by Sandra Heath
He searched her face. “Out with it, madam, for I might as well hear the whole of your preposterous countercharge.”
“Someone here tonight is wearing Lady Harvey’s diamonds,” she said.
Now it was his turn to stare, but then he recovered. “Oh, come on now, you’ll have to do better than that!”
“I’m telling you the truth. I tried to follow the woman who was wearing them, and that’s how you discovered me.”
“Who was she, this Jill-o’-the-wisp?” he demanded caustically, emphasizing the “Jill.”
“I don’t know; she wore a domino like mine and a turban!”
“Olivia, all the women here tonight are masked or dominoed, and at least a third of them are wearing turbans.”
“I’m aware of that, but this one was also wearing Lady Harvey’s necklace, and both you and she are here tonight,” she added coolly.
“The implication being that I gave her the item I stole?”
“Or that you and she both stole it.”
“I wasn’t with anyone at the Black Lion except you,” he pointed out.
“So you say, but that doesn’t signify anything. You didn’t see me with Jeremy, but you’ve still seen fit to accuse me of being his accomplice. Who knows what you were up to when you weren’t with me?”
He gave an incredulous laugh, then leaned a gloved hand against the wall close to her head to look deep into her eyes, his lips only inches from hers. “Dear God, what a resourceful mind you have! For a moment I came close to swallowing your turbaned fairy tale. You haven’t seen any necklace here tonight; you’re merely attempting to throw me off the scent.”
“I’m innocent, Brand.”
He straightened again, “Are you? Then what of the letter? It proves that you were expecting to meet a felon at the Black Lion on the night that, among other things, Lady Harvey’s necklace was stolen.”
“It also proves that he didn’t keep the appointment. You are the one who knows all about his so-called crimes and absence without leave, so maybe you are his accomplice!”
He smiled at that. “My dear Olivia, I would rather be his murderer than his accomplice,” he said quietly. “I hold your friend Fenwick in utter contempt and loathing, and if he were here right now, I would take great delight in putting a shot between his vile eyes.”
Knowing he carried a pistol, she had no doubt he meant every word. She stared at him. “Why? Brand, what is between you and Jeremy?”
“I have no intention of telling you, but not out of consideration for myself. Suffice it that his conduct has been despicable in every way, and if you are as innocent of complicity as you claim, you would be well advised to break off all dealings with him.”
“Does that mean you accept that I may be innocent?”
“Possibly.”
“I am innocent, Brand.”
Again he leaned a hand against the wall in order to look down into her face. “Then tell me your full name,” he said softly.
She hesitated. “I will resort to your own words, Brand. I have no intention of telling you, but not out of consideration for myself.”
“This conversation begins to resemble the art of foils. You, madam, are a verbal swordswoman, parrying with consummate skill.”
“Not willingly on this occasion, I promise you,” she replied frankly. “Brand, if I could tell you who I am, I would, but I dare not.”
“Because you don’t trust me?”
She gave an ironic smile. “If you were me, sir, would you trust you?”
“Possibly not,” he said softly, gazing down into her eyes.
She glanced hastily away. “Don’t look at me like that, for it will avail you of nothing. I will not tell you who I am, so you waste your time with silken words and warm glances.”
“I’m looking at you like this in acknowledgment of a realization we’ve both been endeavoring to ignore for some minutes now.”
“What realization?”
“That in spite of everything, what we both want to do right now is make love.”
Her cheeks flamed and her pulse quickened. “Your vanity is as towering as your odiousness!”
“Really?” He smiled. “And your indifference is as convincing as a six-guinea banknote.”
“You flatter yourself if you think my indifference is counterfeit.”
He straightened once more in order to slowly tease off the fingers of his white gloves. “Oh, Olivia, if only you knew the effect your flashing gray eyes have upon me,” he murmured.
She couldn’t reply, for her traitorous body was letting her down again. When he looked at her and spoke softly like this, all her anger and mistrust melted away, leaving a woman who was completely vulnerable to any advance he chose to make.
He put warm fingers to her chin and made her look at him. “Do you want to walk away from me right now?” he asked.
Tears stung her eyes. “No,” she whispered.
“Then stay,” he murmured, bending his head to kiss her.
Chapter Thirteen
Once again Summer came alive to him. She closed her eyes as Brand’s mouth teased and trifled with hers in a way that led her further and further into temptation. His kiss was hard, then soft, then hard again, and she could taste champagne on his lips. It was as intoxicating as if she herself had sipped from his glass, and she felt her senses beginning to steal all thought of resistance.
At last he pulled her into his arms, crushing her close as once again the wild hunt of passion began to surge through them both. He allowed her no quarter, nor did she seek it, for she knew she would never feel like this with any other man. Her arms slid helplessly around his neck, and her lips moved needfully against his as she surrendered to waves of wanton emotion.
Kiss followed kiss, and their caresses became more and more ardent. Desire had them both in its power, sweeping them on and on with its promise of that most ultimate of pleasures. She was imprisoned by her own sensuality, fettered by a passion that transcended all other considerations. There was no thought now of Caro, no thought of anything except possessing and being possessed by this man. She was plunging into the very abyss of scandal she’d been at such pains to avoid, and she was doing it right here at Bevincote.
He pressed her to the wall, and she felt the hard mound of his maleness pushing against her through the thin silk of her gown. “If you would say no, then say it now,” he breathed.
“I cannot say it,” she whispered, her whole body trembling with anticipation as he began to unbutton his breeches.
Then he gently raised her gown and lifted her slightly in order to enter her. She wrapped her legs longingly around his hips and gave a soft moan as she sank onto him. It was sweet impalement, and her parted lips were warm and clinging as they met his again. He withdrew slightly, then pushed in deep again, and she cleaved helplessly to him as a torrent of delight pounded through her veins. She felt both weak and strong, prey to every erotic sensation of which her body was capable.
The climax was shattering in its intensity, and they held each other tightly afterward, savoring every last moment until their heartbeats were slow and relaxed again. Then, and only then, did he withdraw from her and lower her gently to the floor.
When he’d straightened his clothes and then pulled her into his arms once more, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder. Suddenly, all she could think of was how he’d taunted her in the chapel about taking her against a wall. “I’ve never behaved like this before, you must believe me. What you said in the chapel...”
He knew what she was thinking and made her look at him again. “I didn’t mean what I said then; all I could think of was that damned letter from Fenwick.”
She put her fingertips to his cheek. “That dinner at the Black Lion would have been innocent, you must believe me. I cannot answer for his over-affectionate tone, except to suspect he was in his cups. There has never been anything but friendship between him and me, I swear.”
He looked into her eyes. “I believ
e you, Olivia.”
“I pray that you do, for I could not bear it if you still doubted me. I was very unwise to agree to meet him like that, but I’ve been much more unwise with you,” she said softly.
“So where do we proceed from here?”
“Proceed?”
“You will not divulge your name to me, and I’m certain you will be equally as secretive about your address.”
She looked up again. “I don’t know who you are either,” she pointed out.
“That’s easily rectified. My name is Brand Huntingford, Sir Brand Huntingford, and I’m staying here at Bevincote for a while.”
She stared at him. “Huntingford?” she repeated. “Would you be any relation of Lord Lytherby’s ward?”
“Melinda is my half-sister.”
Summer’s dismay was so complete she had to pull out of his arms. Melinda Huntingford’s brother? For all she knew he might be party to Lord Lytherby’s wish to see Francis betrothed to Melinda instead of Caro; in fact he probably was!
He caught her wrist, renewed suspicion beginning to cast a cool shadow across his eyes. “Why does my being Melinda’s brother affect you so?”
“I... I think I should go now,” she said haltingly, wresting her wrist free, then bending to retrieve her domino, but as she straightened he seized hold of her again.
“I demand an answer, Olivia. What difference does it make that I am Melinda’s brother? Unless—” The shadow in his eyes became ice cold. “Of course! What a fool I’ve been, I should have known! You’re right, madam, you should go now,” he said abruptly.
The change in him was almost frightening. “Brand?”
“Just go, Olivia, for I fear there will always be an insurmountable barrier between us.”
She stared at him through tear-filled eyes, then gathered her skirts to hurry from the gallery.
He remained by the window. His face was pale, and a nerve fluttered at his temple as he suddenly tightened his hand into a fist and brought it crashing against the wall.
* * *
Trying to retie her domino, Summer hurried confusedly back through the passage to the inner staircase, but her fingers shook too much, and as she reached the blue-carpeted hall, she paused to tie it properly before returning to the ball. She breathed in deeply in an effort to steady the conflicting feelings that spanned sickeningly through her.
Of all the people in the world, Brand had to turn out to be part of the inner sanctum of Caro’s enemies! Why couldn’t he have been someone who’d been invited to the ball simply because he was staying with a household associated with the Lytherbys? Instead, he had to be the half-brother of the woman Caro suspected of wanting Francis for herself, and who Lord Lytherby definitely wished to see married to his son.
Tears stung Summer’s eyes. “And you’ve just given yourself to him against a wall like a common whore!” she whispered to herself, feeling so dreadful she didn’t know how she was going to carry the rest of the evening off. Now more than ever she knew the best thing she could do would be to cut short her stay at Oakhill House, for if she remained, the time was bound to come shortly when she and Brand would be formally introduced.
She was glad of the mask, for it hid her tears as she made her way back along the passage to the supper room, which was still crowded with guests. In the ballroom the orchestra was playing another minuet, and she watched from the side of the floor as the sets moved gracefully through the formal steps, but she was still too distracted to do anything but think of the shocking scrape she’d so wantonly gotten herself into, and into which Caro might yet be dragged too. She was relieved not to see her cousin anywhere, for now it would be very difficult indeed to face her.
The minuet ended, and a cotillion was announced. A short, middle-aged gentleman with thinning light brown hair, a blue silk mask, and an overabundance of lace at his throat bowed to her. “Would you honor me with this dance, madam?”
Her gaze moved absently toward him. “I... I beg your pardon, sir?”
“This dance. Will you honor me?”
In a daze she nodded and slipped her hand over the arm he offered, and as the dance began, she was almost glad of the diversion it offered, for there seemed to be extra anonymity in the succession of figures that wove the couples to and fro, but when the cotillion was nearing the end, she happened to glance toward an adjacent set. Francis was among its number, but instead of Caro for a partner, he was dancing with the silver-turbaned lady in shell pink satin!
Summer’s steps faltered, and she almost collided with her unfortunate partner, for her gaze was riveted to the sunburst of diamonds at the lady’s throat. From that moment on, her attention wasn’t on the cotillion at all, but upon Caro’s intended husband and the mysterious lady. Whoever she was, she either knew Francis rather better than she should, or she was the most inveterate flirt that ever was, for her mask did not hide the provocative warmth in her eyes, and when its delicate veil lifted, it revealed lips that were curved into a too-warm smile.
The lady danced with a subtle voluptuousness that invited Francis to make advances, and to Summer’s dismay, it seemed that he wasn’t quite as indifferent as he should have been. He returned every smile, and when they came together because of the dance, he quite clearly whispered something in her ear. The worst thing of all, though, was that when the cotillion demanded the giving or taking of a favor from one’s partner, the lady held up her veil for a kiss. As their lips brushed together, Summer’s heart sank. Was Francis Lytherby perhaps not quite as devoted to Caro as she was to him?
Somehow Summer managed to get through the remainder of the cotillion, for her attention was constantly upon the adjacent set and the dubious conduct of her cousin’s husband-to-be. As the dance came to an end, she once again lost sight of the telltale silver turban in the confusion of everyone leaving the floor.
Uncle Merriam suddenly appeared at her side. “Ah, there you are, my dear. I’ve been wondering where you’d got to. I trust you are enjoying the ball?”
She gave him a smile she was sure was unconvincing. “Yes, very much indeed,” she fibbed, for right now she felt as if purgatory itself would be more agreeable than the Bevincote masked ball.
He surveyed the floor, where dancers were assembling for an allemande. “I suppose one has to concede that Lord Lytherby knows very well how to give a ball,” he murmured in the sort of tone one might use if gazing upon something for the last time.
Summer looked anxiously at him. “Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what, my dear?”
“As if you don’t expect to see another ball here.”
“What nonsense. No, truth to tell, I’m just not looking forward to accompanying the hunt tomorrow, but since to refuse would cause offense at the castle, I fear George and I must show our faces. No doubt I’ll be tipped into the first ditch, and that will be that.”
“So you’d have me believe your low spirits are solely due to the hunt?”
“Yes, my dear, but it’s kind of you to be concerned.”
“Forgive me if I point out that hunting has never bothered you before, and under any other circumstances you’d revel in riding to hounds as famous as the Berkeley, so something else is wrong.”
For the first time it struck her that it might be something to do with her. Her mind whisked back to the billiard room and George Bradshaw’s assurance to Lord Lytherby that he had already commenced something to bring about the end of Francis’s match with Caro. In spite of her efforts to disguise the truth, had the lawyer after all placed an only-too-accurate interpretation upon what he’d seen in the yard of the Black Lion?
Hot color flooded Summer’s cheeks. “Uncle Merriam, it isn’t anything to do with me, is it?” she asked then, hardly daring to hear his answer.
He met her eyes. “You? Oh, no, my dear, whatever makes you think that?”
“Well, I...” she swallowed. “I... I don’t know really, I just wondered.”
“There is no need to fear on t
hat score, and since you clearly will not leave the matter alone, I will admit that there is something wrong, but before you ask, there’s absolutely nothing you can do to help.”
“It concerns the match, doesn’t it?” she said quietly.
He met her eyes. “No, my dear.”
She didn’t believe him.
He went on. “It’s something which I and I alone have to deal with, Olivia, so please do not mention anything to Caro, for the last thing I wish to do is worry her.”
“Of course I won’t say anything.”
He smiled. “Thank you, my dear. Ah, I see George over there. He and I have agreed to indulge in a little cribbage, so if you need us, we’ll be in the card room. I believe it’s somewhere off the main landing. If you’ll excuse me?”
Her glance flew toward the lawyer, who had just emerged from the supper room, and she put a quick hand on her uncle’s arm. “Uncle—”
“My dear?”
“Beware what you believe if it comes from Mr. Bradshaw’s lips.”
He was clearly startled. “Why do you say that, my dear?”
She could hardly tell him what she knew. “It—it’s just a feeling, Uncle.”
He smiled and patted her arm fondly, then pushed away toward his waiting brother-in-law. Summer’s heart was heavy as she watched the two men make their way toward the ballroom steps, but then Caro spoke right behind her.
“Where on earth have you been, Olivia? Francis and I have been looking everywhere for you.”
Summer managed to smile as they came up to her. “Oh, I’ve been here and there, mostly there,” she said.
Francis gave her an open smile. “What do you think of Bevincote, Mrs. Courtenay?”
“It’s a wonderful house, sir.”
“It’s either wonderful, or an abomination, according to which school of thought one subscribes.”
“And to which do you subscribe?” she asked.
He smiled. “Oh, without a doubt the former. I love every pinnacle, archway, and square inch of wildly expensive painted silk.” His gaze moved beyond Summer. “There’s Melinda. Melinda, join us for a moment, please,” he called.