Rumors That Ruined a Lady

by Marguerite Kaye

  The vista revealed was of the manicured formal gardens at the rear of the Hall. The window, one of three set into the same wall, gave out onto a small balcony. Dust motes danced in the sunlight. There was a smell of mothballs, what Celia amusingly used to call stour—a term she had learned from their Scottish kitchen maid—and also the faint scent of dried flowers which Caro traced to a huge bowl of dusty petals sitting on the hearth under the white-marble mantel.

  ‘The tapestry room,’ Sebastian said. ‘A homage to Versailles created by my great-grandfather.’ He pulled back the cover from a huge sofa. ‘As you can see, he took the tapestry theme to extremes. The design on the back of this is a detail from one of the main tapestries which hang on the walls. They’re all rolled up over there in the corner. There’s a clock somewhere, with a mechanical swan at the base, which I remember fascinated me as a child, though I was never permitted to wind the mechanism myself, naturally.’

  Naturally? Sebastian sounded so matter of fact, as if he was reciting from a guidebook, but there was a bitterness in that one word that betrayed him. Pretending not to notice, Caro tried to remove the cover from an intriguing object which sat atop a massive marble sideboard with cupids carved into the legs which matched the cupids on the fireplace. The cover snagged on something underneath which was out of her reach. Sebastian was staring out of the window, as if trying to detach himself from the room. Caro found a footstool, which she used to help her clamber on to the sideboard. Whatever was underneath the cover was bronze. She could see a pair of bare feet. She reached under the heavy drab cotton to try to free it.

  ‘What the devil are you about!’

  Startled, Caro wavered, caught at the cover to steady herself only to discover that she had, unfortunately, managed to free it. For a moment, as she swayed, she thought she would right herself. Then the cover slipped loose, she slipped backwards and fell off the sideboard landing not, as she expected, heavily on to the bare floorboards, but in Sebastian’s arms.

  He staggered back, cursing as dust floated down over them. Caro sneezed. Then she laughed. Then she sneezed again. Sebastian caught his foot on the edge of a rolled-up rug. He fell heavily, taking her with him.

  For a few long seconds, there was silence. Sebastian groaned, and Caro opened her eyes. ‘Oh, are you hurt?’ He was winded, most likely. And crushed by her weight too, for she was lying on top of him. She tried to move, but her skirts were tangled up in his legs. She wriggled. He groaned again. ‘You are hurt. I am sorry, but I seem to be caught. If you could just move...’

  A large hand clamped firmly over her bottom stilled her. ‘Stop wriggling, Caro, you’re making matters much worse.’

  ‘My skirts are caught.’ She craned her neck sideways. Her skirts had ridden up revealing her bare legs up to her thigh. ‘If you could just move your left leg a little, then I could...’

  ‘For the love of God, Caro, will you stop wriggling!’

  ‘But I’m crushing you.’

  ‘You weigh almost nothing. That is not the problem.’

  ‘Then what—oh.’ Heat flooded her face. The problem, now that she had stopped wriggling, was pressing insistently into her right thigh. She knew that any lady would politely pretend that it wasn’t even there, and wait patiently on it subsiding. Perhaps she should concentrate on the sheer ugliness of the bronze statue of Diana the Huntress and her horribly realistic collection of her prey that had caused them to get into this compromising position. Diana was gazing down at Caro and Sebastian disdainfully, as if she, a goddess, was not to blame one little bit for the situation that they, mere mortals, had got themselves into.

  Diana was bare-breasted. For such a statuesque female, her breasts were quite small. Caro’s breasts were pressed against Sebastian’s chest. Sebastian had a very broad chest. ‘Do you think we’ve shocked her?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Diana. She looks shocked. Do you think this is the first time she has seen two mere mortals in such a compromising position?’

  ‘In this house, certainly.’

  ‘Your father would be shocked to find us like this in full daylight in one of his formal rooms, wouldn’t he? Especially since he and my father went to such pains to ensure that we never would,’ Caro said. ‘I wish they could see us now.’

  Sebastian laughed. ‘What would they say if they walked in?’

  ‘I think it would test my father’s diplomatic skills to the limit,’ Caro said, smiling wickedly.

  ‘Then let us test him a little further.’

  * * *

  Sebastian groaned and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him. Her mouth was hot and sweet, her kisses teasing, tantalising, somehow wickedly smiling, just as she had been. Ever since she had walked into the parlour, he had wanted to kiss her. All that talk of rolling about on the hearth naked had sent such images firing into his brain, he had barely been able to think of anything else.

  The way she nipped at his earlobe made him shiver. He hated that sort of thing, usually. The way her fingers splayed across his chest, the way she flattened her palms over his nipples, the faintest of touches through his shirt, sent the blood coursing to his shaft. He was unbelievably hard. If she did not stop that little rocking motion—no, he didn’t want her to stop—but if she didn’t stop...

  He closed his eyes, clutching at the soft mound of her bottom. Her tongue flitted over his lips, another of those most fleeting of touches that sent his pulse racing. She was almost astride him now, if it wasn’t for those damned skirts of hers, he would feel her thighs enveloping his own. He tugged at her petticoats but they were too tangled up. He rolled her over on to her back, taking her by surprise, and pushed her skirts up.

  ‘Pink stockings,’ she said, stretching her leg up, pointing her toes like a ballet dancer.

  He ran his hand up her calf, fascinated by the way his touch was reflected in her eyes, in the way her skin flushed. ‘Lovely pink stockings, and lovely Caro,’ he said, kissing the delicate skin behind her knee. She smelt divine. Her skin was hot to the touch beneath the silk.

  ‘And look,’ she said, pointing her other leg up into the air, ‘I have two of them.’

  Laughing, he kissed her other calf, the skin behind her other knee. He was fascinated by her in this mood, teasing, fun, teetering on the edge of outrageousness. He remembered that feeling, of being tangled in a net he didn’t want to escape from, that night at Crockford’s. It was the same, but not the same now. She was no longer a naïve young girl. She had been unhappy, hurt and very much alone. She had suffered, but perhaps it was this determination not to suffer again which lent her this edge, a need to grab at life with both hands? Whatever it was, it was infectious.

  Releasing her pink-stockinged leg very reluctantly, Sebastian planted a final swift kiss to her swollen lips, then jumped to his feet, scooping her up into his arms.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Sebastian headed for the door of the Tapestry Room. ‘You’re quite right, my father would be spinning in his grave if he could see us here.’

  ‘Then why are we leaving?’

  He smiled wolfishly down at her. ‘Because there are a hundred other rooms in need of the same treatment. Do you think you’re up to it?’

  ‘I’m not sure I have either the repertoire or the stamina for a hundred rooms, but if it helps exorcise your demons I suppose I must try.’

  Sebastian threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘How very obliging of you indeed, my lady.’

  * * *

  They arrived in the library by way of the Great Dining Room, the Gold Drawing Room, the Lesser Dining Room and the Crimson Drawing Room. They kissed on top of Jacobean oak chests, under gilded rococo tables, on sofas and chaise longues, and on one occasion they kissed while embracing a statue of Hermes between them. They danced from one end of the polished dining table t
o the other. They threw open shutters, cast holland covers to the floors, and unrolled carpets, sneezing on the dust they cast up.

  Caro’s stomach ached with laughing. She felt edgy, exhilarated, so tightly wound she thought she might explode. Sebastian’s kisses were driving her frantic. ‘How many more rooms are there?’ she asked.

  He caught her to him, pulling closed the door, which was fitted into the arcade of bookcases which lined the wall, giving the impression that the room itself was sealed. ‘Are you weary of my kisses?’

  She wondered what he would say if she told him the truth, that she was not tired but on fire. Each time he dragged his mouth away from hers, she wanted to scream in frustration. A crystal chandelier hung low from a trabeated ceiling extravagantly gilded in gold leaf. Glass-fronted bookcases lined three of the four walls, separated on one by a porphyry mantelpiece carved in the Egyptian style. Pulling a cover off a sofa covered in red damask, Caro sank down with a sigh. ‘I think you have exhausted my kissing repertoire.’

  Sebastian sat down beside her. ‘It is a very impressive repertoire,’ he said, nipping her earlobe.

  She shivered. ‘Considering my lack of experience, you mean?’

  ‘No, I don’t mean. You kiss beautifully, Lady Caroline. My compliments. In fact you kiss so beautifully I’m not sure how many more of your kisses I can take.’

  ‘I am very relieved to hear you say so, my lord. Allow me to return the compliment.’

  ‘Do you mean that?’

  She twined her arms around his neck, sliding down the sofa and pulling him on top of her. ‘Sebastian, would it be very wicked of me to suggest that we indulge in something other than kissing?’

  ‘Wicked, wanton and utterly—music to my ears,’ he said with a groan, rolling away from her on to his feet. ‘Not here, though.’

  Caro’s senses were swimming. She wanted him now! ‘But you told me this was the room your father had refurbished when he inherited. You told me it was his sanctuary, surely there is no more appropriate place.’

  But Sebastian was already pulling her to her feet. ‘Trust me, there is another room far more sacred.’

  ‘Not his bedchamber,’ she exclaimed, appalled.

  ‘Lord no, not his. The Queen’s.’

  Laughing, he caught her hand and dragged her across to the bookcases, counting round the wall adjacent to the fireplace, then counting carefully along the volumes on the first shelf and to her astonishment withdrawing a large iron key from the hollowed centre of a book. ‘Come on.’

  She tripped after him, back out through the Tribune, up to the galleried first floor, past her own bedchamber and on to a door at the very end of the corridor. ‘It was created for Queen Anne, for a visit that never materialised in the end, and has never been used,’ Sebastian said. ‘Tradition has it in the family that only a monarch can occupy it, so naturally it became an objective for me to discover the location of the key and to make this place my own secret kingdom.’

  He turned the lock and pushed open the heavy door. Crossing the room, he pulled back the stiff wooden shutters, flooding the bedchamber with late afternoon sunshine. The corniced ceiling was brightly painted rather than gilded, in vivid greens, reds and shades of gold. A lion and a unicorn adorned the pediment of the door frame. ‘The tapestries have been taken down, and the carpet, which is woven with gold crowns, is rolled up over there somewhere,’ Sebastian said, pulling the covering from a huge walnut armoire taller than Caro. ‘I used to hide in here when I was very small and didn’t want to be found,’ he said.

  The bed itself was placed in the centre of the room. The covers came away easily, Sebastian casting them carelessly on to the bare boards of the floor. Once the dust had settled, Caro stared, awestruck. The four bedposts were set upon large plinths, each bearing the Stuart coat of arms. The posts themselves, wood painted gold, were elaborately carved with vine leaves from which both lions and unicorns peeped. The same design was carved along the tester from which hung a tasselled canopy.

  ‘I’ve never seen such a magnificent bed,’ Caro exclaimed, tracing the design of one pillar with her fingers. The mattress came up to her waist. ‘It is truly fit for a queen.’

  Sebastian pulled the final protective cover from the bed itself, revealing a bedcover of crimson embroidered with gold. He reached under the valance, and produced a wooden step. ‘They thought of everything. Try it.’

  ‘Isn’t there some curse which will fall upon anyone not of royal blood who lies here?’

  ‘As far as I am aware, no one save me ever has lain there,’ Sebastian replied. He made a flourishing bow, and held out his hand. ‘And in any event, are we both not already thoroughly cursed? Will you, my lady?’

  Wholly entranced, Caro swept a curtsy. ‘Indeed, I rather think I shall, my lord.’ Taking his hand, she mounted the wooden step and sank on to the bed. The headboard was adorned with a tapestry, a hunting scene with a royal stag. Gathering her skirts around her, she lay back. ‘Good gracious!’

  The inner canopy was of blood-red silk, gathered and pleated. In the centre of the tester was fitted a large oval mirror. It was mottled, some of the silvering worn, but it still gave out a perfectly adequate reflection. There she was, her hair spread out on the bolster, her hands folded across her stomach, her ankles clad in their pink stockings on display. ‘Good grief, I have never seen anything so extraordinary in my life.’

  The mattress dipped as Sebastian joined her. He lay on his back, keeping a few inches between them. ‘When I first discovered it, I had no idea why anyone would want to put a mirror in such a location.’

  ‘I can only imagine that the queen was a very vain woman,’ Caro said. ‘Though from what I recall of her portrait, I don’t think she had much cause to be.’

  ‘I don’t think the mirror was intended to indulge her vanity, Caro,’ Sebastian said. ‘I rather think its function was to reflect the other person occupying the bed with her.’

  ‘What do you—oh, surely not! You cannot mean that it is for—you mean to watch themselves? While they were—but that is shocking!’

  They were not touching. They were not looking at each other, talking instead to their reflections in the overhead mirror. It was as if they were watching two strangers. It was not Sebastian and Caro, lying here together on this vast, ostentatious bed, but two others, whose behaviour they could not control. Sebastian had kicked off his boots and stockings. He had very elegant feet. His lower legs were covered in fine, dark brown hair, the same colour as the hair on his chest, which she could see where his shirt lay open at his throat.

  Sebastian’s laughter was a low rumble. ‘Shocking, but extremely arousing.’

  ‘Really?’ Her reflection was blushing.

  ‘Try it.’ Sebastian’s reflection had rolled a little closer. His leg was lying against hers. His bare leg. Hers protected by a stocking and the skirts of her gown. His forearm brushed hers. Both were bare. In the mirror, her bosom rose and fell visibly as her breathing quickened.

  She put her hand experimentally over the soft mounds of her breasts, feeling them rise and fall, watching her reflected hand touching them. Her littlest finger touched her nipple. A frisson of pleasure made her shiver. In the mirror, she could clearly see the outline of its hard peak, unrestrained by her corset, through the thin cotton of her chemise and gown. In the mirror, she saw the sharp intake of the other Sebastian’s breath under his shirt as she moved her hand, letting it fall over her breast, lightly cupping it.

  The woman in the mirror was flushed. Her eyes were heavy. Her lips seemed to be fuller, redder, than Caro’s. Her other hand drifted down, tracing the line of her rib cage, the soft dent of her belly. She could feel the sharp rise and fall of Sebastian breathing, quicker, shallower, alongside her. She was conscious of the tension in him. The Sebastian in the mirror had his dark eyes fixed on her.

  Was th
is her, the sensual being with her hair spread out over the pillow, whose feet were pressed into the gold damask coverlet? Feet which were, now free of her slippers, covered in pale pink silk stockings. She lifted one leg, pulling the skirts of her gown up to display her ankle, the curve of her calf, the dark cerise ribbons of her garters. Her skirts fell higher, above her knee, to reveal the whitework trim of her pantalettes.

  Beside her, Sebastian groaned. In the mirror, he rolled on to his side and caught her leg, cupping her heel in his hand, then running his palm up her ankle, her calf, the back of her knee. His fingers slipped in between the top of her garters, the border of her pantalettes, to trace delicate patterns on the sensitive skin there. The woman in the mirror slid her hand beneath the cotton of her gown to touch the bare flesh of her breasts. The man in the mirror let her leg slide back on to the gold counterpane. He rolled over, the top of his body covering hers. Their limbs tangled. Male legs, bare to the knee. Pink-stockinged legs, somehow distinctively female compared to his muscled limbs. Leather stretched taut over male thighs, male buttocks. The instinctive arch, the parting of female legs to accommodate him. The back of his head dipped into the curve of her breast. His hand gently removing a female hand from the décolleté of the gown. The feel of his tongue, his lips, kissing over the mounds of flesh she could no longer see, covered by the shape of a male head with close-cut dark brown hair.

  She closed her eyes. His mouth was like velvet on her skin, kissing along the line of her gown, his hands on her shoulders, her arms, pushing the sleeves down and with it the bodice. A shudder ran through him as he took her nipple in his mouth. A shudder ran through her as he sucked, slowly, sending her blood fizzing, making her belly clench and tighten.

  She touched his back, pulling his shirt free of his breeches to run her hands over his skin, the knot of his spine, the ripple of his shoulders. Gently, he removed her hands. Her eyes flew open, questioning. ‘Watch,’ he said, ‘just watch.’