The Chaperon's Seduction

by Sarah Mallory

  He said with feigned carelessness, ‘It gives one a certain...standing, don’t you know, to have a murderer for a brother. I attracted all the choicest spirits at Oxford, most of ’em older, all of them ripe for mischief. I did not last a year before they kicked me out.’

  ‘Why, what did you do?’ The question was voiced before she could prevent it.

  ‘Gambling, drinking. Women. Then I moved on to London, where I found even more of the same pleasures to be enjoyed.’ His mouth twisted. ‘After all, I had to maintain the family reputation. Although I stopped short of murder.’

  Her heart went out to him.

  ‘I do not believe the Arrandales are as black as they are painted. As for your brother—it was a long time ago but I know the whispers, the rumours, continue.’ She tried to smile. ‘They are probably much worse than what actually happened.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Would you like to tell me?’

  She spoke the words softly and wondered if he had heard them for he ignored her, idly swiping at a thistle with his riding crop. Phyllida waited and eventually her patient silence was rewarded.

  ‘I am no better informed than you about how my sister-in-law died. I was spending that winter with my great-aunt at Shrewton and my parents decided it would be best if I remained in ignorance of what had happened. Of course that state of affairs could not last, Sophia’s acquaintances soon informed her of the situation and she took me back to Arrandale but by then it was too late. Florence, my sister-in-law, had been dead three months and my brother was gone.’

  He turned and began to stroll on. She fell in beside him.

  ‘How did she die?’

  ‘Fell down the stairs. Florence was pregnant at the time and the fall brought on the birth. The child survived but Florence died that night. Everyone thought Wolf had killed her. Oh, the death was recorded as an accident, my father saw to that. After all he’d had plenty of practice covering up his own transgressions.’ His lip curled. ‘I come from a family of wrongdoers, Lady Phyllida. My family history is littered with murder, abduction and thievery, the stories of Farleigh Castle pale in comparison. Wolf was merely following the family tradition.’

  She shook her head, but did not contradict him, merely asked what had happened to his brother.

  ‘My father sent Wolf abroad immediately after the tragedy. Then Florence’s parents demanded the return of a diamond necklace. It was a family treasure, apparently, to be passed to the heir, in this case Florence’s twin, but she had borrowed it for her wedding and had kept it to wear on grand occasions. Only it wasn’t there. It would seem that Wolf took it to pay his way abroad.’

  ‘And do you believe that?’

  His scornful glance scorched her.

  ‘Does it matter what I believe? My father refused to talk of it. I was sent back to Shrewton Lodge with a tutor to finish my schooling, then I was packed off to Oxford and by the following spring my parents were dead. Officially it was scarlet fever, there had been a particularly bad outbreak at Arrandale, but I think it was more likely the shame of it all that overcame them, at least for my mother.’

  ‘Or the heartbreak,’ she murmured sadly, thinking of how the tragedy must have ripped apart the family. ‘What happened to the baby?’

  ‘It was a girl. When my parents died she was sent to live with a distant cousin, the Earl of Davenport.’ A wry smile broke through for a moment. ‘Another Arrandale, but James is as sober as the rest of us are dissolute and he was thought the best guardian for the girl. He has a daughter of the same age, so it was deemed the best thing to do with the child.’

  ‘And Wolfgang? Where is your brother now?’

  He spread his hands. ‘We never heard from him again. I made enquiries, hired men to search for him, sent letters.’ A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘It may be that he did not want to be found. Or he may well have been drowned on the crossing to France, there were some exceptionally vicious storms that winter.’

  ‘How sad, that he never had a chance to explain himself.’

  Richard stopped.

  ‘I desperately want him to be innocent,’ he burst out. ‘Wolf is seven years my senior and I always looked up to him. Oh, I know he was hot tempered and rash, but he was never unkind, not intentionally. And I really cannot believe—’

  He broke off. Phyllida saw the muscle working in his cheek. He was wrestling with profound grief and she wanted only to comfort him.

  ‘You really should believe he is innocent, Mr Arrandale, until it is proven otherwise.’

  He did not answer. He did not appear to have heard her but remained staring at nothing, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Unhappiness wrapped about him like a cloak and there was nothing she could do to relieve it. A small cloud momentarily blocked out the sun and Phyllida shivered. The faint movement recalled his wandering attention. He was once again his usual, urbane self.

  ‘You have not yet seen the chapel, Lady Phyllida. Perhaps we should go back there now, if you have seen enough?’

  He extended his arm.

  ‘Yes, please.’ She slipped her hand on to his sleeve. ‘These broken walls have lost their charm for me.’

  * * *

  As they made their way back across the ruins she noted that Lord and Lady Wakefield were still sitting on their stone seat. Ellen, Penelope and the two younger Wakefields were exploring what was left of the gatehouse. She eased her conscience with the thought that she was keeping Richard Arrandale away from Ellen. Wasn’t she?

  * * *

  The little chapel was built within the curtain wall of the castle and had been restored sufficiently for visitors to go inside. Richard stood back for Phyllida to pass before him into the narrow building. Odd that he had told her about Wolf. He had never said as much to anyone before. After all, what was the point? Everyone believed Wolf was guilty, he was just another in the long line of scandalous Arrandales. So why had he spoken so freely to Phyllida? Was it because she had seemed genuinely interested, prepared to think something other than the worst of an Arrandale?

  Richard followed her into the centre of the chapel. Her soft boots made no sound on the stone flags, her skirts floated out as she moved, a silent figure in pale grey. She looked so ethereal that he could not help himself. He reached out and touched her shoulder. She turned and he found himself subjected to her enquiring gaze.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘I needed to reassure myself that you were real.’

  ‘Of course I am real.’ Her mouth curved into a smile. ‘Did you think me a ghost?’

  ‘No, an angel.’

  An angel sent to redeem him.

  She was surprised into a laugh. The warm, delicious sound echoed around them, breaking the sepulchral calm of the stone building. Quickly she put a hand over her mouth but her eyes still gleamed with merriment, green as emeralds. His blood quickened. She no longer looked ethereal, she was a living, breathing woman and he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her.

  He was aware of the change immediately and he knew she had read his thoughts. Her eyes were no longer alight with laughter but something else, an instinctive response to him. He felt the connection, the sizzle of excitement that held them immobile. They were less than an arm’s length apart, beneath her mannish jacket and white shirt her breast rose and fell as she took a deep, ragged breath. When she lowered her hand he reached for it, felt the quiver of excitement as their fingers touched, not in the least dulled by the soft kid of their gloves. They were caught in a bubble that tightened around them, moving them slowly but inexorably together.

  The air shimmered with anticipation. He saw the tip of her tongue flicker nervously over her lips, as if she knew that they would kiss, that it was inevitable and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Looking into her eyes, he saw a shy smile there and he knew with startling clarity that s
he did not wish to prevent it. He was holding her hand, drawing her closer. They were breast to breast, he had only to lower his head now for the sweetness of a first kiss from those full, inviting lips.

  * * *

  Laughter, the chatter of familiar voices intruded upon the silence, breaking the spell. Phyllida jumped back, shaken. She felt very much as she did when she dreamed of falling and awoke with a start. What was she doing, standing so close to this man, wanting him to kiss her? She forced herself to turn away, to face the door where the Wakefields now appeared, the others crowding in behind them. Thankfully they all stopped in the doorway, blinking as their eyes grew accustomed to the dim light and that gave her the opportunity to recover herself and school her face into a semblance of calm.

  ‘Why, Lady Phyllida, you are here before us. We thought you were still wandering through the ruins.’

  She forced herself to acknowledge Lady Wakefield’s cheerful greeting, to smile and make a suitable reply. The moment was gone, the small chapel was now full of people and noise. Phyllida linked her arm with Ellen’s and accompanied her around the small church, admiring the ancient tomb and the arched window with its elegant tracery. She did not look back at Richard. She could hear his voice, cool and steady with just a hint of amusement, but in her mind’s eye she recalled his face when they had stood alone in the chapel. The blaze of passion that had set her heart racing and then something quite different when they were interrupted. The look of shock, of horror, at what had almost occurred.

  * * *

  They did not tarry in the chapel and soon the party made its way back to the stables to collect the horses. Henry Fullingham was waiting for them, sitting on a mounting block and chatting with Parfett and Lady Wakefield’s groom. Phyllida blinked. She had not even noticed he was not with the others. To be honest she had noticed very little since that moment alone with Richard in the chapel. She heard Lady Wakefield murmur to her husband as they followed Phyllida into the stable yard.

  ‘If you were to ask me, Mr Fullingham is not at all interested in the romantic ruins.’

  ‘I quite agree, my dear,’ chuckled Lord Wakefield. ‘He lounged off in a sulk when it was clear the girls preferred Adrian’s ghoulish tales to his flirting. And look now, if he was hoping to help any young lady on to her horse he is foiled again, for the grooms are there before him!’

  Lady Wakefield turned to Phyllida, saying as they watched the younger ones mounting up, ‘Well, ma’am, are you glad you came?’

  ‘I have enjoyed it very much, ma’am. I am grateful to you for arranging it.’

  ‘Thanks, too, should go to Lady Hune for her introduction,’ put in Lord Wakefield. ‘Without it I doubt our reception would have been quite so hospitable. The refreshments were truly exceptional. Pray, Mr Arrandale, tell Lady Hune we are obliged to her, when you get back to Royal Crescent.’

  Phyllida had been lost in her own thoughts and had not realised Richard was so close. He had filled her thoughts and now the unexpected sight of him at her shoulder caught her unawares. The erratic beat of her heart disturbed her breathing. She was obliged to concentrate very hard to prevent herself from simpering and blushing like a schoolgirl when he asked if he might help her into the saddle.

  She accepted in as dignified a manner as she could manage, trying not to think how strong he must be to throw her up so effortlessly. She forced herself to appear calm and unruffled while he checked the girth and adjusted her stirrup but her nerves were still on edge. She could not prevent her thoughts from racing ahead. What if he helped her down when they reached Charles Street? She would slide into his arms. They would envelop her, of course, and hold her close while he smiled down at her. His eyes would be gleaming with tender amusement and that would draw from her an answering smile before he bent his head and...and...

  ‘We must behave ourselves on the return journey, Lady Phyllida.’

  Richard’s quiet words made her jump guiltily. He was standing beside Sultan, one hand resting on the gelding’s neck and only inches from her knee. She looked down at him, dazed, and saw just such laughter in his eyes as she had imagined. It stirred something deep inside her, something that disturbed and excited her in equal measure.

  From across the yard Ellen called out with mock severity, ‘Indeed you must, Stepmama. Such a bad example you would be setting us!’

  Phyllida was at a loss to answer her. She knew Ellen was referring to the madcap race across the turf, but she was aware that in the chapel she had come perilously close to being discovered locked in an embrace with Richard Arrandale. The look of smiling understanding in that gentleman’s eyes compounded her confusion. There was such warmth, such friendship in his glance that she could not resist smiling back at him, but as they set off on the long ride back she regained command of her senses and forced herself to face the depressing reality of the situation. Richard Arrandale had no interest in her, he was merely trying to put her at her ease in order to advance his pursuit of Ellen.

  Chapter Six

  The afternoon was well advanced by the time they rode into Bath and the party broke up in Laura Place.

  ‘What a delightful day,’ exclaimed Ellen. ‘Thank you so much for inviting me, Lady Wakefield.’

  ‘It was a pleasure to have you with us, my dear.’ Lady Wakefield’s smile encompassed everyone. ‘I think we all enjoyed it.’

  ‘Well, Lady Phyllida?’ Richard brought his horse alongside Sultan. ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’

  She had had time to regain her composure and now answered cautiously, ‘The castle was well worth seeing.’

  ‘But originally you did not intend joining the party. Why did you change your mind?’

  ‘Does there have to be a reason?’ she parried lightly.

  ‘Well, I am very glad you did come,’ he said. ‘I have enjoyed renewing our acquaintance, my lady.’

  Her brows went up.

  ‘Trying to turn me up sweet, Mr Arrandale?’

  He grinned. ‘Could I do so?’

  ‘Never.’ She was in control of herself now, and felt confident enough to add, ‘I am no longer a shy ingénue, sir, to be impressed by your blandishments.’

  She inclined her head, dismissing him, and walked Sultan across to where Ellen was taking her leave of Julia and her family. A brief word with Lady Wakefield and she drew her stepdaughter away, saying it was time they went home.

  ‘Oh,’ said Ellen. ‘Perhaps Mr Arrandale and Mr Fullingham would like to—’

  ‘No, I think not. We have imposed upon them quite long enough today. Good day, gentlemen.’ Phyllida’s voice was firm, she would brook no argument.

  Richard touched his hat as they rode past him and once he had taken his leave of the Wakefields he was left with only Henry Fullingham for company. They turned their horses and made their way together towards Pulteney Bridge. Fullingham chuckled.

  ‘Well, I am indebted to you today, Arrandale. In trying to ingratiate yourself with the mother you left the field clear for me to cut you out with the heiress.’

  ‘Perhaps that was my intention,’ drawled Richard. ‘I knew she would soon grow weary of your inane chatter.’

  ‘Not a bit of it. Miss Tatham was as friendly as can be.’

  ‘Not when we were at the castle,’ Richard pointed out.

  Fullingham scowled at him.

  ‘Not then, perhaps, but on the ride there and back she was clearly delighted with my company. Urmston’s right, she is a ripe plum, ready for plucking.’

  ‘Do not be too sure. There is a sharp intelligence behind Miss Tatham’s pretty face. She’ll not easily fall for your charms, Fullingham.’

  ‘Pho, Arrandale, that is sour grapes.’ He laughed. ‘Admit it, man, you have caught cold on this one. The widow has your measure. She’ll be spending her time keeping you away from her precious daughter and won’t
spare a thought for the rest of us!’

  They had reached the junction and Fullingham went on his way, still laughing. Richard rode slowly to the stables behind Royal Crescent. He couldn’t help thinking that the fellow was right, Phyllida might well be blind to the danger posed by the other men. She might even welcome their attentions towards Ellen, even those of Sir Charles Urmston. There was no doubt the fellow could be very charming, but underneath he was a villain. Richard’s mouth tightened. He meant to win this wager. When it came to women he had never yet lost out to a rival, and he had no intention of starting now.

  And what of Phyllida?

  Richard’s hand tightened on the reins. That incident in the chapel should never have happened. He had felt curiously lightheaded, probably from the wine they had been served at the house. It could certainly not have been anything else; he was not one to lose his head over any woman, especially one who was only tolerably pretty.

  Although she did have particularly fine eyes.

  And her smile. When she smiled she illuminated a whole room—

  No! His only interest in Lady Phyllida was as Ellen Tatham’s guardian and as a friend of his great-aunt. If she were to confide her worries to the dowager that would make life difficult. Not impossible, but he should not like to fall out with Sophia. A bitter, humourless smile twisted his mouth. Phyllida had told him she did not believe the Arrandales were really so scandalous. This little adventure would show her how wrong she was.

  * * *

  For the next few days he concentrated upon fixing his interest with Miss Tatham. He paid morning calls in Charles Street, and when Ellen hinted they were going shopping he tarried in Milsom Street until they arrived, or he sought them out at the Pump Room and curtailed his own visit to walk them home. Lady Phyllida was cool, even a little reserved, but not overtly hostile and when Ellen informed him innocently that she and Lady Phyllida would be taking a stroll in Sydney Gardens with Julia Wakefield the following morning he made sure he was there, just in case he needed to head off any of his rivals.