A Roguish Gentleman

by Mary Brendan

  Cadmore advanced on her with such a ferociously snarling mouth that, for a moment, Elizabeth was sure he would strike her. Barely a foot away, he seemed to gather his wits and recall where he was. He halted, darted a circumspect look about to see if they had attracted attention. A pink tongue tip flicked out between his taut, bloodless lips, then recoiled. He nodded a greeting at a gentleman sauntering by with a female companion. ‘You brazen bitch,’ he whispered, still smiling at the couple. ‘I shall enjoy making you take back every one of your vulgar words. One day soon, you will apologise most profusely, most abjectly, for that outrageous impertinence.’ Eyes like watery sky narrowed on her, but his set smile didn’t waver. To an idle observer they would have passed as stylish people engaged in polite chit-chat while shopping, rather than bitter adversaries trading vicious insults.

  ‘And what of your vulgar words and outrageous impertinence, sir?’ Elizabeth demanded in a low, vibrant tone. ‘Will you ever find the good grace to apologise for your appalling insults to me over these many years?’

  ‘Apologise to you?’ he sneered. ‘Apologise to a devious little slut who thought to trifle with my affections and make of me a laughing stock? Apologise to a harlot who’s known the dregs of society? Perhaps that’s why you visit the slums so often, is it? Have you a taste for rough trade now? Do you like knowing dockers, as you knew highwaymen: in the biblical sense? Do you? Tell me!’ he rasped imperatively. ‘Does the vicar watch as they tumble you in the gutter? Is that what you like? Have you raised your skirts for the clergyman, too?’ Torturously aroused and enraged by what he was saying, what he was feverishly imagining, his face flushed and swelled with rampant lust. His hips squirmed against the counter and his skinny fingers thrust between his neck and his cravat, trying to ease a little air to his throat. Huge-pupilled eyes locked on to her shocked, pallid face, then slithered down her rigidly held little figure. For a moment he looked and sounded like a man in direst torment. ‘By God, you’ll raise your skirts for me before I’m done.’ He closed his eyes, took a deep breath that pinched and whitened his nostrils. ‘I’ll have you if it’s the last thing I do…’ he exploded in a strangled whimper.

  Elizabeth backed away from the naked hunger and hatred blazing at her from his bulging eyes. In her haste to get away, she collided with someone just approaching. She had a vague impression of a pretty, dark-haired young woman, elaborately garbed and rouged. A strong, sweet perfume wafted, heightening her sense of nausea. Begging her pardon for bumping into her, Elizabeth glimpsed glittering black eyes assessing her. Then the woman had swept past to clutch proprietorially at one of the Earl’s arms. ‘I have found just the thing, Caddy. ’Tis scarlet and there is matching lace…’ Elizabeth heard her say before she quickly distanced herself from them.

  ‘Do you want to go?’ Sophie asked sympathetically as Elizabeth occupied her trembling fingers by testing various fabrics on the opposite counter.

  ‘No. He shall never cow me,’ Elizabeth averred in a choking whisper.

  ‘Vile man!’ Sophie muttered with a poisonous glare at Cadmore. ‘You would think, would you not, after all this time, he would have got over you rejecting him. What a lucky escape! Mama says the Countess looks more sourly countenanced than ever. And little wonder with such a sickening spouse and no babes to love. It looks as though he has his lightskirt with him.’

  ‘I think perhaps I would like to go after all,’ Elizabeth whispered, gazing past Sophie. ‘Perhaps we could try another warehouse,’ she croaked on a strained smile. Her eyes immediately slid to the entrance again. A strange coldness was dousing the fiery umbrage she had felt at the Earl of Cadmore’s malicious assault. She wanted to look away, turn away, but couldn’t. She wanted to tell herself she didn’t care, but oddly, she seemed to. The queasiness in her stomach was giving way to hurting cramps.

  She stared at the couple who had recently arrived. The woman idled by the entrance to inspect a fall of beryl blue muslin that Elizabeth recalled had caught her own eye on entering.

  Viscount Stratton was looking at the fabric, too, with very indulgent interest. He appeared to make some favourable comment and the woman smiled beatifically up at him. She was more than simply pretty; she was extraordinarily beautiful and extremely elegant. This was no comely courtesan: the sort of woman with whom Elizabeth imagined he dallied. This was a stylish and refined lady who exuded an aura of gentle serenity. But then there was deep affection between them, that was obvious. Their bodies were close; one of her hands clasped his arm in a touch that was casual yet confidently intimate. They made such a strikingly handsome couple that people close by were turning to look at them. Neither seemed caring of the interest they were generating; their attention seemed reserved for each other. It wasn’t. He was aware of her.

  Elizabeth’s eyes had darted from reluctantly admiring the woman’s graceful profile and honey-gold hair, to target her prospective husband’s dark visage. He was returning her gaze.

  Heat was back. It furnaced, while a detached part of her brain regretted that her shopping trip with Sophie was turning into such a farcical disaster. The last place she would have expected to meet either of the men who were plaguing her was in a fabric emporium. It seemed there was to be no respite, even for a few hours! All that was lacking was Hugh Clemence’s presence here, searching for her, and her nightmare would be complete.

  ‘Come, Sophie,’ Elizabeth quavered with strengthening persuasion. ‘Let us try Baldwin’s. I hear they have had a consignment of Brussels lace…’

  So, he took his mistress shopping only hours before he was due to speak to her grandmother about their wedding plans. The knowledge trampled her pride with far greater success than anything the Earl of Cadmore had said or done. She didn’t care. Why should she care? And why should he not do so? She knew he had no intention of altering his life for someone as trifling as his bride. He was wedding a dowry and being saddled with a wife. She was well aware of that. For her part, she was simply interested in regaining her precious Thorneycroft jewels. She didn’t want or need a husband. Or any intimacy. Should this madness run out of control, and the nuptials took place, she would be glad he took his pleasure elsewhere. She wasn’t bothered at being brought face to face with the woman he…did he love her? She had the look of a woman cherished.

  She refused to think of it further. Her chin tilted and she smoothed her gloves with unsteady fingers. Now he had seen her, she would let him know she didn’t give a fig on whom he frittered his cash. On whom he might soon be squandering her cash! That did gall! But still she wasn’t about to scurry away like a timid mouse. She would pass them, acknowledge this inopportune meeting, let him know his adultery would be of no consequence whatsoever.

  Arm in arm with Evangeline and Sophie, the trio proceeded towards the door. Elizabeth knew he was watching as she drew closer; although still chatting with his companion, he had one eye on her and was well aware of her approach. Without looking directly at them, Elizabeth knew when they moved away from the turquoise fabric. With a penetrative peek from beneath a fringe of brunette lashes, she realised just why the woman favoured it: her eyes were the most wonderful shade of green-blue.

  They were about to pass! Elizabeth gripped tighter to her friends for support, obliquely aware that Evangeline and Sophie were swapping idle comments on the shop’s stock. Bravely, she looked up, met his eyes squarely for a moment before mirroring his courteous nod.

  ‘Lady Elizabeth…?’ The greeting was warm, polite.

  ‘Viscount Stratton…’ She matched his words, if not his tone. He was stopping, turning, expecting her to do the same. She swished about. So did Sophie, her mouth agape as she recognised the name of the handsome stranger.

  ‘I’m sorry, my lord, we must hurry on. So many warehouses to visit and so little time. I am expected home shortly for a…tiresome engagement…’ Elizabeth watched, exultant, as his eyes and mouth narrowed at the barb.

  ‘Well, I mustn’t delay you from something so important.’

/>   ‘As if you could…even for a trifle…’ Elizabeth lightly trilled with such an overflow of honey in her tone that his companion looked from one to the other of them, a small, enquiring smile hovering about her lips.

  Close to, Elizabeth could see that she was older than she herself, yet still so breathtakingly lovely that her insides clenched. Why could she not have been milk-maid buxom, or garishly painted? Why did she have to be so…so perfect?

  She stretched her lips, hoping it resembled an insouciant smile, before sweeping on. She talked with Evangeline about ribbon, gripped hard at Sophie’s arm to make her look away and close her dropped jaw. Turning from one to the other of her friends, she laughed at nothing, aware of everything behind. Especially that she was observed. Then they had gained the door and turned the corner. Out of sight, her shoulders slumped, her eyes closed and just one phrase trudged through her mind: Damn you, Stratton! Damn you!

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Damn you, Stratton! Damn you!’ Cecily Booth muttered under her breath.

  The man at her side was also cursing inaudibly on catching sight of the Viscount, but for a very different reason. Far from feeling piqued at being overlooked, as Cecily was, Cadmore was uneasy at being the one to have drawn those lupine eyes.

  A few days ago, the Earl would have believed Cecily unavailable to him for two reasons: she didn’t come cheap and she was besotted with Ross Trelawney. Being a parsimonious poltroon, he thus looked elsewhere for female company.

  It was common knowledge that Cecily had been angling for Trelawney’s protection for some while. It must have seemed significant to her that she was victorious just as he received his peerage. Soon she’d felt confident enough of becoming a Lady to broadcast hints of mutual devotion and matrimony. She’d seriously misjudged in applying sly pressure. A few days ago, so rumour had it, the Viscount was ribbed about his aspirant ‘fiancée’ at Gentleman Jackson’s, while sparring with Guy Markham. Before nightfall, his deluded young mistress was in need of a new protector.

  Linus Savage made his move while Cecily was still reeling from the rejection and susceptible to flummery and negotiation. Earlier he’d been congratulating himself on a shrewd deal…now he wasn’t so sure.

  Now he was fretting that that vicious look in Stratton’s eyes must mean he still had a fancy for the woman clutching his arm. He attempted loosening Cecily’s grip and adopting an air of nonchalance.

  Cecily’s mouth skewed into a scarlet slash at the sight of the Viscount and his companion. To be replaced so quickly—and with such an exquisitely beautiful lady—was mortifying! Then, recalling how brusquely she’d been discarded, she reminded herself she’d hooked an Earl. What would she miss about Ross? His witty charm? His generosity? His energetic…inventive…wonderful lovemaking? Cecily’s feigned unconcern faded into an involuntarily gulp of despair. To cheer herself, she surmised bitchily that the blonde was possibly his own age: a decade older than she herself. That made her feel better. Angling her head coquettishly at Cadmore, she hoped her youthful bloom and vitality were much in evidence. Her simpering smile drooped. She couldn’t ignore the contrast between this puny-chested fop and the muscular physique of the handsome, rugged man not three yards away now. The elaborate, padded waistcoats the Earl favoured never quite disguised his lack of girth. She shuddered inwardly, realising that about midnight his fleshless ribs would be digging into hers.

  ‘Stratton…’ the Earl of Cadmore ejaculated by way of greeting as the couples finally drew level.

  Ross jerked his head in curt response, but remained grim and silent. Cecily bobbed archly, dark curls a-sway, while peeping up at him with mingling plea and accusation. He returned her a perfunctory, preoccupied smile that whipped up her indignation.

  ‘Stratton seems irate…face like thunder…’ Cadmore muttered, glancing at the Viscount’s broad back. He shrugged, eyed Cecily more purposefully. Perky with relief that Stratton had passed, uneventfully, by, a hand slid her back, skinny fingers burrowing beneath an arm to pinch a full, firm breast. Cecily instinctively recoiled in disgust.

  Then she remembered: she’d hooked an earl. She paraded the feat again through her mind, with much self-congratulation, turning towards him to shield his groping fingers from prying eyes. An onlooker would simply have seen a woman leaning close to whisper tenderly in her beau’s ear. What Cadmore’s new chère amie actually said before she tugged herself free, was, ‘The scarlet velvet I fancy, my lord, is over this way…’

  ‘I’m intrigued. Two attractive ladies: a beautiful blonde and a pretty brunette, and both looked daggers at you. The gentleman looked scared witless. What is going on, Ross?’ his sister-in-law enquired with a smile. ‘Not still breaking hearts and cuckolding husbands, surely?’

  ‘You thought the blonde beautiful?’ was all he said.

  ‘Quite exceptionally lovely, despite that sad look in her blue eyes.’

  ‘They’re not blue, they’re violet…’

  ‘Ha…ha…’ Rebecca chuckled significantly, making Ross grimace ruefully at a stack of satin. ‘They are indeed violet. I noticed. So did you. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me about her?’ she prompted softly, seriously. After a silent moment, she continued, ‘And the brunette?’

  He shrugged. ‘As you said, she’s pretty.’

  ‘Ross!’ Rebecca chided on an outraged laugh. ‘You really are a callous rogue! Of the two, the brunette, of course, is your mistress.’

  ‘Not any more,’ summed up his lack of interest in pursuing the subject. He turned about restlessly, looked back towards the exit, then frowned over Rebecca’s head at a drape of lustrous silk dangling off a roll on the top shelf. It undulated in a light air current, iridescent, mesmerising. The shade reminded him of hyacinths…and gems that were nestling on velvet in his safe. He wanted to go there and look at them, then take them to his betrothed. He wanted to tell her that if she’d just stopped for a moment or two, he would have introduced her to his brother’s wife. He wanted to tell her that there was no need for her to have looked so hurt. And she had; until she realised he was watching her. Then she’d masked her distress with that haughty expression she’d perfected.

  She believed Rebecca to be his mistress. And it upset her. But she didn’t want him to know; so she’d brazened it out and confronted him. The message was clear: it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t even matter when they were husband and wife. That’s what she wanted him to think. That’s why she’d had to mention the ‘tiresome engagement’ later that day. But now he knew differently. Just for a second or two he’d seen her stripped of armour, wounded and vulnerable because he was with another woman. She cared. The idiotic thing was, he was glad. And he wasn’t sure why. The sensible way would be to foster her apathy. He wasn’t certain he was ready to…relinquish all others… After all, she was still the rudest, most infuriating little… He exhaled slowly, aware he couldn’t even think of her in those terms any more.

  But he could think of her. God knows, it seemed he could think of little else. He wanted to be with her; even if it was simply to parry insults. He wanted to tell her he’d seen silk that would suit her, that would match her eyes. He wanted to be shopping with his future wife. He wanted her…God, how he wanted her. She’d been out of sight a few minutes, and he wanted to follow her.

  What he wanted, he impressed on himself while his teeth locked so hard his jaw began to ache, was a brain physician. The sensible way, the only sensible way, would have been to seduce her yesterday in the comfort of his own home. Had he indulged his lust for her, he might not now be acting like a moonstruck idiot. He might not be planning a wedding, simply settling in a new paramour. In all his life he’d never toadied to any woman, yet he was constantly modifying his behaviour and humouring this pert madam, sullied by scandal, who took delight in slighting him at every opportunity.

  Women of all ages…all classes…liked him; it had always been that way. Since he’d been elevated to the peerage, his popularity had soared yet higher. He coul
dn’t keep pace with the deluge of social invitations he received.

  So, Lady Elizabeth Rowe was beautiful and desirable; so were other women desirable…and far more responsive to his blasé charm. So, why couldn’t he think of anything else? Anyone else? Why had he, minutes ago, been on the point of inviting Cadmore to step outside, so he could hit him? All the man had done was look shifty and bark a greeting at him. He had no proof the weasel had approached Elizabeth today, let alone annoyed her. The fact that Cecily was accompanying him made it unlikely he had accosted her; as did the fact that they had been sited on opposite sides of the shop. Still he felt tense with the need to find out what had occurred, just in case he had looked disrespectfully at Elizabeth.

  ‘Shall we go? Luke should be finished with his meeting now,’ Ross suddenly burst out impatiently.

  Rebecca slanted a look at him from beneath lengthy lashes, while still fiddling with fabrics on the counter. ‘I’m not yet finished choosing, Ross. You used to like taking me shopping whilst Luke did business in Lombard Street…’ She pouted.

  ‘Don’t flirt. You know you don’t mean it,’ he said with a laughing hint of apology for his brusqueness.

  ‘That never used to worry you. You used to encourage me to practise on you. Why won’t you flirt with me any more, Ross?’

  ‘What? And risk my big brother’s displeasure?’

  ‘Luke knows it’s he who benefits from your tutelage. Besides, that never stopped you before.’

  ‘Before I was a disreputable rogue. Now,’ he informed her on a wry, private smile, ‘I’m an upstart Viscount.’

  Rebecca nodded slowly. ‘The violet-eyed blonde…?’ was all she said as, arm through his, she steered him back towards the exit.

  A long, dark finger unfurled from his fist lying idle on the desk top. It extended to touch a glossy, faceted jewel. Slowly it trailed alternate white and purple stones, stroking with a sensual gentleness. The amethysts were of highly prized deep, rich colour and perfectly matched in clarity and unusual octagonal cut. The diamonds were cabochon, clear of inclusions, shimmering rainbows in afternoon sunlight. A goldsmith of exceptional skill had crafted the piece. Ross supposed the rest of the parure to be of similar fine quality. If so, she had been right in her estimation: from what she’d described, and what he knew, he’d say about ten thousand pounds worth in total.