Domino was shocked. How could Christabel speak so lightly of an event that had almost ruined her life and, even worse, almost ruined Richard’s? Six wasted years, she’d said. But here she was exculpating Joshua and willing to share blame for the catastrophe, even grateful to him for showing her the true nature of her feelings!
Christabel put her teacup gently down on the table and rose to leave. ‘Carmela may have been right,’ she said softly, sensing that her words had in some way hit home. ‘A rest in my room before dinner will refresh me. I will see you later, my dear’, and she bent her graceful form towards her young friend and lightly kissed the top of her head.
Left alone, Domino wrestled with the conversation that had passed between them. A blissfully happy Christabel could afford to forgive the past, she thought churlishly. But it is her past to forgive, a small voice murmured, not yours. What have you to forgive? This sorry story took place when you were not much more than a child. Christabel is happy, Richard is happy. Why can’t you be? But she knew she was confusing the symptom for the cause. And the real cause of her unhappiness was the fear that Joshua Marchmain was the rake everyone said he was, and that she could never trust him to be otherwise. For a moment she had believed him capable of changing. But how short that moment had been! Knowledge of the wicked path he had trodden six years ago had brought home to her the magnitude of his offences—his flagrant immorality, his uncaring selfishness—and had damned him in her eyes forever. Joshua had not changed, would never change, and if she gave herself to him, she would live a lifetime of heartache.
* * *
Fortune favoured her the next day when Carmela decided to forsake her household duties. It was her cousin who escorted Christabel on a shopping expedition to Bartholomews market and her cousin who sat with their visitor sewing and reading in the small parlour. Domino was able to disappear for long stretches of the day, citing the necessity of helping Flora to pack her wardrobe. It was a job that appeared to take an inordinate time but while she sorted muslins and silks she tried to keep her mind a determined blank. The grand dinner and ball at the Pavilion was one more trial to face, the final trial, and she needed to keep at bay the thoughts that constantly harried her.
* * *
When she met her friend later in the day, she greeted Christabel with guilty warmth, infusing her voice with as much geniality as she could muster.
‘It’s a great shame that you cannot come to the ball. Papa would have been happy to obtain a ticket for the dance, if not to the dinner.’
Her visitor gave a rueful grin. ‘My dear, look at me, I am in no case for dancing. Carmela and I will go on very well at home, don’t fret. But if I can be of any help in getting you ready for the grand event, send your maid to me. I shall not be sleeping—merely waiting in readiness for the call!’
Domino was not to need her friend’s expertise. Since coming to Brighton Flora had improved as a lady’s maid by leaps and bounds and tonight’s grand occasion was to be the fitting climax of her apprenticeship.
When her mistress presented herself in the drawing room a few hours later, conversation stopped and her audience gazed wonderingly at her.
‘Dear Domino, you look gorgeous!’ Christabel was lavish in her praise.
Her father nodded, his chest seeming visibly to expand with pride. Even Carmela gave her a brisk smile of approval.
‘You are sure that you’re happy to stay home?’
Domino wanted only one answer to her question. If Christabel remained at Marine Parade there would be no chance of her meeting her former lover.
‘I am very happy to. Carmela and I have planned a light supper together and then we intend to do a little sorting of baby clothes before an early bedtime. In my present condition, it makes for a perfect evening.’
‘Far better than junketing with the most undesirable people,’ Carmela could not resist saying.
‘Unfortunately, cousin, we are forced to partake of a little junketing, but I promise I shall have Domino home well before midnight.’ Alfredo’s voice was cold and crisp as though he, too, wished to get the evening over as swiftly as possible.
Domino had not wanted to dress finely, but Flora had been adamant. This was to be the last grand event of the Brighton summer. In her maid’s opinion it was the time to shine, the time to leave a splendid final impression. When she looked at her mistress that evening, Flora knew Domino would do just that. The gown of orange blossom crepe worn beneath a tunic of bespangled gossamer clung lovingly to the curves of her lissom young figure. A shawl of spider gauze covered her bare arms and on her feet she wore cream satin slippers ornamented with cream roses. A circlet of orange blossom was threaded through the glossy curls that cascaded gently around her face. She looked every inch a young princess on her way to a magnificent evening of pleasure. Only the pale face gave a glimpse of her true feelings.
* * *
As before, they approached the Pavilion through newly planted gardens and alighted from their carriage in the shelter of the portico. As before, a footman escorted them to the Long Gallery, low-ceilinged, but as opulent as the rest of the palace. Here the guests who had been invited to dinner waited to be summoned to the table. In a swift glance Domino established that Joshua was not among them. Dinner was always served promptly at six in the evening and there were already upwards of thirty people in the gallery. She knew that many more would arrive for the ball, but first a copious meal, an essential part of the Regent’s evening entertainment, had to be endured.
‘This is extraordinary, Papa,’ she whispered as they were ushered into the Banqueting Hall.
It easily rivalled the Music Room for drama. From the central dome hung the biggest chandelier she had ever seen, held in the claws of an enormous dragon. A host of smaller chandeliers shimmered light around the room, reflecting back and forth the sweeping decorations of silver gilt until the great space resembled nothing more than a huge treasure casket.
‘Extraordinary!’ her father whispered back, beginning a search for their place names.
Everything in the room was designed to overwhelm, from the painted canopies with their intricate patterns of moons and stars to the spectacular ormolu candelabra positioned in the centre of a dining table which stretched as far as she could see.
Almost immediately the first serving of food was brought to the table by a dozen uniformed footmen. Elaborate soups were followed by a choice of fish, then patés and meats, followed in turn by a dozen different entrées of meat and game. Should any of the guests feel the need for additional nourishment, seven rosewood sideboards positioned at intervals around the room groaned with platters of cold beef, venison, game and pies.
She cast a worried glance at her father. ‘How on earth am I to eat even a fraction of this?’ she asked in a low voice.
‘Do your best,’ was all he could offer in reply.
She picked her way delicately through the dishes offered, taking a very small helping of a very few of them. After nearly an hour she had done her best and was beginning to relax, when worryingly a second serving of food began to arrive. Four different roasts with their accompaniments and a multitude of sweet and savoury side dishes were scattered across the massive table. Her spirits sank as she encountered myriad jellies, tarts, ices, meringues and cream puddings. But by dint of engaging her neighbours in animated conversation, she managed to talk more than she ate.
Although many of her fellow guests seemed similarly disconcerted by the sheer volume of food, the Regent himself ate happily and solidly for the two hours apportioned to dinner. She was grateful to have been seated alongside her father at the lower end of the table and therefore unlikely to catch George’s eye. After her last encounter with him, she was determined to remain unnoticed. There would be no Joshua Marchmain to rescue her from the Prince’s clutches this time. He was still nowhere to be seen but s
he remarked the duchess and her husband occupying a prominent place to the left of the Prince. And when she heard a sniggering laugh ring out in a sudden interval of silence, it was clear that Moncaster, too, was in attendance. Only a few more hours to survive this monstrous evening, she shuddered, taking her father’s arm on the walk to the ballroom.
‘Thank heaven someone has had the presence of mind to open the windows,’ Alfredo commented as the late August breeze, tangy with salt, wafted through the long glass doors of the ballroom. An ornamental front garden lay beyond, cool and green, a welcome foil to the overpowering heat within.
The orchestra, auditioned personally by the Prince, was already striking up for a country dance and dance pairs were being formed. Domino looked around the room and felt grateful that she hardly knew a person there. She could sit decorously with her father and watch from the fringes the revelling that Carmela so despised. But out of nowhere, it seemed, a string of young men materialised at her side. The enchanting young girl, barely known to them, had piqued their interest and become a prize to win. With one accord they rushed to claim her as a partner. In a moment almost every dance on her card had a name beside it. Almost—not even an indulgent father would oppose her aunts’ dictate that on no account must she ever allow herself to waltz. Over the next hour she danced with one young man after another, all of them personable, all of them eager to please: they found a safe place for her gauze wrapper, fetched her lemonade, sat out a country dance with her as she cooled by the open window. Obliging young men, delightful young men.
But she could not dance away the heartache. She must go through the motions, smile prettily, dance daintily, and hope for the hour to come very soon when Alfredo would consider that sufficient respect had been paid to the Prince Regent and they could retire. It was during a lively quadrille that she saw with a jolt that Joshua had joined the throng in the ballroom. His elegant figure marked him out from the crowd, his light-coloured satin breeches and dark coat fitting him where they touched. An embroidered waistcoat and lace cravat with one single winking diamond completed the modish ensemble. He was soon dancing. With the duchess, naturally. Who else? She could see he was eager to talk with her whenever the dance brought them together. He would have a good deal to say, she thought bitterly, after wasting so much time on a new and unsuccessful dalliance. Charlotte Severn would forgive him. She was hardly a stranger to dalliance herself. In no time they would be together again, the lovers they had always been. As the dancers traced the figures of the quadrille, the duchess’s flushed face seemed to leer out at her. This was her victory.
Domino looked quickly away and bent an attentive ear to her partner. The social mask must never be allowed to slip, though her life was in ruins and the ashes of its destruction all around. She stumbled slightly and her partner steadied her.
‘I am so sorry,’ she apologised, ‘I wasn’t paying sufficient attention to my feet.’
‘You are a most accomplished dancer, Miss de Silva.’ The willowy young man guiding her round the floor was nothing if not gallant.
She began to watch her steps fiercely. She must try to concentrate even though her mind was determined to stray. Knowing him to be so very close, Joshua consumed every thought. So close and yet as distant from her as the jungles of Africa. Her body moved mechanically in time to the orchestra’s tune, but another refrain played through her mind: the past need not determine the future. Christabel had followed that advice and freed herself of the past. Unlike me, Domino thought. For three long years she had allowed herself to be governed by a pointless infatuation with Richard. And the moment she had freed herself from that shadow, another had arrived to manipulate her life, only this time more painfully than she could ever have imagined. It was history repeating itself a hundredfold. The anguish she had felt in saying goodbye to Richard was in retrospect a mere pinprick. It was Joshua who had taught her real suffering.
The quadrille had come to an end and her partner departed on a mission to find refreshments. She sat down on one of the ebony chairs dotting the edges of the room. How could she ever follow Christabel’s advice? She had learned to trust Joshua, to discount the label of rake that hung so easily on him. He had taught her to love. Then came the devastating details of his history. How could she put such knowledge behind her, forget it existed? It was impossible. In her heart she had made the image of a man she could venerate and he was no longer that man.
Refreshments arrived and she sipped at her second glass of lemonade. All too soon she must return to the dance floor and time passing ever more slowly. She danced on, partner after partner, her feet nimbly performing the correct steps, her face smiling just enough.
* * *
The evening was half gone when the orchestra struck up a waltz. This was the moment she’d hoped her father might deem it fitting to leave. But out of the corner of her eye she saw he was engaged in a deep discussion with some of the Court’s political men. He must think she was enjoying the ball and had decided to delay their departure. She allowed herself to slip wearily towards a seat once more and hoped his conversation would soon flag.
At first she didn’t notice the figure. He must have walked towards her in a wide arc and only when he was bowing courteously over her hand did she realise that Joshua stood before her.
‘I hope you will do me the honour, Miss de Silva,’ he began formally.
His beautiful gold-flecked eyes were as warm as ever but his gaze was challenging. She was utterly disconcerted. That he should dare to approach her this evening and then behave as though they had never endured a harrowing goodbye!
‘Thank you, sir, you are most kind, but I do not waltz,’ she managed at last, in a voice which hardly seemed to belong to her.
‘I thought that possible,’ he conceded, ‘but I was hoping you might make an exception.’
Whatever possessed him to think that she would dance any dance with him, let alone a waltz? The answer to her question arrived swiftly.
‘We have never danced the waltz together, much to my regret, and I imagine that this will be our only chance to do so.’
His voice was as smooth as crushed velvet and his bright hair glinted in the light of a thousand candles. His glance sought hers and she could not drag her eyes away. Concentrate, she scolded herself. Keep your mind focused. Get him to leave.
‘I do not waltz, sir,’ she repeated dully.
‘But for old times’ sake?’
He was refusing to take her refusal. He was incorrigible. He was also magnificent. Unwillingly she registered the power of his body, the satin breeches clinging in all the right places.
‘There are no old times,’ she snapped. ‘And if you had an ounce of propriety you would not address me in this manner.’
‘That’s better, Domino!’ he cheered. ‘For a moment I was a little worried that you might have gone into a decline. But I see you are as spirited as ever. Come, my dear, a few minutes only.’
He was holding out his hand and several people near them had begun to look in their direction, sensing an unfolding drama. She must get away, leave immediately. But where was her father? She could have stamped with vexation when she saw that he and his companions were now nowhere to be seen.
‘Domino?’ Joshua’s voice caressed her. The strains of the music had begun to thread their magic through her veins and she no longer seemed to own her limbs. His warm eyes glinted gold at her and her body softened dangerously. Why did her father not come?
Joshua was still holding out his hand, beckoning her to him. The people on either side were looking even more interested. She felt herself take a step forwards and then she was in his arms.
‘I will dance,’ she said angrily, ‘but only because I do not wish to be the centre of a scene.’
‘Naturally, why else would you dance with me?’ he mocked. ‘It was such a long time ago, was it not,
that you were happy to do a great deal more than dance.’
‘You are insufferable. Why can you not leave me alone?’
‘One final dance and I promise all the solitude you could wish.’
She kept a resolute silence and in response his arms tightened and he swept her into the middle of the floor, manoeuvring her dexterously between couples and clasping her firmly against his chest. She tried very hard to hold herself at a distance, but her body was soft beneath his touch and growing softer with every minute. He smiled down at her, his honey-glow eyes bewitching in the subdued candlelight.
‘You waltz well. That’s a surprise. I had supposed you would not have been allowed to learn the dance.’
‘You supposed correctly,’ she found herself saying, the corners of her mouth crooking themselves into a small smile despite her best efforts.
‘You never disappoint me!’
She was beginning to slide under his spell and she must resist at all costs. She saw Charlotte Severn standing at the side of the room in a small knot of people. The woman shot her a look of hatred.
‘Do you not think, Mr Marchmain, that you would be wise to forgo this dance and ask another to partner you?’ she asked in a voice that was deceptively steady.
He followed her gaze. ‘I think not, Miss de Silva. I had my fill of that particular pleasure many months ago.’
‘I find that difficult to believe, so enthused were you in each other’s company earlier this evening.’
‘Enthused, no, irritated, yes.’ And his arms tightened even more firmly around her.
‘Why irritated?’ she found herself asking.
‘It is taking Her Grace longer than I had hoped to understand my changed feelings,’ he said diplomatically. ‘She did not take kindly to my reminding her.’
Domino said nothing. So they were not together again. Why did a sharp arrow of delight fly straight to her heart? It should not matter to her, must not matter. And yet it did, crushed as she was to his chest, moving with him to the enticing rhythms of the waltz. Their limbs shadowed each other, touching, separating and touching again. She felt his warmth through the light clothes he wore and savoured the indefinable musky smell of him. His lips brushed the top of her hair, coming to rest just behind her left ear. Slowly, delicately, she felt the tip of his tongue taste her skin. She was melting, melting, diffusing into liquid pleasure. His arm slowly slid down her back and pulled her body even closer until she felt his answering hardness. His mouth trailed kisses down her neck. He was seducing her, here on the dance floor and in full view of a hundred pairs of eyes. And she was letting him! She could not bear it. She broke from him abruptly and fled, leaving him alone in the middle of the ballroom floor.
Society's Most Scandalous Rake Page 20