“I am expected,” she said, a quiet, conspiratorial smile playing on her lips as she gave him a provocative glance from under her thick black eyelashes which made him immediately her willing accomplice. “It is my wish to surprise a certain gentleman, you understand?”
The footman understood perfectly and nodded, thinking her a pretty wench. Her attire was somewhat plain in comparison to the flamboyant painted doxies who usually attended Lady Bricknell’s parties, but she did look quite stunning in a gown the colour of a newly opened, moist magnolia, which set off her creamy skin to perfection.
Louisa suddenly found herself in a glittering house full of colourful peacocks, and she was startled when the proudest, most arrogant peacock of them all suddenly appeared by her side, having followed her up from the street and seen her hesitate in the doorway. Wearing a short wig of exquisite whiteness, he was tall, dressed in a violet-coloured frock suit of heavily embroidered silk; a fine lacy jabot spilled from his throat in a frothy cascade and lace ruffles dripped over his wrists and over well-shaped hands, caressing his elegant, bejewelled fingers. He was attractive, with sultry features and dangerously hooded eyes, and he exuded all the confidence of a conceited charmer.
“Now, who can you be?” he enquired with unconcealed curiosity, his voice as smooth and seductive as the softest silk, his eyes absorbing every detail of her face and figure. “I cannot say that I’ve seen you at any of the soirées I have attended before. However, I cannot leave such a lovely lady floundering in the doorway. Please allow me to escort you inside. Come, take my arm. I am eager to see the effect your appearance will have on the other ladies present. I have no doubt you will ruffle a few feathers and cause quite a stir.”
Unable to resist such charming flattery, especially when it was spoken by a man whose eyes twinkled with such wicked mischief, Louisa responded with a smile and laid her hand on his arm, which was offered in such a way that it was a masterpiece of gracious arrogance.
“Is it because of my looks and because I am a stranger that I will cause a stir—or because I am with you, sir?” she murmured with an impudent smile and a delicate, knowing lift to her brows.
He laughed outright, showing teeth as white and strong as those of a wild animal. “You read me too well, dear lady—my reputation has gone before me,” he said, his heavy lids drooping over his eyes suggesting at intimacy, and a salacious, lazy smile curling his full lips. “It is not merely a stir I would like to cause with you, but an outright scandal.”
“I suspect a scandal would not concern you, sir—only the making of one,” Louisa replied coolly, forming her own judgement of him and sensing he was of an unpredictable, dangerous nature, of which her instinct told her to beware.
Seeing the smile fade from her lips and a wariness enter her eyes, her companion chuckled under his breath as they moved into the room. The spontaneous smile he bestowed on the women he passed had the desired effect, for their lips twitched and melted into smiles, which they hid behind fluttering fans that spoke a language all of their own.
“Come, now, do not pretend to be shocked,” he murmured. “I am sure—looking as you do—that you must be quite used to such flattery. You mustn’t mind my flirting with you. Most women who attend these parties expect it and are mortally offended if they find themselves ignored.”
“Really? You astonish me,” Louisa replied, with a delicate lift to her eyebrows.
“And don’t worry. I haven’t been invited either, but I do not think Lady Bricknell will have either of us thrown out. She is far too obliging to do that,” he confided. Earlier he had been undecided whether to go to a regular gambling haunt of his on the south side of the river or pay a visit to Bricknell House, knowing Lady Bricknell was holding one of her famous parties. Casting an appreciative, predatory eye over the young woman by his side, he was glad he had chosen the latter.
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Louisa.
“Tell me, who is it you are looking for? I overheard you telling the footman that you were here to surprise a certain gentleman. Who is the fortunate fellow?”
“James Fraser.”
At the mention of the name his eyes opened wide with surprise. “Good Lord! I had no idea James could spare time away from the tables to become amorously involved with anyone.”
Louisa winced, although she tried not to show how deeply wounding his words were to her, reminding her so brutally of her brother’s shortcomings. “Are you a friend of his?” she asked, trusting this was not the case, as she suddenly found she had small liking for this particular gentleman, despite his geniality, and hoped that James was more selective in his friends.
“Shall we say I am an acquaintance?” he answered, drawing her into the crowded room.
Louisa stared around in fascination, feeling as if she had suddenly stepped into a dangerous, unrecognisable world, never having seen anything quite so bizarre as what she now saw. At any other time she would have been impressed by the sumptuous surroundings, had her whole being not been concentrated on finding her brother.
Quietly and firmly she excused herself to her companion and moved away, not wishing to draw undue attention to herself—which was no easy matter for she was exquisitely attractive, a figure of elegance, one who instinctively drew a second, lingering glance. There was not a thing she could do about it, for it was innate in her—like drawing breath. She was unaware that in her plain gown, with no ornamentation other than a fine lace edging around the modestly cut neckline, she was scintillating, and was far more alluring than if she had been adorned from head to toe in jewels.
Unaware of the continued attention of her escort as his eyes followed her with a determined, interested gleam, she mingled with the crowd of people, taking a proffered glass of champagne from a silver tray being carried among the guests by a splendidly attired footman. She had no liking for liquor of any kind and did not intend to drink it, but knew she would be less likely to draw attention to herself with a glass in her hand and looking as though she was enjoying herself.
As she moved among the people gathered in groups, some standing, others lounging indolently on gilt sofas and chairs, and with every face flushed to all shades of crimson, she tried not to appear shocked at finding herself in such a place, deliberately not looking too closely at what was going on. But while the moralist in her disapproved of this kind of behaviour her rebellious Bohemian instinct secretly admired it.
The room was hot, crowded and noisy. The men were dressed in elegant frock coats, and some wore powdered wigs, and their cravats were becoming limp and their clothes soiled with food and drink.
But the men were outshone by the ladies, who were painted and powdered saucy creatures—a languid bevy of scented, fan-waving beauties of the demi-monde—with not very respectable origins, but holding great fascination. They hung onto the gentlemen’s arms, and were devoured by them with hungry eyes as they flaunted and flirted with them outrageously. They were dressed in gaudy, disgracefully low-cut gowns, and were drunk on champagne and behaving in a manner which Louisa could not pretend to, making her blush and look away. No doubt they would become more loud and vulgar as the night wore on, she thought.
Managing to avoid the groping hands of some of the gentlemen who reached out as she passed, and ignoring their lewd suggestions and exaggerated winks, she was beginning to wish she had not come. But then she remembered the purpose of her being there, of Bierlow Hall, her wonderful home in Surrey, impoverished though it was, and that James, being a man of expensive tastes, in his reckless desperation to improve their lot, was in danger of gambling it all away. She had come to London two months ago to beg him to abandon his dissolute way of life and return with her to Bierlow. He had done so, but he had not stayed much longer than four weeks before he had become bored and returned to London.
Louisa’s resolve to find him before it was too late sent her towards a room where several card tables had been set up, knowing she would find her brother there.
Here the nois
e was curiously muted so as not to distract the players. Small tables for dice, whist, French hazard and other games that took the guests’ fancy had been set up. Louisa’s eyes scanned the groups of people clustered around them, where several games were in progress. The players were obscured from view but on seeing the tall figure of Timothy Hacket standing in a small group she moved towards him.
Timothy turned when he felt her press herself against him, his face registering shocked surprise when he recognised her. He immediately took her arm and drew her away, but not before she had seen her brother sitting at the table, his body taut, and a wild, concentrated gleam in his eyes which only gamblers had when, intent on winning, they saw nothing except the cards in front of them.
“Good Lord, Louisa! What are you doing here? I thought James had left you at Bierlow?”
“He did, but after he left for London four weeks ago…I discovered just the other day that the only valuables remaining in the house had disappeared, and I knew James must have taken them, and exactly what he intended doing with them—that he would sell them in order to pay for his gambling. I had to come.”
“He will be outraged if he sees you—here of all places. It is hardly the kind of establishment where he would care to see his sister.”
“I do not care, Timothy. I am well aware that if I had a place in society I would be disgraced for all time—but with so much at stake the ethics of the matter do not concern me. Our situation is desperate, you know that. James must be made to stop before it is too late and we have nothing left to sell or gamble but the estate—such as it is.”
“I know that, but he is determined. He will not be stopped.”
“Have you tried?”
“Yes, but you know what James is like when he has his head set. He will not listen.”
“Then I shall speak to him. He must listen to me,” Louisa said in desperation, making a move towards the table.
“Wait, Louisa,” Timothy said, putting a restraining hand gently on her arm. “Leave him. It may surprise you to know that James is winning. He will not thank you for interfering.”
“Winning?” Louisa exclaimed in surprise, staring up at her brother’s long-time friend. “By how much?”
“Fifteen thousand guineas.”
Louisa gasped, astonishment mingled with relief flooding over her, unable to believe what she was hearing, her mind already racing as she calculated what could be done at Bierlow Hall with such an enormous amount of money.
“Then before he begins to lose, please tell him to stop now.”
Timothy sighed. “I will try, but I know he will refuse. I’ve seen him in this mood before when he thinks everything is going his way—and I have to tell you that the liquor he has consumed has increased his habitual readiness to take risks to a point of madness.”
About to move away, Timothy looked sideways sharply when a man moving close to Louisa caught his attention. She acknowledged the man with a faint smile and a nod, which gave him the feeling that they had already met. It was Sir Charles Meredith, a notorious rake and debauchee of the worst possible kind, and Timothy did not like the way he clung to Louisa’s side, watching her, speculative and predatory.
But Louisa had already forgotten Sir Charles Meredith, and she felt her heart lurch to a sickening degree as she watched the group part to let Timothy through, seeing once more her brother’s flushed, handsome countenance and his sleek, ash-blond hair falling untidily over his brow. There was a glazed set to his features and a grimness in his eyes.
Through the gap James looked blindly in her direction, his eyes registering surprise when they focused on her presence and her worried amber eyes. Anger flared in his own and his full lower lip curled with disapproval, but he refused to allow himself to become sidetracked from the game in hand by an angry sister, who should have known better than to follow him to London. He brushed Timothy aside when he bent and whispered in his ear, refusing to listen, uttering disappointment when his partner rose from the table, having lost the game and reluctant to play on.
Louisa was swamped with relief, sure that he would finish now and come away. But another man came and sat opposite James, cutting one of two packs of cards on the table with slender, flexible fingers as they prepared to begin a game of piquet. It was a game for two people which offered excellent scope for both intelligence and judgement, something which James would have risen to had his head not been fogged with the fumes of alcohol.
Louisa’s eye was caught by a woman coming to stand behind James’s opponent, a bold woman with a handsome face, stunning in a purple and mauve gown cut so low as to leave little to the imagination. Her hair was red, too red to be real, and in response to her whispered question Timothy told her it was none other than their hostess, Lady Bricknell. The flamboyance in her attire and jewels showed that she had been left well provided for by her departed husband.
Curious now she was seeing the notorious Lady Bricknell in the flesh, and recollecting the reputation she had acquired over the years, Louisa found herself staring at her; despite having a taste for the theatrical which verged on the vulgar, Lady Bricknell was a desirable asset to London’s social scene—a woman who lived for pleasure, and a woman of taste and wit who was prized as much for her company as her beauty and flaming red hair.
Seeing that both men were so intent on the game and each other that they barely glanced at the small crowd gathered around the table, with a charming smile on her crimson painted lips, Lady Bricknell moved away to pay attention to her other guests, but Louisa sensed by the way she gently squeezed the gentleman’s shoulder with bejewelled fingers, before drifting away, that their relationship went way beyond that of mere acquaintance.
The game followed the classic pattern with James winning a little, then losing more and more, until he ceased to win anything at all as his partner, who, unlike James, was completely unaffected by alcohol, raised the stakes higher and higher. With a mixture of languor and self-assurance, his eyes on the cards did not stir.
Louisa watched with the sickening knowledge that because of James’s reckless stupidity they were about to lose everything they owned.
“Dear Lord,” said Timothy quietly, careful not to let Sir Charles, who had not relinquished his stance beside Louisa, overhear—although, like every other spectator, Sir Charles’s attention had become taken up with the game. “’Tis sinful the way James loses money.”
“Sinful? This whole house reeks of sin, Timothy, and it is sinful of James to gamble away what little we have left. No doubt he will blame me for changing his luck,” she whispered to Timothy, who was looking on with deep concern.
“If he loses it cannot be blamed on you. Not when he is playing Lord Dunstan.”
Louisa glanced at him. “Lord Dunstan? Who is he? I cannot say that I have ever heard of him.”
“Perhaps that’s because he doesn’t often come into society. He is extremely skilful at cards and a great number of people have lost whole fortunes to him. His personality is so strong that with a lift of one of his arrogant eyebrows, or a flare of a nostril, it is not unknown for his opponent to tremble with fear and drop his cards. He is hard and ruthless and enjoys winning at any form of gambling—and cares little for those who suffer as a consequence.”
“Why is he so unpleasant?”
“It isn’t that he’s unpleasant. In fact, he can be quite charming, especially to the ladies, who fair drool over him—and it’s not difficult to see why with his looks. It’s the way he rides roughshod over everything and everybody that puts people’s backs up.”
“He sounds positively horrid,” said Louisa.
“Lord Dunstan can afford to be anything he wants to be. He is immensely rich and extremely important. His estate in Sussex is fabulous and his stable envied by all.”
Louisa sighed. “Poor James. He doesn’t stand a chance of winning against such a man.”
She looked at the aforesaid gentleman properly for the first time, recognising authority when she met it. T
hen she frowned, for there was a faint glimmer of familiarity to his features, but she could not for the life of her think where she could have seen him before. Excitement that was due as much to his appearance than anything else swept over her. Although he was seated, she could tell he was extremely tall, with powerful shoulders and long muscular legs. Unlike the other gentlemen, who were dressed like peacocks in a multitude of the customary bright colours, he was clad in jet-black, with the exception of his snowy white shirt and cravat, which gleamed in stark contrast to his black suit and silk waistcoat.
He wore no wig, and his own hair was thick and deep brown, with, Louisa suspected, a tendency to curl. It was smoothly brushed back from his wide brow and fastened at the nape of his neck. There was a strong, arrogant set to his jaw and his face was as hard and forbidding as a granite sculpture, his fingers handling the cards with expert ease long and slender. In fact, everything about him exuded brute strength and arrogant handsomeness.
He was the kind of man who was capable of silencing a room full of people just by appearing in the doorway—whose attitude was that of a man who knew his own worth.
She didn’t realise she was staring at him until his instinct made him look up, as if sensing her gaze, and Louisa felt her breath catch in her throat when his eyes locked onto hers, compelling and piercing, and the most startling shade of blue. In fact, they stirred some vague memory and it bothered her, for she was convinced she had seen eyes that colour once before, but where? His dark brows lifted a fraction in bland enquiry at her gaze and he appeared to look her over in a hard, contemplative way, smiling ever so slightly in an appraising manner when he seemed to like what he saw, bringing a crimson flush to her cheeks.
Suddenly his gaze was arrested by the sight of her companion, Sir Charles Meredith, and Louisa saw a tightening to his features as his eyes narrowed and swept over the other man like a whiplash. The look that passed between them crackled with hidden fire, and for just a moment she saw something savage and raw stir in the depths of Lord Dunstan’s eyes, before they became icy with contempt.
An Innocent Proposal Page 2