downing had worn to dinner last night. ‘Brockmore will be pleased,’ her mother murmured quietly on her right. ‘The Downing chit is an exquisite catch for Giltner, more than he could have hoped for on his own.’ Her meaning was plain. Left to her own devices, Zara too could not hope to do better than Markham. And yet, she continued to sneak off and pursue illicit pleasures with Kael Gage, a man with no obvious prospects
.
At the starting line, she saw Kael reach into his pocket at the last moment and pull something out, long and white: a glove. Twin bolts of heat and worry shot through her as he tied it about his upper arm. It was an extraordinarily intimate gesture. He glanced her way with a brief nod and her mother stiffened. Zara prepared herself for a scold.
‘I do wonder how long Ariana’s mother will allow this nonsense to go on, or Brockmore for that matter,’ her mother said sotto voce. ‘Gage has been after Ariana, then you and then back to Ariana, when he’s not a suitable consideration for either.’ Only then did Zara realise that Ariana and her mother stood behind them. Her mother thought it was Ariana’s glove. Zara knew better. It was one of the pair she’d left behind in the pinery when they’d stolen out of the Waterloo festivities, but this was no act of chivalry. Gage was pushing her for a public declaration. But why?
There was no time to contemplate motives. The starter stepped forward, his voice carrying over the crowd. ‘Gentlemen, on your marks, go!’ The flag dropped and the racers surged forward, horses bunching together as they vied for position. Already, Kael’s grey was pushing through the pack, looking to establish his lead, Markham and Kennedy moving with him, but the race was cross country and long. There would be plenty of time for the lead to change and plenty of opportunity.
The course itself was a two-mile circuit that would start and finish on the outskirts of the village. From her vantage point, and with the help of a spyglass, Zara could see the entire race from the stands. She raised the spyglass as the horses approached the first jump, an oxer with a three-foot spread. Kael and Kennedy along with Markham and Giltner made up a lead pack very clearly now.
Zara held her breath. Whoever took the jump first would have a chance to establish a lone lead. It looked to be the colonel, bent low over his horse’s neck, but Kael would not concede. He took the wide jump alongside the colonel, the two horses clearing the oxer simultaneously. It was glorious and dangerous. As they landed, she saw Kennedy shoot Kael a bewildered glance; half-admiration for the daring manoeuvre and half-censure. The move had been risky. A less competent rider could have caused an accident. But the scold was lost on Kael. He kept his gaze straight ahead, his dark hair flying. He edged Kennedy out of the hedge jump by two strides and soared, his horse’s belly not even scraping the greenery. Kennedy came soaring back, but the tone of the race was set: Kael to lead, Kennedy to catch and fall back once more.
Scandal at the Midsummer Ball Page 18