* * *
Incensed by her abandonment and caring little for the tittle-tattle that would ensue, Joshua made to follow but, as he drew near, a servant in the Prince’s livery approached her with a message and he stopped in his tracks. He turned away, ignoring the interested stares from around the room. She had deliberately exposed him to ridicule!
But it was his own fault. He should have accepted her refusal to dance and walked away. He should never even have asked her. But an angry frustration was driving him: he had foolishly broken the unspoken law by which he lived. For longer than he could remember, he had avoided intimacy. The scourging he’d received from the Tallis affair had left him wanting no more such hazards. He might flirt with young women and acquire the reputation of a dangerous man, he might enjoy the challenge of confounding their duennas, but he was always careful never to step across the line. Discreet, and sometimes not so discreet, liaisons with well-born ladies bored with their husbands served his physical needs. Such relationships were often tedious, occasionally joyless and always sterile, but they caused him not one jot of discomfort.
His life had flowed smooth and unruffled—and then he’d met Domino. He had been resolute in his refusal to fall in love, but that hadn’t prevented him being constantly by her side. Her youthful spirit had enchanted him, holding as it did the promise of beauty he had so long sought. He had been beguiled even into offering his hand. But the summer had proved a mere dream and after their last tempestuous encounter, he had vowed to put her from his mind. The fantasy was over and his old life awaited him.
But tonight, seeing her once more in all her loveliness, a slender flower of a girl, the craziest desire had overpowered him and all he’d known was that he had to be close to her again. One more time, one final time. And look where that had led. He would be the object of derision in the Court for days, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
* * *
Domino rushed from the dance floor, her cheeks aflame and her heart hammering. She must find her father immediately, she had to leave this place and never return. But a footman in knee breeches and starched shirt was barring her way.
‘Yes, what is it?’ she asked impatiently, her breath still uneven.
‘A message, Miss de Silva, from your father.’
‘My father? Where is he?’
‘He awaits you at the eastern exit of the palace. A coach will be ready to take you home.’
It seemed strange that her father should disappear without a word and send a servant to fetch her.
‘Why has he not come himself?’
‘I am to tell you that he has gone ahead to summon the carriage so that you will not catch cold awaiting its arrival.’
How very like Papa, she thought with sudden warmth, forgiving him his earlier desertion.
‘But my shawl and reticule? I must find those first.’ She smiled at the retainer. ‘They cannot be too far away.’
‘Señor de Silva has them already, I believe. They await you in the carriage.’
Her father had been unusually busy. She was surprised for she had thought him far too engaged with his political friends.
‘Then I have nothing to do but find him,’ she replied almost gaily in her relief that she was at last on her way home.
She made her way out of the ballroom and along the passage indicated by the footman. There was nobody to be seen, yet she had a nagging feeling that she was being watched. How very stupid. The alarms she had suffered that evening were making her overly sensitive to the atmosphere. The corridor itself was narrow and bare and meagrely lit by a few branches of candles at irregular intervals along its walls. It was an odd whim of her father’s to have his daughter traverse the length of the Pavilion to the little used eastern exit. But he was there waiting to take her home. All would be well.
The colonnade which gave on to the gardens was smaller here and far more enclosed than the portico at which they had arrived. Tall trees shaded the building at this point and the covering of gravel was a mere path rather than a carriageway. Her father was nowhere to be seen, but in the dusk ahead she could make out the silhouette of a coach, and she made her way gladly towards it.
She walked swiftly through the small porch and out of the palace. Her footsteps sounded unnaturally loud in the silence which seemed to fill the air like a palpable presence. A few steps forwards and then two figures came looming from the darkness on either side of her. She started back but before she could regain the shelter of the Pavilion, they had grabbed her arms and pinioned her between them. Their clothes were unwashed and they smelt strongly of liquor. Terrified, she imagined she had been attacked by thieves but she had little on her person worth stealing. Their rough hands dug into her flesh as they jostled her forwards. Then she realised—they were dragging her towards the waiting coach. This was not a robbery, but an abduction! In a moment they had wrenched open the carriage door and made ready to bundle her inside. She struggled furiously, but she was no match for two hulking men and found herself being thrust into the coach. Then a loud shout sounded nearby. The hands loosened their grip and she was dumped, spread-eagled across the rear seat of the carriage.
She scrambled to her feet and down the coach steps. The dusk was dense, almost impenetrable, the moon shining only fitfully from between lowering clouds, and she could hardly see a foot in front of her. She could hear, though. There was a crack as two skulls were smashed expertly together.
‘Run—back to the Pavilion and find your father.’
It was Joshua. As she turned to flee, she saw that her assailants had recovered their footing only to be floored again, one after another with several punishing left hooks.
‘Run!’ he repeated.
She needed no second urging and rushed towards the Pavilion entrance, desperate to find help. Both attackers lay on the floor, prone and unmoving. Joshua, his cravat askew, stood back ready for a further onslaught. But their loud groans were heartfelt and they seemed unlikely to give more trouble. She was back in the Pavilion now and about to retrace her steps along the passageway when a sudden noise from outside made her turn again. Surely those villains could not have recovered so quickly.
But it was Leo Moncaster who stood to one side of the carriage, brandishing a sword.
‘Get up, blockheads,’ he swore at the men, ‘and find the girl. Else what use are you to me?’
One of the men made a feeble attempt to stagger to his feet but then crumpled to the ground again. The other managed to crawl to the colonnade and haul himself upright on its wooden pillars. Domino felt him grab her skirt as she tried to whisk herself from sight. She had not run, could not run with Joshua in such danger.
Moncaster gave a growl of annoyance and turned to the cause. ‘When will you learn, Marchmain, not to interfere? I draw comfort from the fact that this is the very last time.’ He slashed at the air with his sword, its evilly sharp point threatening the unarmed man.
‘You are a cur, Moncaster. I don’t fight with dogs.’
‘Who said anything about a fight, dear friend? You will not have the chance. Regretfully I cannot allow you to regain the palace and tell your story. It would be too degrading.’
‘What then do you intend, or need I ask?’
‘I imagine not. Sadly, you will be found a victim of robbery. Such dubious creatures hang around the Pavilion these days, it will occasion few questions.’
‘And Miss de Silva?’
‘My plans for her must change. Your intervention has done her little favour. Instead of a few days’ incarceration, she must now be lost for months. She may be allowed to surface in Spain eventually if she proves a sensible girl. By then no one will believe a word of any story she chooses to tell.’
The moon suddenly swam free of its cloudy cover and a shaft of silver illuminated the scene. It flooded everyt
hing in its path, glinting along the horses’ glossy coats, embellishing the scratched panels of the coach and flashing its light on to a lone strip of glittering steel. In a second Joshua had seized the dagger from its resting place in the lining of the carriage door and made ready to defend himself.
‘You will hardly inflict damage with that poor object,’ his adversary mocked.
‘We shall see. Any blade is gold if it destroys a mongrel such as you.’
The fight was ugly. No graceful swordplay, but a tense game of cat and mouse. They circled each other warily, each waiting for the other’s move. Then Moncaster’s sword was swinging through the air and Joshua nimbly retreating out of reach. Moncaster tried again, but with the same result. Again and again he struck and each blow Domino expected to be final. Both men were tiring in this inelegant ballet, but only when Joshua was sure that his opponent was sufficiently winded did he begin to advance. Then it was a swift run beneath Moncaster’s sword blade and a desperate attempt to wound at close quarters. His enemy was too quick and retreated out of harm’s way. The man who held Domino was gradually loosening his grip on her as he watched the fight, enthralled by its savagery. She thought she might manage to pull herself free but knew she could not leave. She was watching Joshua as though her life depended on it as much as his. She had to be there, stay with him, whatever their mutual fate.
Moncaster was growing ever more furious and began to slash wildly, circling the sword over his head, hurling its blade from right to left. But still Joshua evaded him. Years of practice with the most exigent of fencing masters had taught him skills of defence as much as offence. And he needed them. He could fight only at close quarters and the sword had a very long reach. Moncaster, tiring faster than his younger and fitter opponent, determined to make an end to his adversary. He saw his chance when Joshua for an instant came to a standstill. He lunged forwards to catch the younger man off guard. In the blink of an eye Joshua saw his danger and dipped beneath the oncoming sword so low that he almost knelt on the gravel. Then in a swooping movement from the ground he raised the dagger upwards and into the man’s right arm. He pinked it neatly and Moncaster’s sword clattered to the ground.
‘Still so disdainful of a humble dagger?’ Joshua’s face was pale, but in the moonlight his eyes glittered with an unholy joy.
Leo Moncaster roared in pain and struggled blindly to free himself from Joshua’s iron hold. But footsteps were running towards them from the passageway behind. The ruffian holding Domino suddenly let her go and loped off into the darkness, the summer growth of bushes shielding him from view.
She was free and her father was by her side. Two of the Prince’s guards had pinned Moncaster between them and were forcing him back into the palace. Joshua, his beautiful coat rent with sword slashes and his golden hair sadly dishevelled, faced her father.
‘Take her home,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I believe she has had sufficient excitement for one evening.’
Alfredo nodded grimly and placed the spangled shawl around his daughter’s shoulders. Together they stumbled through the back corridors of the palace to find again the familiar entrance. Domino sat back in the carriage, pale and exhausted. Only then did the tears begin to roll slowly down her cheeks.
Chapter Ten
She slept late the next morning. When she opened her eyes, Flora was bending over her, a look of concern on her face. Domino smiled and Flora smiled back.
‘It’s so good to see you awake, Miss Domino. You gave us such a fright last night.’
‘I did?’ She struggled to sit up, blinking at the brilliant light that was streaming into the room from chinks in the drawn curtains.
‘It was as though you were sleepwalking, dazed like. You didn’t seem to recognise any of us, nor your own room. I put you to bed and you slept straight away, real deep, too, and you’ve been sleeping like that ever since and it’s past noon.’
‘You sat with me all night, Flora?’ Domino propped herself up on one elbow and pressed her maid’s hand affectionately.
‘What else would I do, miss? We were so worried.’
‘And my father?’
Flora piled the soft white pillows as high as she could and her mistress collapsed back on them with a sigh.
‘My father?’ she prompted.
‘He’s at the palace. He’s gone to enquire of Mr Marchmain. Seemingly he did you a great service last night.’
‘He did.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper and the tears again began to flow. Her maid’s face puckered in fright.
‘Whatever is it, miss? You’re safe and Mr Marchmain has come off with barely a scratch, or so I believe. That villain, they say, has packed up and gone back to London. He should be in prison, but Quality never goes to prison.’ She sounded bitter.
Domino rallied herself and said in a far stronger voice, ‘Are you saying that Lord Moncaster has left Brighton?’
‘So Cook says. Her sister works in the Pavilion kitchens and such a to-do. The Regent himself was involved. After your father brought you home, Lord Moncaster—’ and she emphasised the title with considerable scorn ‘—was taken to the Prince by the guards and had to confess what he’d been up to. Cook’s sister says that Moncaster has been told he ain’t welcome any more at the Pavilion, nor at Carlton House neither.’
Flora’s acquired gentility was rapidly vanishing in the face of her honest indignation.
‘Where has he gone, do you think?’ Domino ventured, the thought tormenting her that her enemy might even now be waiting, ready to make another attempt on her.
‘Apparently…’ and Flora drew in her cheeks at the thought of the news she had to impart ‘…the Regent has advised his friend to go abroad for a space. Lying low, I call it. He should be in prison.’
‘And all this has happened while I’ve been asleep.’
‘Yes, indeed, miss. It’s like you were under some kind of spell, but it’s so good that you’re back with us again.’
There was a gentle tap at the door and Alfredo looked into the room, his face drawn, but when he saw Domino sitting up in bed and sipping her morning chocolate, a wide smile lit his face. Flora quietly slipped away.
‘How good to see you looking yourself again, querida.’
‘I’m sorry I gave you such a fright, Papa. But as you see, all is well.’
He came to the bedside and enfolded her in a stifling bear hug. Her tears began to fall again and he pulled back, his face once more anxious.
She put her hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly. ‘I am well, so you must not worry, but I cannot seem to stop crying.’
‘You have had a terrible shock, my dear. I am not surprised you are deeply upset. When I think what could have happened!’
She would rather not think but she was desperate to know from him what had passed at the Pavilion. Had her father learned anything of the shameful history that existed between herself and Moncaster? She prayed not.
‘Do you know why Lord Moncaster tried to abduct me,’ she asked at last, ‘for I presume that is what it was?’
‘An abduction indeed. It makes my heart heavy to say this about any man, but he is evil through and through. And the Duchess of Severn is no better. She was in on the plan, too, it appears. I always thought her an indelicate woman, but I had no idea that she could sink to such wickedness.’
He fell silent as he considered the two miscreants.
‘But what was their plan, and why should they plot against me?’ she probed.
‘Why they should do so, I have no notion. As for the plan, I do not think you need to know it.’
‘I want to know, Papa,’ she said stubbornly.
‘My dear, how will it benefit you to know the depths of their villainy?’ His voice was filled with misgiving.
‘I have to know,
Papa. I have to know the truth.’
He gave a heavy sigh. ‘Leo Moncaster planned to hold you overnight in a house that the duchess owns in Worthing, just a few miles down the coast. He would have kept you there some days and allowed the gossip on your whereabouts to flourish. Or so I have learned from the Regent.’
‘But how would that have served his purpose?’
Her father’s face grew grimmer and his mouth tightened into a thin slit. He could hardly bring himself to speak the words.
‘When Moncaster released you, he intended to publish to the world that you had voluntarily stayed with him as his mistress. It would be his word against yours and as a notable member of the ton, he expected to be believed. Even if he were not, the mere suggestion that his words might be true would ensure that your reputation in England would be shattered forever. No doubt he would spread news of your supposed affair as far afield as he could.’
Her mind swiftly processed this information, but she said nothing.
‘Do you know why he would do such a thing, Domino?’ her father ventured at last.
‘I believe the duchess is for some reason jealous of me,’ she extemporised. ‘Perhaps Lord Moncaster has feelings for her and he planned this dreadful attack on her behalf.’
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