'No, Lucas,' she teased. 'I thought I'd come along in my silk nightie again, all right?'
He grinned. 'Fine by me.'
He swallowed his drink with unaccustomed haste. 'Look, I don't feel like going to Rosie's, but what about a bite to eat with old Martin? I warned him we might descend on him.'
'If you're sure . . .' she began doubtfully.
'Sure I'm sure, as they say in the movies.' He looked uncertain, though, and added, 'There's no knowing what sort of mood he's going to be in, so if he gets too unbearable we'll just walk out.' Goldie hoped it wouldn't come to that.
While she had a shower Lucas prowled about downstairs. She heard him put a tape of Vivaldi on, and take it off in favour of Bruce Springsteen. By the time she came out of the shower it was Nina Simone singing about love.
It didn't take her long to slip into the pink dress and put some make-up on. She only needed a little eye-liner and mascara, and a slick of lip-gloss to accentuate her tan. The pink dress brought out the subtle gold of her skin, and she surveyed the final effect in the mirror with satisfaction.
The dress, though demurely boned at the front, plunged dramatically at the back to a large bow that emphasised her tiny waist, and when she caught a glimpse of the back view in the mirror she wondered if perhaps it was a little too indiscreet for the sort of function she was about to attend. Never having been to a Hunt Ball before, she couldn't be sure.
'Lucas?' she called down. 'What do you think? Should I take a cover-up of some sort?'
He came slowly up the stairs, drink in hand. For a minute he stood on the landing without speaking. 'Looks all right to me,' he said at last.
Then she turned. 'That's what I mean,' she told him, looking over her shoulder at him. 'It plunges rather, and I thought maybe I should take a shawl of some sort. Or even the little velvet jacket?' she suggested.
She turned round again.
'Yes, take the jacket. It may be chilly,' he remarked, turning away abruptly.
Disappointed that he didn't seem to think much of her appearance, she went back into her room to fetch the jacket, then made her way downstairs to wait. She could hear him splashing about in the shower, and there was a drink already mixed for her on the table. Nina Simone was still singing about love.
'Mr Martin's had a tiring day, sir. If you're thinking of making your visit short, I'm sure that will be best.' It was the housekeeper. She showed them both in, and Lucas led the way up a broad flight of stairs to a room on the first floor. It was a dining-room, and Goldie had a vague impression of a high ceiling hung with a spectacular, unlit chandelier, and lots of dark paintings in gold frames on the rose-coloured walls, before her attention was taken by a white-haired old man sitting in a chair at the head of a long, polished table reflecting the light of two large silver candelabra.
"Bout time, Lucas. Never keep a man from his dinner, or you'll get the worst of him.' He peered across the room towards the door. 'Bring her in then, damn you. Let's have a look at her.'
Lucas raised his eyebrows at Goldie, and ushered her forward with one hand in the small of her back. She stood demurely in front of Martin de Maine, not quite sure what to say, but taking his measure just as he was taking hers.
'Spitting image of Ravella,' he judged, peering from beneath shaggy brows. 'You've got a handful there, me lad!' he cackled good-humouredly. 'Sit down, then, or are you both going to stand there all night? I hear it's this blessed ball come round again. You seem to spend half your time dancing these days.'
Lucas pulled out a chair for Goldie on the old man's right, and took the one opposite for himself. A servant came in with a trolley and Martin de Maine signalled towards the shadows. 'Get that bottle of claret I asked you to bring up,' he said to his man, and to Lucas he added, 'I've had me supper. Couldn't wait all night for you. But tuck in. Don't bother about me. I'm going to me room.' He patted Goldie on the hand. 'Tell Ravella "when lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed"—she'll know what I mean.' He gave a chuckle and, still smiling, was helped from the room by two of his staff.
'Typical!' Lucas gazed after him in disgust. 'Gets us up here, then disappears. I hope you're not offended?'
Goldie giggled. 'Honestly, I think I'm rather relieved, Lucas. He is rather formidable. I think he'd take a bit of getting used to.'
'You made a hit with him.'
'I did?' She laughed. 'How on earth can you tell?'
'I've known the old devil all my life.'
Goldie was relieved, although, as she was leaving in a few days, it didn't really matter. But she had thought he had left them because he didn't approve. It was a relief to learn otherwise.
'Now that's over,' said Lucas, swirling the claret round in his glass and looking thoughtful, 'I suppose --' He stopped.
Goldie leaned forward waiting for him to go on.
'Oh, nothing,' he said abruptly. He lifted the glass to his lips again. 'One thing,' he announced with the air of someone deftly changing the subject, 'he's got a fine cellar. Hope the old devil doesn't drink it all before I get a turn.' He laughed jerkily. 'You're not eating much.'
'You're beginning to sound like him,' she joked.
'Martin and I have nothing in common apart from our ancestry.'
And a penchant for my mother, thought Goldie silently, gnawing at the old jealousy.
It was just on nine as they made their way across the village green to one of the neighbouring houses where, as Lucas told her, the present master of foxhounds lived. Traditionally the annual ball was held in the master's house.
From this, Goldie assumed it was going to be a small affair, but she was mistaken. Not only was the long drive festooned with fairy lights—the whole house, though naturally much smaller than Burgh Hall, blazed with light, and on entering she discovered that there was a large ballroom at the back giving on to a terrace, and a lawn where a red and white marquee had been erected.
'Smoochy dancing in the ballroom,' Lucas informed her, 'disco stuff in the garden. We'll just stand by the door and say hello to a few people, then we're free to enjoy ourselves.'
Lucas's arrival had obviously been waited for. A red-faced man with iron-grey hair and a military bearing came up to him at once. 'Good to see you, Lucas, old chap. You can take over from me as doorman for a bit. I don't know who half these wallahs are. Never seen 'em out.' He slapped Lucas on the back, gave a nod of greeting to Goldie as if he felt he was expected to remember her, then unexpectedly said, 'Evening, Charlotte,' before disappearing in the direction of the drinks waiter before he could be corrected.
Goldie, vaguely wondering who Charlotte was and whether she would materialise at some stage, lost count of the people to whom she was introduced. Their politeness varied from effusive—Harold and some assorted cronies whom she recognised as the Saturday night crowd at the Coach and Horses—to the cool, in the shape of several dowdily dressed women she saw talking to Violet later, to the positively frigid—Rosemary, of course, who immediately took Lucas to task for not turning up for drinks first.
Lucas didn't give any explanation as to why he hadn't turned up, and Goldie knew that Rosemary put all the blame on her. She tried to ignore the unpleasant feeling she got, but it was difficult—especially when the name Charlotte cropped up again.
'She's looking absolutely ravishing tonight. But then, she always does. Such perfect taste! And so pretty with her lovely, traditional, English-rose looks.' Rosemary drifted off and her place was taken by another woman, small and plump where Rosemary was tall and rather gaunt.
'I'm looking for Charlotte, Lucas. You'll know where she is,' she began.
'I'm afraid I don't, Lucy. Why not try the marquee?' Lucas answered with a bland smile. Goldie smarted at the subtle arrows directed at her, and wondered if Lucas realised what was happening, but he smiled and remained polite, shook people's hands, and continued to introduce her to everyone. Later, when his stint as host was over, he led her firmly by the arm towards the buffet.
'I reckon we've earned this
,' was all he said as he piled her plate with food. They found a place to sit down on some steps leading into a small ante-room jam-packed with people, and there was obviously little chance of finding a quiet corner. The whole place was bursting at the seams and new arrivals were coming in every minute.
'You mustn't let the guillotine mob get to you,' he observed casually, tucking into roast turkey. 'They don't mean to be bitchy. It's just that outsiders threaten all their matchmaking schemes.'
'And I suppose they have a scheme for you?' she observed tartly.
'As you've guessed.' He gave her a flash of white teeth. 'She's just making up her mind to come over and check you out.' He glanced across at a group of girls standing near one of the french windows, all looking their way. 'She's no doubt wondering why I'm ignoring her so thoroughly. I guess I'm going to have to have at least one dance with her. You won't mind?'
'Of course I'll damn well mind!' Goldie burst out with rather more vehemence than she'd intended. It was just at that moment that a tall pretty girl with soft brown curls and a self-confident manner came up to them, and, overhearing Goldie's outburst, turned to her with a little laugh. 'Goodness! You must be the American I've been hearing so much about. I gather Lucas has been showing you around a little bit?'
Her cornflower-blue eyes took in Goldie's flushed face at a glance, and before she could think of a reply the girl turned to Lucas. 'Darling Lukey, you shouldn't hide yourself away all evening. We're having such fun.' She put hand on his shoulder. 'Come and join us and don't be such a grouch.'
'Charlotte, I'm enjoying this rather fine roast turkey. Have you had yours?'
'Of course, but I don't mind sharing some of yours, too, darling. You know what a greedy girl I am!' She guided Lucas's fork to her own mouth. 'Mmm, scrumptious,' she murmured, slitting her eyes and looking at Lucas from beneath curling lashes.
Her lips are close enough to kiss Lucas's own, thought Goldie, feeling like a voyeur. And if she leans any closer, there's no way he'll be able to stop himself looking right down her cleavage. Lucas, to Goldie's chagrin, appeared to be enjoying Charlotte's rather too obvious attentions. He filled his fork again and popped it in her avaricious little Cupid's bow of a mouth.
'Now, go away, Charlotte,' he said firmly. 'I'll dance with you later.'
'I hope you mean it, Lucas. I missed you all last week, having to go away to that wretched ski-school. I only got back this afternoon; that's why I haven't rung you. You're not cross with me, are you?' She obviously had no intention of going away, for she sat down on the step below Lucas and gazed up at him with large blue eyes.
Lucas was drawn into conversation, and Goldie felt that it was like the meeting in the hotel all over again, until she felt Lucas's knee against her own. Testing to see whether it was imagination or not, she moved her own away, but Lucas followed it, crushing right up against her as if by accident, and when she glanced hurriedly across at him he turned and gave her a sly wink.
'Come on, Goldie, let me dump your plate, then you can show me how they dance in California.' He pulled her to her feet. 'Excuse us, Charlotte. Your turn later.'
Goldie felt his hand in the small of her back. 'I thought the disco-dancing was in the marquee,' she said against the front of his shirt as he led her into a slow smooch.
'We'll try that later. Right now I think we need to get really close to each other.' He brushed her forehead with his lips and looked down at her, his eyes crinkling in amusement. 'I thought you were going to scratch her eyes out—or she yours,' he added fairly. 'I can't see what all the fuss is about. I do my own choosing.'
'Who are you choosing, Lucas?' she dared to ask.
'Who does it look like?'
Yes, she thought, comforted by his words, though not too much. But when I leave, who then?
CHAPTER NINE
It was nearly time to go home. The evening had been more enjoyable than Goldie had expected, because even though she had had to witness Charlotte doing her best to wrap her body round Lucas's on the dance-floor—looking more like a rambling rose than an English rose, she thought with forgivable bitchiness—the crowd she called the Coach and Horses gang had amply made up for Lucas's tour of duty elsewhere, taking her under their wing and making sure she was never short of partners.
Flushed and happy, she went to the cloakroom to fetch her velvet jacket, but was stopped outside by a girl she recognised as one of Charlotte's friends. 'You know, you may think you can come between Charlotte and Lucas,' she said spitefully, barring the way, 'but you haven't really got a chance. He's annoyed with her tonight because she's been away. But he'll be ringing her up tomorrow as usual. You wait and see.'
'I'm sure that if he wishes to ring her up, he will,' replied Goldie as calmly as she could. She pushed her way past and went into the cloakroom. Inside, it was worse. Violet and Rosemary were deep in conversation, combing their hair and powdering their noses in the mirror as they talked. They didn't at first see Goldie.
'Burgh Hall, of course, needs a woman who's used to running a large staff,' Violet was saying conversationally. 'That will have to be his first priority, and I'm sure Martin has already warned him of the pitfalls of not having a suitable woman by his side.'
'Poor Martin,' sighed Rosemary. 'He always was one for the women—women of a certain type, that is.' She gave a little laugh. 'He regrets it now, of course, with only paid staff to look after him.' She turned to Violet. 'Charlotte is absolutely splendid for Lucas. She's used to his style. She can run Burgh Hall with one arm tied behind her back. It's obvious to everyone except Lucas himself. But, of course, he'll come round. Naturally, he's fighting like tooth and nail at the moment. They all do when the altar first looms on the horizon. Such a pity he has no one close to advise him. Still, Martin knows what's what. He's not likely to let Burgh Hall fall into the wrong hands.'
Goldie had been standing transfixed in the shadows by the door, unable to help hearing what they said, and too confused to move.
Now she forced herself to act, passing behind the two women so that her blonde hair was reflected in the mirror between them. She saw them exchange glances. To their credit, they fell silent until she had retrieved her jacket and was on her way out, but as she closed the door carefully behind her she heard Violet say, 'And that's exactly what I mean by the wrong hands.'
Goldie felt faint. She hadn't any designs on Lucas or Burgh Hall. But this evening had been so heavenly, they had seemed so close, so right for each other, she had begun to hope that it all meant something to him, after all. Now she saw the folly of her dreams. The two women were quite right—Lucas's inheritance was a responsibility. He would need help. The sort of help she could never imagine herself being able to give.
With a heavy heart she made her way back to where he was waiting in the hall. As usual, he was surrounded by a group of old friends. They were laughing about something that had happened to a mutual acquaintance, and Goldie waited patiently with a weeping heart and a fixed smile as Lucas said his goodbyes.
'All right, lovely?' he asked, eyes dancing as they made their way outside. He hugged her as the cold night air hit them. 'You look a little sad,' he murmured. 'Are you tired?'
She nodded, unable to confess the burden in her heart.
When they reached the millhouse he hesitated in the entrance, his white silk scarf a blur in the darkness. 'Goldie,' he said, his voice husky with desire, 'there's only one real way to finish this evening. Tell me before we go inside. It's got to be your decision. Only know I want you, desperately and forever.'
She felt her body quiver from head to foot. He didn't touch her, but she could feel his eyes on her face in the darkness. In two days she would leave this man, for good and all. It was a thought too agonising to face. Surely, she prayed, they deserved some happiness together? She wanted him, and she longed to have him remember this night to the end of his days.
Standing on tiptoe, she reached up in the darkness and placed her lips on his. With a sudden wild joy she felt him
take her powerfully into his arms.
'My love!' The words were wrenched from his throat, and, with a surge of happiness that only destiny could have had a hand in, she felt him gather her slim body against his own and, with a fever of longing lending him haste, take her at last into the house—into her house of dreams.
The night passed in a delirium of ecstasy.
Goldie had never been loved by a man before, and Lucas carried her to the summits of a passion she had only guessed at. Playing her body with all the skills only a man in love could command, he made her an instrument of pure pleasure. She gave herself to him entirely, submitting to the heaven of his touch with no thought of the pain of separation to come.
When day broke she was lying in the crook of his arm, her head resting lightly on his chest. His hand idled through the platinum strands of her cropped hair, the other caressed her silky gold skin as if it belonged to him, and to him alone. 'I love you, Goldie. We were destined for each other from the start,' he told her, pulling her on top of him. 'I love your eyes, your hair, your skin, your smile, your sadness, even.' He stroked her cheek. 'You are sad, aren't you? Can't I make you happy?' His eyes darkened with pain as he saw that what he said was true. She didn't have that look of happiness that a woman who has been truly loved should have. Instead of answering, she rolled away, burying her face in the pillow beside his head. His lips came down on the nape of her neck.
'What do I have to do to make you happy, darling? Tell me, I'll do anything. Anything at all. Just ask.'
'It's not that, Lucas,' she mumbled into the pillow. 'It's not you. It's just life. I didn't know love was like this. Making love.'
'Did I hurt you?'
'Of course not.' How could she explain that his touch brought only joy and ecstasy, and that was why she felt such anguish now—knowing that it would be something soon to be denied her forever?
He held her in his arms until the sun was up. 'Listen,' he told her, shaking her awake as she lay drowsily, half dreaming that their parting was only an insubstantial nightmare, 'I have to get up. You can stay here if you like. Or come with me.'
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