“Oh, of course,” Marcus murmured dryly.
“Look, Marcus, of all the Courtenays, she is the one I would least expect to form adverse opinions without provocation.”
“The implication being that I must have done something heinous?”
Russell was in a cleft stick. “I, er, didn’t quite mean that—
“No? My dear Russell, you may consider her to be eligible for sanctity, but I certainly do not. There endeth the lesson.” Marcus looked him square in the eyes.
Russell felt a little uncomfortable. “As you wish, but...”
“Yes?”
“I would be grateful if you’d forget the damned feud for a while, and at least be civil to her. Charlotte is already distressed by all the mishaps that have befallen her since arriving here, and...”
“Mishaps?”
“Yes. Henrietta herself tries to make light of it, but given Charlotte’s present condition, I’m anxious that she should relax.”
“You may rest assured that Charlotte will not suffer any distress because of me.” Marcus smiled a little, and then changed the subject. “Who else is here?”
Russell reeled off a list of names and added at the end, “Oh, and Amabel Renchester, although I’m not aware if you know her.”
“Oh, yes, we’re, er, acquainted. I first met her just before she and Renchester left for the Peninsula. I’m surprised she’s here. Don’t tell me she and Charlotte have settled their differences after all this time?”
Russell sighed. “Well, the truth is that Charlotte and Amabel haven’t settled anything; indeed we didn’t invite her, Henrietta decided to bring her.”
“How very thoughtful.” Marcus shivered. “I trust this cold relents soon, for I vow it’s enough to freeze the very sea.” A thought struck him. “Has this harbor ever frozen?”
“It has been known, although not in my lifetime. Don’t fret, the Avalon is in no danger.”
“Good, but right now I’m more concerned about my own precious hide. Does the hospitality of Mulborough Abbey await, or are we to stand here all night?”
“You know the abbey is always at your disposal, but what of your luggage? There is a ball in progress, and—
“And I am suitably garbed,” Marcus interrupted, flicking his cloak aside to reveal superb evening clothes beneath. “The rest will be brought ashore in a while.”
Russell grinned. “You never fail to amaze me, Marcus. Come on, then.” They ascended the steps and crossed the deserted quay to the customs house, where Marcus snuffed the torch against the wall as Russell untethered the waiting horses.
As the two men rode off into the snow, Kit looked at Jane, who had joined him at the top of the steps. “Well? Does my Fitzpaine descendant pass muster as far as you’re concerned?”
“I fear not.”
Kit was surprised. “But you were quite set on it when we left the abbey.”
“The Marquess of Rothwell is a book with some disturbingly secret pages,” she replied, taking Rowley from him.
“He and Henrietta appear to offer our only hope this time,” he reminded her.
“I know, but he seems completely uninterested in her. I confess I think they are poles apart, and will remain so.”
“Poles apart? Dearest, where is your usually infallible perception? Even I could see that he was as sensitive to every mention of her as she was to him! Besides, he is my very twin, even to our shared liking for sailing, so at heart he must be a good fellow. There’s much to do, I grant you, but I think he and Henrietta Courtenay have definite possibilities.”
New hope stirred through Jane. “Oh, Kit, do you really think so?”
“Of course.” Kit put an arm around her and pulled her close to kiss her on the lips. At the same time, unseen by Jane, he clamped his other hand firmly around Rowley’s muzzle.
Chapter Six
Meanwhile at the abbey, the ball had resumed. A country dance was in progress, and Charlotte and Henrietta stood at the edge of the floor. Henrietta would have preferred to retire to her room now that Marcus was in the offing, but Charlotte was determined that she should remain.
“You have to face him sooner or later, and it might as well be sooner,” she declared firmly. “Please steel yourself, because once the first moment is over, the rest will be easier.”
“Charlotte, you’ve never behaved as shockingly as I did, so how can you possibly know? Marcus will no doubt find it amusing to whisper the tale to his relatives, and before long it will be all around the ball!” Henrietta felt sick with trepidation.
“Don’t be silly. If he intended to spread the tale, it would have been all over London by the time your parents returned from looking after your aunt. He didn’t say a word, did he?”
“Well, not that I know of, but—
“No buts. He didn’t say anything, and that’s the end of it.”
Henrietta fell silent, and when the country dance came to an end, she was claimed by her uncle, Thomas Courtenay—he who’d been raiding the punch bowl—for the polonaise that followed. If she hoped this would prove a distraction from Marcus Fitzpaine, she was disappointed, for her uncle knew who was responsible for the fireworks. “Another damned Fitzpaine, eh?” he declared as he and his niece came together in the dance.
“It—it would seem so, Uncle Courtenay.”
“Damned scoundrels, all of them.”
“Yes, Uncle Courtenay.”
“Are you acquainted with him?”
She hesitated, and then fibbed. “No, Uncle.”
“See it remains so.”
“I can hardly embarrass Charlotte and Russell by refusing to be introduced,” she pointed out.
“Hmph,” he grunted disparagingly.
It was as the polonaise came to an end that Russell and Marcus entered the ballroom. Marcus was recognized immediately, and there was rapturous applause, for fireworks were a rare and costly diversion, and everyone appreciated the magnificent display given from the decks of the Avalon. The orchestra began to play the minuet from Handel’s “Music for the Royal Fireworks,” and sets began to quickly form, so that soon the floor was a crush of dancers.
Charlotte hastened to greet her new guest. “Marcus! Oh, Marcus, how good it is to see you again!” she cried, hugging him as best she could now that her shape was so vastly changed.
He smiled and kissed her warmly on the cheek. “Charlotte, my dearest, you are positively aglow! Approaching motherhood suits you!”
“Why, thank you, sir.” Charlotte glanced surreptitiously around, hoping to spot Henrietta so that a meeting could be engineered without further ado, but there was no sign of her.
Marcus spoke again. “I’ve presumed somewhat upon your hospitality, but trust you will endure me for a week or so?”
“You have no need to ask, for Mulborough’s doors are always open to you.”
He looked at the crowded floor. “Charlotte, will you favor me with this dance?” he asked.
She gave a rueful smile. “I trust you will not be offended if I decline, but I’ve danced sufficiently tonight to put my ankles in imminent danger of swelling. Such disagreeable things, swollen ankles. Very unfeminine.”
Marcus laughed. “Your ankles would remain delightful no matter how swollen they became.”
“Your charm never ceases to amaze me, sir. How is it that you have yet to race home in the marriage stakes?”
“My heart has to be engaged, Charlotte, and what other woman is there now you have been claimed?”
“More charm? La, sir, my head and ankles are likely to swell simultaneously!”
Marcus spent the next few minutes in conversation with her, and after that with various relatives, but then Amabel caught his eye as she quickly threaded through the crush at the edge of the ballroom. He excused himself from his relatives and followed her. Jane and Kit, who had only just returned from Mulborough, followed as well, being careful all the while to look out for Henrietta.
Marcus caught up with Amabel by the arc
hway into the cloisters. “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Renchester. Now what brings you to Mulborough?”
She met his eyes, and then walked out into the cold of the cloisters, where she turned and waited to face him. He followed, and closed the door behind him, but Jane and Kit managed to slip through in time with Rowley. The noise of the ball immediately became muffled, and the quiet of the cloisters seemed to press close. The glow from the lanterns in the quadrangle showed Amabel quite clearly. As the ghosts came into close proximity with her, Jane was again conscious of the unpleasant atmosphere surrounding her. Charlotte’s whiff of sulfur.
Amabel’s voice echoed around the stonework. “Well, Lord Rothwell, what an agreeable surprise.”
“Is it? I confess I’m astonished you should feel that way. I’m equally surprised you should leave London and all its, er, attractions.”
“No matter what you may think, I’m here to make my peace with Charlotte.”
“There’s more than just snow flying through the air at the moment. In fact I distinctly hear grunting,” he remarked dryly.
“You misjudge me, Marcus.”
Jane’s ears sharpened. Marcus? They were on first-name terms?
Marcus gave a short laugh. “Misjudge you? I think not, Amabel, for how is it possible to misjudge a widow who flaunted bright colors almost the day after her husband’s funeral?”
“Would you have me wear black for the passing of a traitor?”
“If traitor he was.”
“It was proven,” she declared.
“So it’s said.”
Amabel raised her chin. “And what brings you here to Mulborough, sirrah? The society of your dear friends. Lord and Lady Mulborough? Or is it perhaps because of Henrietta Courtenay?”
“Why should my actions have anything to do with her?”
“Because you had a liaison with her, and maybe hope it will resume.”
He became very still. “How did you know that?”
“She told me in London just after it happened.”
Jane and Kit exchanged glances, for Henrietta insisted to Charlotte that she had never mentioned it to anyone.
Marcus studied Amabel in the lantern light. “Well, Sutherton’s timely arrival on the scene is now fully explained. He learned through you.”
“Sutherton learned nothing from me; indeed I hardly know him.”
“Now I hear the flapping of porcine wings,” he replied dryly.
She shrugged. “Believe what you will, I know I’m telling the truth.”
“You and the truth don’t even share a common language,” he answered.
Her eyes flickered. “All I’m concerned about now is that it is definitely over between you and Henrietta.”
“Of what possible interest could that be to you?”
“Simply that it means there is hope for me.”
He was startled. “You?”
“Charlotte is not the only one with whom I wish to make my peace, sir, and your presence here is an opportunity I do not intend to squander,” she said softly, stepping closer and putting a tender hand to his cheek.
Jane looked daggers at her, for this wasn’t what was wanted at all. Marcus and Amabel? Oh, dear me, no!
Amabel smiled, and her rose perfume filled the air as she drew a seductive fingertip across Marcus’ lips.”Do you remember what pleasure we once shared?”
Jane’s dismay intensified. They’d been lovers in the past? This became worse by the moment!
“How well you play the temptress, Amabel,” Marcus said softly.
“Well enough to succeed with you again?” she inquired, reaching up suddenly to link her arms around his neck. She molded her body to his and smiled into his eyes. “Oh, sir, how very impressive a figure you have, but then I knew that already, did I not?”
“I don’t deny our past encounters, but the crucial word is ‘past’. I cannot gainsay that you are a very beautiful woman, Amabel, but beauty should be more than skin deep, and with you it is most certainly on the surface only. You showed yourself to be spiteful, grasping, callous, and hard. Shall I go on?”
She flushed a little. “Such compliments. Will you also accuse me of lacking passion?”
“If I did, I’d be lying.”
“Yes, you would.” She searched his face and then smiled. “You haven’t ceased to desire me, Marcus, I can see it in your eyes. Would you be surprised that it is our future encounters that interest me now?” she whispered, putting her lips to his.
For a long moment he resisted, but then his arms moved around her and as he returned the kiss, Jane’s chagrin was complete. How could she and Kit hope to pit an innocent like Henrietta against such a creature? The dejected wraith acidly surmised that Amabel Renchester was an experienced Jezebel who had probably graced more beds than Rowley had desired sugared almonds!
Amabel moved familiarly against Marcus, and he could not help his body’s response. She drew away enough to slide a hand over the front of his silk trousers. “Oh, yes,” she breathed huskily, “I play the temptress well enough to succeed with you. I will come to you tonight, and you will not turn me away.”
Then she left. Light and noise from the ballroom swept briefly over the cloisters before the door closed behind her. Marcus exhaled very slowly, for this was a development he could never have foreseen. Many a thing, but not this.
Kit ran a hot finger around his neckcloth. “God’s teeth, that creature knows her business,” he muttered, and was rebuked by a swift rap on the arm from Jane’s closed fan.
“That’s enough of that!” She gave him a furious look.
He cleared his throat apologetically. “Oh, be reasonable, my love, what red-blooded fellow could fail to respond?”
“That, sirrah, is the difference between male and female. The male is not ruled by his head or his heart, just by his loins! You included!”
“But once I’d met you, beloved, I neither loved nor lay with any other woman,” he reminded her.
“That had better be the case, sirrah, for if I discover you were ever unfaithful, I swear I will—
“Chop off the relevant member? Yes, I believe you would, but I am safe in the knowledge that I have never betrayed you by so much as a single kiss.”
Jane melted a little. “Oh, Kit...”
“I will remind you of my ardor at the first opportunity,” he said softly, bending his head to kiss her lips. Rowley squirmed jealously, but again his muzzle was firmly held, this time by Jane.
Marcus rejoined the ball, but went through the door so quickly that the shades were caught unprepared, and found themselves shut out.
“Damn!” Kit exclaimed angrily, and gave Rowley a dire look. “Oh, if ever a cur was more trouble than it was worth, this one is!”
“It’s not his fault!” Jane cried.
“Maybe not, but he’s hampering us, I think you’ll agree.”
“I’ll stay with Rowley. You go into the ball to see what’s happening,” Jane suggested.
“And will you trust me to correctly interpret what I see and hear?” Kit inquired acidly.
Jane hesitated.
“You see?” Kit irritably drew his sword slightly, and then slammed it back into the scabbard.
Jane’s eyes filled with sudden tears. “Oh, don’t be angry, Kit.”
“Look, beloved, surely that pest of a spaniel can be trusted to stay quietly out here on his own?”
Rowley was wily enough to know he was the cause of dissent, and so picked his moment to whine pathetically. It was the last straw for Kit, who snatched him from Jane’s arms and placed him firmly on the floor. Then he pointed at the cloister ceiling. “Right, you odious fleabag, you get up there and you stay there.”
Rowley looked mutinously at him.
Kit drew his sword. “Do as I say!”
Rowley’s eyes widened, and without further ado he fled up a column to the ceiling, and retreated into a corner. Kit put his sword away, then eyed the dog. “If you move so much as an inch from where
you are now, I swear I will spit you in a most painful way. Am I clear?” Then he offered Jane his arm. “Very well, my dear, let us sally forth and see what goes now.”
Jane looked wistfully up at Rowley, but slid her hand over Kit’s sleeve. “Very well, my love,” she replied, and together they glided through the closed door into the ballroom.
* * * *
Earlier, when Marcus had first arrived and the orchestra began to play Handel’s fireworks music, Henrietta’s faltering courage had failed completely. Seeing Charlotte glance around for her, she had withdrawn to the farthest end of the ballroom, rather than risk having to confront Marcus so quickly.
She took refuge in a corner in the small space between the wall and an extravagant arrangement of tall ferns, and from there watched as Marcus conversed first with Charlotte, then with his relatives. Suddenly the prospect of staying beneath the same roof as him was too much to bear. The abbey was simply not big enough! The best thing would be to leave tomorrow with Uncle Courtenay, but what would Charlotte say?
Distracted by her thoughts, Henrietta didn’t notice anything else until Amabel, and then a minute or so later Marcus, emerged from the cloisters. The conclusion was there to be drawn, and a jealous pang caught Henrietta unawares as she was confronted by the harsh fact that the Marquess of Rothwell could still breach her defenses. George’s kisses didn’t turn her blood to fire in her veins as Marcus’ had, nor did his caresses stir a desire so powerful that there was no thought of caution, only of ecstasy. Was Amabel now enjoying his embraces? A confusion of emotion engulfed her.
Marcus suddenly looked toward the corner where she was hiding. She released the ferns and drew back in dismay, but the shivering green fronds had revealed someone to be hiding behind them, and he began to walk toward her.
Jane and Kit emerged through the door and looked around for any sign of Marcus. They saw his tall, fair-haired figure heading for the fern-decked corner, and wondered what was of such interest. Reaching the greenery, he parted it and spoke abruptly. “Well, madam, we meet again.”
The ghosts were startled to realize he was addressing Henrietta, and they hastily took up positions from where she could not observe them. Then they watched what happened next.
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