The Wicked Baron

by Sarah Mallory

  Julia clasped her hands, a beatific smile upon her face. ‘Oh, very much, my lord. It was magical—such a colourful spectacle!’

  He smiled and nodded, but from the corner of his eye he could see Carlotta laughing at something Mattingwood was whispering to her. Hell and damnation, could she not see Sir Gilbert for the flirt he really was? He turned to her.

  ‘And what of you, Miss Rivington?’ he said. ‘What thought you of the spectacle—did the colours suit you?’

  ‘It is very ingenious,’ she answered him carefully but her wariness only fuelled his anger.

  ‘But not to your taste, which is for a more…classical form of art.’

  Her eyes flew to his face, he could see she thought he was about to denounce her. He would never do that—did she not know him yet? He wanted to say something reassuring, but Sir Gilbert was speaking again.

  ‘Everyone should see the tin cascade,’ he remarked with a laugh. ‘But only the once!’ He leaned a little closer to Carlotta. ‘I would be honoured to show you some of the other attractions of Vauxhall, Miss Rivington.’

  Mr Woollatt stepped forward. ‘If Miss Rivington wishes to see anything, then it will be my pleasure to escort her,’ he said, his rather heavy chin jutting out belligerently.

  Sir Gilbert straightened, still smiling. ‘Alas, then, I feel my loss most acutely.’

  Carlotta smiled. She was aware of the compliment the gentlemen were paying her and would have been more than human if she had not felt a little tremor of excitement at their gallantry. She nodded at Mr Woollatt, then turned to give Sir Gilbert an apologetic smile. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you, sir.’

  He inclined his head. ‘Madam, you could never disappoint me.’

  Her smile grew. She was very happy to indulge in this mild flirtation, conducted from the safety of the supper box where she had the protection of her aunt and uncle. It was also a refreshing change from Mr Woollat’s dull lecturing. When she looked at Lord Darvell, however, his disapproving stare somewhat dimmed her enjoyment of the moment. As the group moved away, Mr Price shook his head.

  ‘Scapegraces, the lot of ’em,’ he said. ‘I hear Mattingwood is done up—could not pay his gambling debts at Brooks’s the other night. ’Tis a poor show when a man cannot pay his way.’

  ‘Actually, he did pay up,’ put in Lord Broxted, scrupulously fair. ‘I was there myself, heard him tell Ainslowe he would settle with him the next morning.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr Price, winking at Mr Woollatt, ‘we’ve all heard that one before, I dare say.’

  ‘No doubt,’ continued the earl, ‘but in this case he honoured his commitment. Gave Ainslowe a painting to cover his debt.’

  ‘A painting!’

  ‘Aye,’ said the earl. ‘A Tiepolo. His father brought it back from the Grand Tour.’

  ‘And is it genuine?’ asked Mr Price. ‘Has he had it valued?’

  Lord Broxted looked affronted. ‘Ainslowe doesn’t need to do that; he has Mattingwood’s word, as a gentleman.’

  ‘Never mind that now.’ Lady Broxted rose. ‘Madame Saqui will be performing soon; I would like us to have a good view of it.’

  They joined the crowd congregating around the fifty-foot mast erected for Madame Saqui’s celebrated rope walk. Mr and Mrs Price led their party to a good viewing spot. Carlotta was not sure whether it was by accident or design that they found themselves again in the proximity of the group of young bloods that included Sir Gilbert Mattingwood. With a little skilful manoeuvring, Mrs Price managed to place herself next to Sir Gilbert and engaged him in a rather flirtatious conversation while they waited for Madame Saqui to ascend the rope. Carlotta had taken Mr Woollatt’s arm and now stood patiently while he explained to her in excessive detail the number of appearances the lady had made in England. Her mind was beginning to wander when she heard a familiar voice in her ear.

  ‘Your escort is a veritable encyclopaedia, Miss Rivington.’

  She froze. Luke was standing behind her, pressed so close by the crowd around them that they were almost touching. Her nerves tingled along the length of her spine and she shrank closer to Mr Woollatt. Her escort patted her arm.

  ‘These crowds are a little frightening, are they not?’ he said. ‘No need to be alarmed, Miss Rivington. I shall not let you go.’

  ‘Fortune favours Woollatt in all ways.’

  These next words were merely a whisper; she could almost have imagined them except that she could feel Luke’s breath, warm on her cheek. Carlotta found herself trembling. She closed her lips tightly; she would not respond to his teasing. The crowd’s applause alerted her to the fact that Madame Saqui had appeared. Carlotta tried to concentrate on the stocky little woman ascending the rope, but she was too aware of Darvell standing so close behind her; if she leaned back just a little, she would be resting against him. The temptation to do just that was so strong it frightened her. Her senses reeled, the blood was singing in her veins. She dare not turn to look at him, but half-expected to feel his hand on her back, or her neck. Anticipation sizzled through her—the thought of his fingers stealing around her waist, pulling her back against him, the touch of his lips on her cheek where a moment ago she had felt his warm breath…It shook her to realise how much she wanted it to happen. She wanted to scream with frustration.

  Mr Woollatt was directing her attention upwards, explaining how taut the rope must be, telling her of the special slippers Madame wore to grip the rope.

  ‘It is rumoured she is being paid one hundred guineas a week to perform here,’ he said, gazing up in rapt attention at the little figure above him.

  ‘That is nothing to a man of Woollatt’s fortune,’ Luke murmured in her ear. ‘You will be able to command your own private performance when you are his wife—ouch!’

  Carlotta smiled. Her heel encased in its soft kid boot had connected very neatly with Luke’s shin. It was a small victory, but it eased some of her tension.

  Mr Woollatt looked round. ‘Oh, is that you, Darvell? Demmed crush, ain’t it?’

  Carlotta kept her eyes resolutely upon Madame Saqui. She heard Woollatt saying, ‘Pray do not crowd the lady, there’s a good fellow. Ah, look, Saqui’s turning. Bravo, ma’am!’

  Carlotta joined in the general applause as Madame Saqui turned gracefully on her high perch. She jumped as a loud cannonade commenced, and a noisy display of fireworks lit up the sky. Madame Saqui moved easily to and fro on the rope, and began a graceful descent. The crowd cheered and roared for more and Carlotta risked a look behind her. Luke had gone.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Well, well, how exciting!’ exclaimed Lady Broxted. ‘Did you not think so, Carlotta?’

  ‘Yes indeed, Aunt. Even my uncle looked to be enjoying it. Is that not so, sir?’

  Lord Broxted allowed himself a small smile. ‘It was very unusual. I have not seen her before, but I believe she has performed at Drury Lane. A most enterprising female.’

  ‘But she was not very pretty,’ uttered Julia. ‘I thought she would be dainty, fairy-like.’

  ‘No, she was quite mannish,’ agreed Carlotta. ‘But very accomplished for all that. Shall we return to our supper box now, Aunt?’

  Lady Broxted tucked her hand into her husband’s arm. ‘Oh, I think we should take a stroll around the gardens first. The lamps look so pretty now it is dark. But there is no need for us all to stay together. Mrs Price, would you object if we allowed the younger ones to go off by themselves?’

  ‘Not in the least, ma’am!’

  Carlotta’s heart sank a little. ‘But surely there is no need for us to go separately. I am sure you will know the most attractive walks, Aunt.’

  ‘But we will want to take a much more leisurely pace. No, my dear, let the viscount and Mr Woollatt take you about. There can be no harm in it, when there are so many people here.’

  ‘Yes, you can chaperon each other,’ cried Mrs Price, almost bustling them away.

  Carlotta turned to Julia for support, but her friend was looking
positively starry-eyed at the prospect of walking through the gardens with Viscount Fairbridge, and Carlotta did not have the heart to spoil her evening. She resigned herself to accompanying Mr Woollatt and began to search for some topic of conversation. There was no lack, but since Mr Woollatt liked to turn everything into an educational lecture she soon found her mind wandering.

  ‘…of course, the dark walks were once notorious for salacious behaviour,’ Mr Woollatt remarked as he led her through one tree-lined avenue. ‘You can imagine that the little recesses you see at intervals along here were black as pitch before they put up the lamps on the main walk. The gardens have been forced to shut on more than one occasion, due to complaints of licentiousness…’

  Carlotta sighed and thought to herself that there was no possibility of her partner behaving licentiously. She had no idea what had happened to Julia and the viscount. They had disappeared, but she guessed they would be having a much more enjoyable time of it. ‘The gardens were actually closed for a while and the proprietors were ordered to put lamps here. I think you will agree that the colourful illuminations now make it much more pleasant, although the recesses are still far too dark.’

  ‘I think it would be very exciting to walk through here in the dark with a lover,’ Carlotta said, a mood of rebellion growing within her, but her words were uttered so quietly that Mr Woollatt was not discomposed by them. She was disgusted at her cowardice. Why could she not shout at him and make him recoil at her vulgar behaviour? With an inward sigh she realised her strict upbringing did not allow her to behave in such an unladylike way. As they turned into another narrow alley, she saw a familiar figure coming towards her. Thanks to the compulsory lighting in what Mr Woollatt informed her had been a notorious trysting place, she was able to recognise Lord Darvell while he was still some distance away. He was arm in arm with a female who was displaying her ample charms very freely. In one glance Carlotta took in the improbably black curls, painted cheeks and vividly carmined mouth. Her own lips curled in distaste as she watched the woman leaning against her partner, laughing immoderately at something he said. As they drew nearer Carlotta realised she did not want Darvell to know she had seen him. She clung a little closer to Mr Woollatt and turned her face up to him.

  ‘Do you not think it romantic here, under the trees?’ she remarked. She knew Luke and his—she sought for a word to describe the wanton creature, but nothing ladylike seemed appropriate—his woman would be very close by now, and kept her eyes resolutely upon her companion.

  Mr Woollatt regarded her with a rather startled expression. ‘I—I beg your pardon, ma’am, what was that?’

  Out of the corner of her eye she realised that they were about to pass Luke and his partner. There could be no doubting that he had seen her. She snuggled even closer to Mr Woollatt.

  ‘I think this is such a romantic setting. The coloured lamps, the wind whispering through the leaves.’ She gave an artistic sigh. ‘It makes one long to be able to burst into song, or—or to write verse.’

  Even as she said it, the thought of Mr Woollatt turning poet almost made her laugh, but she maintained her soulful pose, turning towards him even more, so that she could peep over his shoulder. She was rewarded for her efforts by the sight of Luke looking back at them, a heavy frown creasing his brow.

  ‘I—um—I have never thought of it in those terms,’ said Mr Woollatt, ‘but now you have suggested it, I can see how some might find these coloured lights inspiring.’ He smiled down at her. ‘I had no idea you were such a sensitive little thing, Miss Rivington.’

  With Luke now safely out of sight, Carlotta felt it was safe to draw away from Mr Woollatt, but he was holding tightly to her arm.

  ‘Damme if I don’t think you are right, m’dear—there is something enticing about these lamplit walks.’ He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, ’fore Gad I think you have made my heart beat a little quicker, Miss Rivington, I—oh—’

  He stopped suddenly and released her, clamping one hand to his chest.

  ‘Mr Woollatt, is something wrong? What is the matter?’ Carlotta stared at him in concern. He was bent forward a little, his face contorted with pain. A vein on his right temple bulged alarmingly.

  ‘Can’t—quite—seem to get m’breath,’ he gasped.

  Carlotta looked about her, wishing that her aunt or someone she knew was at hand. There were but one couple in view and they had eyes only for each other. She took his arm.

  ‘You must sit down, Mr Woollatt.’ She guided him towards the nearest recess and was relieved to find that it was empty. ‘Come along, sir. Sit down here in this little bower for a few moments.’

  Mr Woollatt staggered to the rustic bench and collapsed on to it, breathing noisily. His hands were tugging at his neckcloth.

  ‘Can’t breath,’ he gasped again.

  Carlotta stripped off her gloves and fumbled with the knotted linen at his throat. It was too dark to see clearly, but at length she managed to untie the cravat and loosen the shirt around his neck. She glanced down at the waistcoat strained across his chest.

  ‘If you will excuse me, sir, I will unbutton your waistcoat too, for I think you will feel more comfortable without that constriction.’

  ‘Yes, yes, thank you, that is better,’ he muttered. The waistcoat fell away from his chest and he took a deep breath. His frilled shirt billowed out, gleaming palely in the dim light.

  Carlotta sat down beside him. His chest was rising and falling with his huge, noisy gasps for air.

  ‘What should I do, sir?’ she asked him anxiously. ‘Would you like me to fetch someone?’

  He reached across and patted her hand, saying wheezily, ‘No, no need for that. I think if I rest here for a moment, I shall be well again.’

  Carlotta sat beside him, listening to his laboured breathing and thinking miserably that if he died now it would be her fault for exciting him with her flirtatious behaviour. A little tear slipped down her cheek. Aunt Broxted would be horrified to learn how badly she had behaved. She would most likely pack her off back to her parents. At that moment Carlotta thought that she would like nothing better than to return to the little cottage in Malberry, to live in obscurity. She looked again at Mr Woollatt, slumped on the bench beside her. His breathing was much more normal now, but his eyes were closed.

  ‘Mr Woollatt?’ Her tentative call made him open one eye.

  ‘Ah, my apologies, Miss Rivington,’ he murmured. ‘I seem to have been a little overcome. Pray allow me to rest for a few moments more, then I shall return you to your family. I regret this most heartily; I assure you it has never happened to me before.’

  ‘You must not worry yourself, sir,’ she replied, relieved that he was showing signs of recovery. ‘Rest as long as you wish.’

  He patted her hand again, closed his eyes and put back his head. A few moments later he began to snore gently. Carlotta did not know whether she was most indignant or relieved by this. She hoped Mr Woollatt would not sleep for too long, for her aunt and uncle would be growing anxious, but she did not think that she should leave him and go back through the gardens alone. It was growing late and she was aware of the sounds of raucous laughter and coarse jests coming from the adjoining walks. Occasionally she heard footsteps on the gravel path and held her breath, praying no one would look in and see her in the shadowy arbour. As the evening wore on and they remained undisturbed she began to relax, the tedium of sitting quietly in the darkness beginning to steal over her. She thought that she should put on her gloves again and was looking for them when a voice close at hand made her jump.

  ‘Miss Rivington. What a pleasant surprise.’

  Lord Darvell was leaning against the pillar at the edge of the recess, arms folded across his chest. As the lamps that lined the walk were behind him, his face was in shadow, but Carlotta thought his stance was decidedly insolent. His tone certainly indicated no pleasure at this meeting. She jumped up and went across to him, putting a finger to her lips.

  ‘Please, Mr Woollatt is sle
eping. Do not wake him.’ She tried to keep her voice to a whisper.

  His lip curled contemptuously. ‘Exhausted your lover, have you?’

  Carlotta stopped. She had been about to explain everything, but his words suddenly made her realise how the situation must look, Mr Woollatt with his clothes in disarray and her gloves lying discarded at his feet. Her cheeks flamed and she felt hot with embarrassment. ‘It is not what you think.’

  ‘No?’

  He pushed himself off the pillar and stepped towards her. He towered over her, a huge, menacing black shape. Carlotta could feel the anger emanating from him and had to force herself not to retreat; something of her old spirit reasserted itself. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her distress.

  ‘Woollatt looks well satisfied.’ His insolent tone flayed her. ‘Did you learn those skills at your fashionable academy, or does it come naturally to you?’

  Carlotta gasped. Any explanation she had planned vanished from her mind. Even before he had finished speaking her hand swept up towards his face, but he was too quick for her and caught her wrist. Outraged, she tried to pull away, but with a savage laugh he captured both her hands and pinned them behind her. This brought them closer, her bosom pressed against the hard rock of his chest. Shock rippled through her. Carlotta found herself staring at the diamond pin nestled into the snowy folds of his neckcloth. She felt an overwhelming desire to subside against him and burst into tears. She drew on her anger to support her, threw back her head and gave him a scorching look.

  For a long moment they stared at one another. The poor light cast deep shadows across Luke’s face and Carlotta had never seen him look so menacing. She realised that he, too, was breathing heavily, far more so than the exertion of their little tussle warranted. Pressed against him, she could feel his heart hammering in his chest as fast as her own. She was taut as Madame Saqui’s high rope, heart pounding, nerve-ends tingling with excitement even while she berated herself for the way her body betrayed her. Standing so close reminded her of their dancing together at Malberry. She remembered how safe she had felt in his arms. Then he had been smiling and gentle. Now, as he crushed her to him, she could see only anger in his eyes. Panic threatened to engulf her. She fought it down. She would not give in.