‘Lady Rampton, it is an honour to meet one of the ravishing Chesterfields at last,’ he said, turning to address Rose now that his neighbour had been engaged by the gentleman on her other side. ‘I believe the three of you have taken London by storm this season.’
Glancing up from spearing her pigeon breast, Rose had half anticipated the predictable gallant admiration, but his gaze was peculiarly intense, frankly appraising, and distinctly unnerving. She licked dry lips, uncertain how to answer, but certainly wary of appearing too cool, or too encouraging. Certainly not until she knew better what kind of man Geoffrey Albright was. She was saved from having to respond when he asked, unexpectedly, ‘Do you suppose we have met before?’
She drew back, startled. ‘I’ve only been in the country a couple of months.’
Geoffrey leaned a little closer. His long, contemplative silence was unsettling. At last he said, with a little laugh, ‘Perhaps in another life, madam. I am sure that in another life we were once …’ he drew back, his gaze flicking over her as if she were a prime article, ‘very close.’
Before Rose could voice her indignation Geoffrey resumed, ‘I hear you sat to your brother-in-law, a noted portraitist.’
‘I hear you’ve been out of the neighbourhood,’ responded Rose, coolly, though she was churning with disquiet inside.
‘Just in the neighbouring county, staying with friends.’ His smile was bland before he turned the conversation back to her. ‘Of course, all the talk was of town and the unexpected speed of your nuptials. You can imagine how many fair noses were put out of joint when it was learned that the beautiful but obscure Lady Chesterfield – I beg your pardon, Miss Chesterfield – had no sooner stepped ashore from the colonies than she’d snared one of the country’s most eligible and elusive bachelors. So, ma’am, having known Rampton all my life, and how resistant he has been to marriage, you understand why I have been excessively keen to meet you.’
‘It’s as well, then, that you’re such close neighbours, since I’d hate to think you might have travelled a great distance only to be disappointed,’ said Rose, leaning aside so she could be served from a platter of beef.
‘I would not have been disappointed had you been cross-eyed and hare-lipped. It was my curiosity that needed satisfying.’ Geoffrey’s eyes reminded her in that moment of those of a well-fed cat, confident of itself and its quarry. ‘Rampton’s idea of the perfect wife is a plain, docile girl who will leave him to his own devices,’ Geoffrey went on, cruelly. ‘From what I have heard, you are far from docile, and you most certainly are not plain. Already you’ve led him quite a dance.’
Rose acknowledged his words with the barest of smiles, forbearing to reply as she set upon her roast beef with knife and fork. She felt embarrassed and trapped. Mr Albright, senior, on her other side, was deep in conversation with Rampton’s mother. Glancing across the table she caught her husband’s eye, and he, reading the desperation he saw there, went so far as to breach good manners by leaning across the table to say, ‘I believe you’ve been a guest of the Huntingdons this past fortnight, Geoffrey. Weren’t you supposed to stay a month?’
Geoffrey gave a careless shrug but a faint blush belied his assumed indifference. ‘A week would have been sufficient in such dull company,’ he said. ‘Naturally I had no desire to cause offence, so I invented the excuse that Mama was poorly and wanted me home. If you’ve heard anything other then it’s been invented.’
‘Ah.’ Rampton, nodded, as if satisfied that he had just been furnished with the real reason while a wisp of memory curled around Rose’s brain as she tried to recall if she’d seen Geoffrey Albright before. ‘Knowing you, Geoffrey, as I do, I was unable to give credence to the rumours that have been circulating. I see you’ve been admiring my new bride,’ he changed the subject. ‘I had to act quickly to secure her consent before she set sail for the West Indies. She was on the point of embarking, in fact, when I waylaid her’ - he sent Rose a smouldering look, careless of the interest of the rest of the table - ‘and finally overcame her resistance to the idea.’
When the guests had left and they were alone Rose looked up from her dressing-table and asked, ‘Does Geoffrey Albright have a sister whose aspirations towards marriage with you I might have blighted?’
Rampton, stroking her shoulders, looked perplexed. ‘He has no sister.’
‘Well, he certainly made it plain that his attendance here was more in the nature of a visit to the zoo to see what sort of creature I really was than a genuine desire for our society.’ She bit her lip, watching him in the looking-glass, close to tears. ‘I wonder how many others felt the same?’
‘Geoffrey, my friend as you erroneously term him, would not have been invited here at all if I had had anything to do with the guest list.’ Rampton leant down and put his cheek against hers, smiling at her reflection. ‘Rest assured that you were mightily admired tonight. By Geoffrey too, who, I must warn you, is very much in the petticoat line. I do not care for his society but for some reason my mother has had a fondness for him since we were brats together.’
‘Were you not even friends as schoolboys?’
‘Age and proximity were all we had in common.’ Rampton gave a grim laugh. ‘You’ll have heard, no doubt, several sly references to his recent house visit to Colonel and Mrs Huntingdon. They have a son and two daughters, the younger a pretty enough creature, just out of the schoolroom but too giddy, it was thought, to unleash on society this year. In usual fashion it seems Geoffrey played fast and loose with the young girl and she, knowing no better, her head doubtless turned by his pretty compliments, has become in consequence the talk of the town, to her detriment.’
‘You mean he’s compromised her reputation and won’t behave in good part?’
‘My dear, the man is married with an invalid wife. Not that you’d know it from the way he comports himself about the countryside like a gay young blade.’
He drew Rose up to stand beside him and continued, as he led her to the bed, ‘But no, he prefers to brag about his involvement with Miss Huntingdon, suggesting it was she who led him into all sorts of disgraceful scrapes.’
He had Rose trapped against the bed. Leisurely he began to nuzzle her neck while loosening her silk peignoir. Beth had performed her duties and been dismissed for the night.
‘A wife!’ Rose was shocked. She arched against him. ‘He never mentioned her during our conversation and I quizzed him all about his family.’ For once she felt little answering response to Rampton’s obvious desire. All her plans of dazzling the company and gainsaying the gossips who said she’d trapped him into marriage lay in ruins. If Geoffrey, with his obvious penchant for female company, could make her feel this unworthy, how would she fare when confronted with the more virtuous element of her neighbours?
‘Yes, scandalizing, isn’t it?’ Rampton sounded amused. The palm of his hand was now travelling in gentle circular strokes from her shoulder, moving down to her breast. ‘I blame his pea-goose of a mother,’ he went on, conversationally. ‘She dotes on him. Takes his part and always has done, whatever mischief he’s engaged upon.’
Rampton bent to nibble Rose’s earlobe, both hands being now engaged upon their journey of discovery. Normally Rose would have been in thrall. Now all she could think of were Geoffrey’s insults and hurtful insinuations. Rampton had sat across the table and observed the conversation, yet he had no idea just how insulting Geoffrey had been.
Tonight’s dinner with its declined invitations and Geoffrey’s brazen curiosity, and his cruelty in dealing in home truths, made Rose realize how compromised she really was. And how much it affected Rampton’s standing in the community.
‘He’s been horribly indulged by his stepfather, too. His mother was a poor widow and Geoffrey just an infant when she married Albright. She believes her precious Geoffrey was inveigled into marriage. But the girl’s a simpleton. A very comely simpleton, I grant you. Geoffrey was loath to do his duty until forced.’
Rose pulled away
again and closed her eyes. His words scorched her soul. Perhaps Rampton would think her in the throes of ecstasy. But for that moment she could not bear his touch.
She sighed softly. ‘Unlike you were forced to do your duty?’
She felt Rampton draw back in surprise. His expression was quizzical. And uncertain. He must have felt her reserve.
‘My duty?’ he began. His hands dropped from her shoulders and he took a step backwards. ‘My duty, my dear?’ he repeated, his head cocked on one side. ‘Do you consider this a duty?’
Shaking her head, she exhaled on a sob. ‘Of course not. But please, Rampton, I’ve very tired tonight…’
She knew she should say more. Rampton had been so understanding and used every opportunity to reassure her that her place in his heart was secure. Good lord, it was more than a bride who’d married for love could have expected.
Married for love? As she lay in bed, alone, that night the phrase kept returning, until she finally acknowledged the truth of them.
Love was the basis for her union for Rampton, not deceit, and she was only harming herself and what they had if she kept harking back to it.
She shivered beneath the counterpane of her large, empty four-poster in the private apartments she’d been assigned. How foolish of her to have elected to ‘give him his privacy’, thinking space apart would be good for them, and how much she wanted to go to him.
But she didn’t think she’d know how to find his quarters in the dark.
Berating herself for thinking no further than her foolish insecurities she tossed and turned until daylight when she would have sought him out immediately had sleep not finally claimed her.
Chapter Eleven
ROSE’S GUILT COMPOUNDED her unhappiness when she found that her husband had left on an unscheduled trip at dawn the following morning.
‘A man needs his freedom,’ her mother-in-law said, looking up from her tatting. Rose had seen the malicious gleam in her eye as she informed her that Rampton had ridden to town and she had no idea when he might be back.
‘It must be at least four hours on horseback. Perhaps longer. He must mean to spend the night. And you only just married. Still, it cannot be said he has not done his duty by you when all’s said and done.’
Duty. That is what Rampton had talked of last night, before he had kissed her cheek and left her. She had clung to him for a moment. She wanted to rest her cheek against his chest and cry her heart out; she wanted him to reassure her – again, in view of Geoffrey’s unkindness — that he had married her not out of duty but plain desire. She had been too self-absorbed to see that he had wanted the same reassurance. And now he was gone, before she could tell him so.
***
A gentleman’s club was a refuge from domesticity, a sanctuary for beleaguered husbands. But not when every second member wanted to talk to one about one’s wife.
Not that Rampton had left Larchfield strictly on account of Rose. Since he was not revelling in his wife’s warm embrace that morning he had decided on his usual dawn ride. It was only as he was dressing that the remembering of a neglected piece of business had prompted him into changing his plans and making a day trip to London.
It had been a piece of perversity not to slide into bed beside Rose and inform her, he knew. The truth was that he was chagrined. Last night Rose had clearly not desired him.
It had been less than two weeks since they had wed and they had shared a bed every night. He had thought his desire would run its course, but its trajectory was ever upward. He grimaced. He could feel a certain piece of his anatomy taking the same course at the mere thought of her.
But last night Rose insinuated that duty lay at the heart of their marriage, just as it did every marriage. At least, that was how he had taken it when she had not run after him, begging to explain a misunderstanding. No, she had insinuated that having been compromised she, like he, had had to pay the price by making their union legally binding.
Well, that was how his touchy male pride had taken it before common sense had told him he was being a fool; that last night he had wanted to feel himself the object of Rose’s slavish devotion to the same degree as he had on every night since they had wed.
Catherine Barbery, his most longstanding mistress, had once declared that it was impossible to desire one’s husband. ‘Desire implies excitement, and who can be excited at the prospect of duty?’ she had asked.
Catherine had been twenty-seven to his twenty years when he’d met her. Married to the wealthy banker, Claude Barbery for ten years at the time, she was famous for her fiery and often indiscreet amours. Within five years she had provided her elderly husband with three sons and had then embarked upon a life of self-gratification, unchallenged by Barbery who was content to spend much of his time with his own mistress of thirty years.
Rampton had been just a callow, untried youth just down from Cambridge when Catherine had first cast her lures.
This bold, adventurous and unconventional woman had proved a voracious lover and had shaped his ideas on love. She had been the one to end his first romance, introducing him to her bosom friend. ‘A year is a long time and you are only twenty-one, my love. We’ve taught one another as much as we can. The excitement has lost its lustre and now it’s time to move on.’ Then she added, with great prescience, ‘I think you will like Annabelle.’
But Rampton’s association with Catherine did not end there. They remained friends and the romance had been rekindled the previous year.
Then Rampton had met Rose.
Catherine had not been happy. ‘I could be reconciled if your marriage were contracted on dynastic or pecuniary grounds but it revolts me to see this foisted upon you as an obligation,’ she had flared.
‘Honour, not duty, my dear.’ He had tried to not to be riled.
‘Same thing. The girl should have known better but if she is enceinte then I know a very discreet gentleman just off Harley Street who’ll take care of her. Neither of you should be forced into a marriage you’d never have contracted willingly.’
Rampton replied with spirit, ‘I married a virgin … on the novel grounds of love.’
Having Rose cleave to him, and knowing that they were bound until death was immensely satisfying.
Yes, satisfying. She made him feel whole.
Last night he’d wanted her to tell him she felt the same. He’d ceased his amatory explorations, held her away from him and bluntly asked her if she considered this a duty.
He’d laid the groundwork; all she needed to do was deny it and sink, boneless into his very responsive arms. Instead she had been unable to meet his eye. He almost expected her to say she had a megrim.
When he had indicated that he was going to bed she had clung to him, and tears had glistened in her eyes. But then she had released him and turned away.
He was confused. She had seemed so happy earlier. With marriage. With him.
Was she tired of him already? Had she only ever pretended to enjoy it?
A nagging doubt entered his brain then, and like a grain of sand nestling into his grey matter, began to agitate.
Rose had been actively resistant to the idea of marrying him, initially. He had almost bullied her into accepting.
Restlessly, Rampton turned the page of the periodical on the table before him. No, he decided, with a surge of almost self righteous pleasure, he had married a good woman whose only crime was taking on her sister-in-law’s identity in order to help her family. She’d certainly not set out to entrap.
But she’d come to love him. She might have entered into a charade to repay a debt but she could not fool him that she did not love him. No woman could smile at him as if he radiated all that could be pleasing to her. No woman who was merely play-acting could drive him to such exalted frenzies of lustful pleasure and then make it plain she’d be quite happy to repeat the exercise five minutes later.
It was only after last night’s dinner that she had behaved differently. And for the very first time.
>
Which was when Rampton had abandoned her.
Turning another page of the periodical in front of him, realising he hadn’t taken in a word, Rampton felt a real cad. Just when Rose needed reassuring over her role as his wife and hostess he had disappeared. That blackguard, Geoffrey, playing on her vulnerabilities, probably to spite Rampton, was largely to blame for her downcast spirits but Rampton had been too absorbed in himself that he’d been unable to see what was right in front of his nose.
At this point Rampton’s thoughts were interrupted by a heavy-set elderly gentleman stumbling against his chair.
As he stopped to apologize Rampton could not but be struck by his deeply tanned complexion. He was about to murmur that it was quite all right when the gentleman, obviously recognizing him, declared, ‘It’s Rampton, ain’t I right? Lucky man who’s just married the incomparable Miss Chesterfield. I’d not the nerve to approach you directly when you were pointed out to me before, but since I’ve literally stumbled upon you …’
He held out his hand, white teeth brilliant, like his snowy hair, a dazzling contrast with his leathery complexion.
‘Sir Hector Stokes,’ he introduced himself. ‘Knew your wife back in the West Indies. Known her since she was born, in fact, and, what’s more, had the dubious honour of being declined by her nigh on five years ago.’ He chuckled. ‘Thought that’d surprise ye. Yessir, I’d like to think she was in good, safe hands now. Couldn’t be worse off than with that brother of hers whom she all but wet-nursed, and got little thanks for it. So … married last week, I hear.’ He shook his head. ‘And me only off the boat on Tuesday. Not that she’d have had me for all the fancy palaces I could have bought her, if she’d have let me. Ay, when I hear she set her cap at you it makes my blood fair boil. My Rose never set her cap at anyone. If ever there was a goddess of virtue, ’twas Miss Chesterfield.’
Rampton, as much astonished by the revelation of this character’s identity as by his speech, was about to invite him to sit when they were accosted by Charles.
A Little Deception Page 15