by Dorothy Mack
“He went after Bijou,” said Dominic. “Do you think you can sit up now, Adrienne? There are no bones broken, but if anything hurts when I lift you, sing out.”
Dominic was kneeling at her side. He slipped an arm under her shoulders and bent toward her. As she came up off the ground, there was a second when his face was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. His mouth was only a fraction from hers. A gasp escaped Adrienne’s lips and pure horror stared out of her eyes.
“Are you in pain?” demanded Dominic, halting his movement.
She closed her eyes and shook her head numbly, her lips pressed tightly together.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
After that, everything went well. Adrienne sat up, and when her cousin was convinced that she was not feeling giddy, she was assisted to her feet. She accepted her hat, slightly dented from its contact with the ground, from Lady Tremayne with a brief murmur of thanks, and spent the few seconds before Luc came up with Bijou in tow brushing the dirt from her skirts. The men were discussing how to convey her home, but her attention was directed on the purposeful movements of her hands. When the mention of a carriage reached her ears, she looked up finally, her face composed.
“I am perfectly capable of riding home.”
“You’ve had a shaking-up,” Dominic began.
“True, but I am unhurt, everything works, and I have always understood that one should get right back on after a spill.”
“That’s the dandy, Adrienne,” approved Luc. “Everyone takes a tumble now and then.”
Dominic’s eyes roamed assessingly over her calm face. “Very well, I’ll take you home.”
“No, Dominic!” She forced a laugh to cover the urgency that had rung out. “Major Peters and Luc are quite sufficient as an escort, and you must see Lady Tremayne home.”
He bowed, accepting her decision. Major Peters lifted her into the saddle as if she were made of glass. The earl helped his fiancée to mount the grey, and the party rode back toward the lime trees that lined the avenue, scattering the few onlookers who had collected after the accident.
Except that she initiated no conversation on the return trip, Adrienne seemed fully recovered from her fall, sitting her horse easily and managing the ride with almost automatic competence. The rest of the party conversed in spurts, all in the most amicable fashion possible, until the earl and Lady Tremayne parted from the others.
Lord Creighton fell silent when they were alone, and when his fiancée glanced his way a few minutes later, he wore a look of frowning abstraction as he stared straight ahead. Her tinkling laugh broke the silence.
“Little did I guess when I allowed you to drag me to that excessively boring review what an eventful afternoon it would turn out to be.”
“You certainly contributed your bit to the excitement,” replied Lord Creighton, his eyes still focused in front of him.
“I did? Whatever can you mean, darling? I was the veriest supernumerary this afternoon. It was all a Castle show.”
At this blithe comment, the earl trained a grave, searching look on his betrothed’s beautiful face. “Is that why you did it, because for once you were not the centre of attention?”
“Did what? Really, my dear Dominic, you are not making any sense.”
The earl made a weary gesture with his free hand. “I know that you caused that accident just now,” he replied with quiet conviction. “What I don’t know is why you —”
“How dare you, Dominic!” Two spots of colour flared in Lady Tremayne’s cheeks and her eyes flashed with fury. She looked magnificent in her rage, he thought with detachment.
“I saw you spur the grey. He didn’t start lunging about on his own. While you were pretending to try to bring him under control, you angled him close to Bijou, and it worked. The grey kicked the mare and set her off. Bijou is a beautifully mannered horse. She would never bolt for no reason. Don’t think to deny it.”
“Of course I deny it!” hissed Lady Tremayne through clenched teeth. “Gray Ghost may have kicked the mare, but you have no right to say I intended it so, and I very much resent it! It was an accident, pure and simple!”
“It was neither pure, simple, nor accidental. Oh, I’m not accusing you of wishing to seriously injure Adrienne, but you did hope to show up her lack of equestrian skill by creating an emergency situation. Why?” As Lady Tremayne shook her head adamantly, he went on as if musing to himself.
“I have been aware, of course, that you and Adrienne have not become friends as I had hoped, but there is no reason for such dislike. My poor little cousin is not an adversary worthy of your attention, Pamela. You’ve never had cause to doubt my affection, nor do you care enough to be roused to jealousy on my account. The fact that we never spend any time alone together and that I cannot command more of your attention in public than any one of a dozen of your favourite admirers is testimony to that. So why do you go out of your way to embarrass Adrienne?”
They had slowed their pace almost to a crawl during this last observation, but now Lady Tremayne, her eyes glittering with anger, pulled her horse up short and faced her fiancé with heaving bosom and pinched nostrils. “I do not intend to waste my time denying your insulting accusations, nor do I intend to stay and listen to any more of these ridiculous ramblings.” With that she kicked the big grey and rode swiftly down the street, leaving the earl to follow at his own speed.
As they had dispensed with the services of a groom that afternoon, Lady Tremayne’s parting gesture lost some of its dramatic impact, since she was obliged to wait until her fiancé drew up in front of the house to collect her horse. She had dismounted unaided and was pacing in a tight little circle when the earl arrived. That the intervening moments had not had a calming effect on her temper was apparent as she thrust the grey’s reins into his hands and glared up into his impassive countenance.
“You claim your ‘poor little cousin’ is no threat to me? Well, ask yourself this, Dominic. Would you have devoted all those hours to teaching your cousin to ride had she been plain, or muffin-faced, or possessed of a squint?” As his lips parted, she laughed harshly.
“Do not trouble to reply. I already know the answer.” A challenging look, a whirl of skirts, and she disappeared into the house.
CHAPTER 15
At the same time that Lord Creighton and Lady Tremayne were embroiled in their acrimonious confrontation on horseback, the unwitting author of their troubles was engaged in an activity with which she was previously unacquainted — the art of dissimulation. Evidently this initial attempt was successful, for neither Luc nor Major Peters found anything in her pleasant though subdued manner that could not be attributed to her recent fall and the aftereffects of shock.
Major Peters made his adieux at the front door while Luc rode around to the stables with the horses. A little sigh of relief escaped Adrienne as she entered the house, but her ordeal was by no means over; she still had to face Becky, who knew her better than anyone else in the world. She squared her shoulders and took a calming breath. It was absolutely vital that she be convincing in the role of a girl without a care in the world, and one, moreover, who had just had the signal honour of meeting and being complimented by the Duke of Wellington. She wondered fleetingly if actresses experienced this strange fluttering feeling in the pit of the stomach before an important performance, and concluded, with a wry twist to her lips, that they very likely did if the audience was as exacting as hers was going to prove. She pinned a bright smile on her lips and burst through the door to the small saloon, entirely determined to accomplish her objective.
A half-hour later, slumped in a chair in her bedchamber, her hands limp in her lap, she acknowledged the minor comfort of having succeeded in pulling the wool over her best friend’s eyes. It hadn’t been easy; her expurgated account of this afternoon’s events had omitted any reference to her tumble, and there had been one bad moment when she had felt the dreaded heat invade her cheeks at Becky’s sharp look when
she had mentioned Lady Tremayne’s presence at the review. Blushing was such a cursed handicap! She had quickly introduced the person of the field marshal at that juncture, and her genuine delight in that part of the day’s happenings had coloured the rest of her tale.
So, mission accomplished, she thought drearily, rising from the chair and heading toward the washstand, unfastening her habit as she went. She tossed the coat in the general direction of the bed and proceeded to bathe her face in the cool water with meticulous care. At last she could avoid the truth no longer. Patting her cheeks dry with the linen towel, she peered fearfully into the mirror and saw in her shadowed eyes the pain she had been attempting to deny since that terrible moment on the banks of the canal when she had realized that she was in love with Dominic. The knowledge had hit her like a coup de foudre as he had bent over to help her to her feet. His mouth had been a hairbreadth from her own for an instant, and the distance had been too great! She’d experienced an aching desire to know the touch of his lips on hers, a feeling that had horrified her as soon as she identified it, and left her gasping with shock and self-recrimination until her brain began to function again with the necessity for concealment. Dominic had attributed her reaction to pain. She could only pray that Lady Tremayne had not been in a position to see her face at that moment.
She closed her eyes briefly and turned away from the mirror to begin an aimless wandering about the room. Thus far her guilty secret was safe, but the prospect of maintaining an eternal vigilance over her expression and her tongue was truly appalling to one of her open disposition. Heavens, here she was less than two hours after making the discovery that her feelings for Dominic were anything but cousinly, and she was as drained and weary as during the worst days of Jean-Paul’s illness, perhaps more so because then she had been fighting with all her strength. This situation was and must remain hopeless. Her energies would be expended in the essential but unrewarding chore of maintaining a decent silence and denying her heart the relief of expressing her love. No, that wasn’t exactly true. She could best express her love by ensuring that Dominic was spared the embarrassment and distress that the discovery of it would mean for him.
She turned away from the dressing table where she had been idly fingering the brushes on top, reluctant to carry her line of thinking to its logical conclusion. Her fingers crept up to massage her throbbing temples as she plodded over to sink down on the edge of the bed and confront the stark reality. They would have to leave here immediately — strange how the fact of their ultimate departure had gotten lost in the excitement of their lives since arriving at Rue Ducale. Jean-Paul had been gaining steadily these past weeks. She must put a flea in Becky’s ear and trust the older woman to approach Dominic. Until they could arrange their travel plans, she must simply avoid her cousin as much as possible.
Which meant giving up their morning ride. She clenched her fists against the protest of her heart and sat staring forlornly at one of the bedposts. How had matters come to such a pass? she wondered in honest bewilderment. The entrance of Dominic into their lives at such a low point had seemed providential. It had been so delightful having a relative who enjoyed their company and was pleased to make himself responsible for them. She absently traced the pattern of carving on the bedpost. This dependence on others was insidious and weakening. She had grasped that intuitively from the beginning, but somehow amid the pleasures of the past few weeks she had lost sight of her native caution. There was no one to blame but herself. Dominic had treated her in the same kind, brotherly fashion as he had Luc and Jean-Paul. His affection for his young relatives was quite genuine, and it could have been hers forever if she had not been so stupid as to fall in love with him. But who could have failed to love him, the kindness of his heart and the sweetness of his temper, not to mention the endearing smile that started in his eyes and warmed and attracted one even against one’s will?
Small even teeth sank into her bottom lip as she expelled a ragged breath. At least today’s revelation had solved one small mystery — her instinctive dislike of Lady Tremayne, which had caused her some pangs of guilt in the past. It was pure jealousy, of course. Not very admirable, admittedly, but understandable enough in the circumstances. Adrienne’s delicately pointed chin firmed, then quivered as her eyes filled with scalding tears. Lady Tremayne wasn’t good enough for Dominic! That sense of superiority over the ordinary run of females that she did not trouble to conceal, and the tenaciously held assumption that her beauty entitled her to the attention of every gentleman who took her eye, were characteristics unlikely to endear her to the majority of her own sex. Apart from the unrestrained exercise of a talent for exciting envy and dislike in other female bosoms, she was vain and selfish and delighted in flaunting the power her beauty gave her over all men. Adrienne was utterly convinced that she did not really love her fiancé.
But Dominic loved her! Into Adrienne’s mind flashed a picture of her cousin and Lady Tremayne locked in a passionate embrace in the study as she had seen them together on that first occasion. Though she had been barely acquainted with Dominic at the time, something inside her had ached and protested against the reality her eyes had witnessed. Her own love for Dominic must have been growing even then. Her cup overflowing with misery, the slight figure on the bed crumpled and gave way to the tears that had been threatening since the accident. She wept until, for the moment, she was drained of all emotion. Her mind felt depleted too, but she didn’t shirk the decision. At the first opportunity, she must begin the process of detaching her family from Rue Ducale and Brussels, and in the meantime it was imperative, for Dominic’s sake, that she keep herself at a distance. She would send a message to him tomorrow cancelling their morning ride. The bruise coming out on her hip would provide a plausible excuse.
Adrienne wasn’t the only female intimately connected with Lord Creighton who was doing some painful soul-searching that afternoon. A glittering-eyed, tight-lipped Lady Tremayne had stormed into her apartment after the quarrel with her betrothed. If there was room for any other emotion than pure rage in her seething consciousness, it could only be a passing sense of relief at having attained the privacy of her boudoir without encountering her watchful brother. Like Adrienne, she spent some time pacing about, though in her case it would be more accurate to describe her movements as striding, or even stalking. That Dominic had persisted in accusing her of arranging his cousin’s accident in the face of repeated denials had badly shaken her confidence. Anger that he had not accepted her explanation, at least for form’s sake, rapidly followed shock. It mattered little that she had in fact caused Gray Ghost to leap about, hoping some discomfort might result for his precious Adrienne. Dominic was her intended husband and he owed her his first loyalty. No more than most people did Lady Tremayne relish being put in the wrong.
It afforded her some slight satisfaction to recall that Dominic hadn’t had it all his own way. She had given him something to think about at the end of that trying scene. When he came up to collect Gray Ghost, he had been wearing that polite calm look that never failed to irritate her, the mask he habitually donned to hide his reactions. For once she had managed to penetrate that facade. She had been too angry to wish to hear one more word from him at that point, but her last glimpse before she entered the house had revealed a man dazed enough to have just been struck by lightning. Or a verbal thunderbolt at least, she amended, her mood veering from anger to sardonic humour.
Lady Tremayne had rung for her maid on first entering the room, and now she drifted over to stare at herself in the mirror while she waited. Fury had lent her complexion heightened colour and her eyes added sparkle, she noted as she surveyed her smoothly coiffed head and the severely tailored black habit that suited her fine figure so admirably. She might as well have been wearing rags for all the effect her appearance had had on Dominic just now. His eyes had held all the warmth of blue ice as he had raked her over the coals in defence of his insipid little cousin. Her own eyes narrowed and her mouth thinned as sh
e ripped off the masculine-styled stock about her throat just as her maid entered the room upon a soft knock.
“It took you long enough to get here. I suppose you’ve been trysting with some tradesman or underservant in the neighbourhood the minute I turn my back.”
“I beg your pardon, my lady. I was below stairs ironing the dress you said you planned to wear tonight. I thought it better to take a minute to finish than to leave it where an accident might occur.” The maid had been hanging the dress in the wardrobe as she spoke. Her words were more polite than the tones in which they were spoken, and her mouth firmed in disapproval as her eye took in the trail of belongings on the floor.
“Never mind that now; I have changed my mind. Get out my yellow silk. And I shall want the Norwich silk shawl ironed too. You can do that while I bathe. Meanwhile, help me out of these wretched boots.”
The maid had been warned by Sir Ralph’s man that “her ladyship was in a rare taking” when he had passed her in the hall, but she could have assessed her mistress’s mood by the scattered pattern of whip, gloves, and black-plumed hat on the carpet. She kept her eyes lowered protectively as she deposited these items on the bed before hurrying over to remove Lady Tremayne’s riding boots. It was going to be one of those sessions when it was impossible to please her ladyship. She set her teeth and prepared to endure an hour of constant carping. It would not be for much longer now, she consoled herself. She had been making discreet inquiries of other dressers to learn if they knew of any lady of quality who might be in need of the services of an experienced lady’s maid, one especially skilled in hair design. She did not mean to be turned off without a character before she secured another position.
Lady Tremayne, unaware and equally uncaring of the thoughts going around in her maid’s head, succeeded in confounding that damsel’s predictions by accepting her services with a minimum of criticism that evening. As her temper cooled, she had become increasingly thoughtful and, for one of her monumental vanity, seemed almost unconcerned about her appearance, acceding to every suggestion put forth by her dresser, a previously unimaginable situation. She dismissed the woman with a wave of her hand at the earliest possible moment, though she made no movement away from the dressing table, where she was inserting long topaz earrings with an abstracted air.