Society's Most Scandalous Rake

by Isabelle Goddard

  That, at least, was partially true. Charlotte Severn must suppose her intervention at the theatre had failed and she would be eager for the abduction to destroy Domino’s reputation and make her a social outcast. The way would then be clear to seduce Joshua all over again.

  ‘The crime seems out of all proportion to the cause,’ Alfredo was saying thoughtfully.

  Moncaster had his own reasons to hurt her, Domino knew, but she was not about to explain them.

  Her father was still following his thoughts. ‘But then these people cannot be understood by any normal standards of conduct, so perhaps we should not look too far for a motive.’

  She closed her eyes, suddenly very tired again, but Alfredo had not yet finished. ‘Lady Veryan would very much like to see you when you feel able to receive her, my dear. She has been much disturbed by this terrible business and is wishful to be a comfort to you if she can.’

  She nodded wearily. ‘I should like to sleep a little longer but later perhaps we can take tea together.’

  ‘I will tell her,’ he said softly and took a seat by the bedside. It was evident that her father intended to keep watch as Flora had done through the night.

  She sank back on the pillows and closed her eyes. But it was not to sleep for almost immediately a procession of shadowy figures began to dance across her vision. Blurred images of Christabel, her father, the Regent, Moncaster, and in their wake memories of Joshua: Joshua fighting for his life, Joshua fighting for her. Why had he been there? Why had he intervened? On that dreadful morning by the sea, she had rejected him, told him starkly that she never wished to see him again. But last night he’d ignored her dismissal, intent it seemed on proving that he could still cause her passion to flame: they had only to dance together. The shaming truth had been plain for all to see and in her anguish she had ruthlessly snubbed him and left him to face public humiliation.

  Yet that had not weighed with him. He had continued to watch her, to watch out for her. He must have seen those brutal men waiting as she walked heedlessly into their trap. And he had gone into the fray with no more weapons than his own two fists. He could so easily have been killed. Moncaster would have denied all knowledge of the crime, glibly blaming it on the shiftless men who occasionally inveigled their way past the guards and into the Pavilion gardens. Such unsavoury people gather around the palace these days, she could almost hear him say. She would have lost her reputation but Joshua would have lost his life.

  As if sensing that she did not rest easily, her father spoke again, his tone hesitant. ‘This is a delicate matter, querida, but you owe much to Mr Marchmain. I understand that your—hmm, friendship—is at an end, but it is still right that you should see him. A few minutes only, sufficient to thank him for his bravery in your service.’

  Her heart was beating too fast. She acknowledged how very much she owed Joshua but how could she meet him again, knowing that he had risked his life for her, but that she must still spurn him. The dreadful events of last night changed nothing. He was still the man who had deliberately betrayed his best friend, deliberately seduced Christabel Tallis. He was not the man she had hoped for, the man she had invested with her dreams.

  ‘You will see him?’

  She opened her eyes and saw her father looking anxiously down at her. ‘It will be for a few minutes only,’ he repeated, stroking her hand reassuringly. ‘I can be with you. Or Lady Veryan if you prefer.’

  ‘No!’ She almost shouted the word. Her father looked astonished.

  ‘I mean, Papa,’ she said in a quieter tone, ‘that it is I who owes Mr Marchmain such a debt of gratitude and it is I who should thank him. I will see him alone.’

  ‘Very well, my dear. I will send a message asking him to wait on you tomorrow if that is convenient.’

  Domino closed her eyes again. She was safe but not at peace. Tomorrow she must see Joshua and offer him her heartfelt thanks but still stay true to herself. It would be difficult. No, it would be utterly painful: to see his dear face, to look into his loving eyes, to desire his beautiful form and be unable to touch. She groaned inwardly. The pain was almost physical. But she was tired, so tired. Her eyes shut fast and sleep overcame her.

  * * *

  It was evening before she woke again and Christabel was standing in the doorway with a small tray in her hands.

  ‘You’ve missed tea, my dear, but I’ve bought a little supper. Sleep is an excellent restorative but you need to eat.’

  Her friend placed the tray on a nearby table and drew up a chair at the side of the bed. She bent down to kiss Domino’s cheek and a subtle scent of roses filled the air.

  ‘How are you, Domino? Such a fright you have given us!’

  ‘So I understand. I’m sorry I have caused such consternation but as you see, I am fully recovered. Almost fully recovered,’ she amended as Christabel’s face registered doubt.

  ‘I could hardly believe my ears when I learned what had happened. It is almost impossible to comprehend. Lord Moncaster is the most wicked of men. I understand that the Regent has banished him from Court for some time. That is mild punishment. He should be in prison.’

  Christabel’s normally gentle manner had given way to one of hot indignation, causing Domino to smile. Lady and lady’s maid were evidently in agreement.

  ‘It’s so good to see you smile,’ her friend cheered. ‘You will be back to your old self in no time.’

  Domino thought otherwise but she had no intention of admitting Lady Veryan into the deepest and darkest of her secrets. Lady Veryan, though, it seemed had other ideas.

  ‘And it was Joshua Marchmain who came to your rescue! I have not seen or heard of him for an age and then he appears out of nowhere, your very own guardian angel.’

  Domino held her breath.

  ‘I must tell you,’ Christabel said a trifle self-consciously, ‘that I was acquainted with Mr Marchmain in my youth.’

  Her companion’s face assumed an ignorance of the fact.

  ‘It appears that he forms part of the Regent’s entourage and that you have been in the habit of meeting him regularly. You never mentioned it.’ There was a gentle scolding to Christabel’s tone.

  ‘I’ve met many people from the palace this summer.’

  Her friend ignored the dissembling and continued blithely, ‘I understand that he is to come here tomorrow. It will be good to meet him again.’

  Alarm at these words was clearly written on Domino’s face and Christabel offered a hasty amendment. ‘Naturally you will wish to see him alone. You must have much to say to each other. But I would like to exchange a few words with him before he leaves the house. An opportunity to lay the past to rest comes seldom, you know.’

  Domino felt her tongue stilled and her face freeze. She eased herself into a sitting position and looked directly at the visitor by her bedside. What exactly did this lovely young woman intend for the morrow? Whatever it was, she feared it could only make her meeting with Joshua even more tormenting. The air between them prickled.

  In an attempt to diffuse the uncomfortable mood, Christabel spoke again.

  ‘I should explain, Domino. As a young woman, I fell into trouble. I mentioned something of it when we talked yesterday. Mr Marchmain was involved and I fear that in the end he suffered unjustly for his part in our small tragedy.’

  ‘And you wish to see him again?’ Domino’s chagrin fought with jealousy. Were these two old lovers to be reunited and under her roof?

  ‘I turned out to be a very bad mistake for him. I would like to make my peace,’ Christabel said simply.

  * * *

  Joshua threw down his brush in annoyance. He had been standing before a blank canvas all morning and getting nowhere. Normally his studio was a blessed retreat and painting a path to serenity. But today the magic was not workin
g. He looked gloomily through the long glass windows into the garden. Since midnight the rain had been incessant and its dripping from the ornamental roof beat a repetitive tattoo on the gravel beneath. The world looked drear. The Regent had risen betimes, sending a collective shudder through the household, and Joshua had been summoned to his presence before the great ormolu clock in the Long Gallery had struck even ten. A lengthy interview had culminated with the Prince’s command that Moncaster leave the Court immediately. His lordship was swift to make preparations for France and at Steine House the duchess was organising a hasty departure to London.

  That was all very satisfactory, but this was not: he was unable to paint. If he were honest, he had been unable to paint for days. Ever since Domino had made plain that he was not her future. He wondered how she was faring after the frightening events of the previous evening. She was tough, he concluded, she would survive happily enough once the immediate shock had receded. As for him, he had a few bruises from the tussle with those ruffians, a few aches and pains, but in days he would be as new. His rawest ache was something that would not heal so easily.

  His offer of marriage had stemmed from guilt at ensnaring Domino so badly, but once she made clear that he was the last man on earth she would consider marrying, any guilt should have vanished. After their disastrous meeting on the beach, he’d told himself that he could resume his old life with equanimity. He could feel free once more. But last night at the ball he’d known himself to be anything but free. He had wanted to master her, wanted to prove that she was not indifferent to him, no matter how much she might wish it. And he had succeeded so well that she’d fled without warning and left him looking a fool, alone in the midst of the dance floor. He had watched her storm from the room, watched her met by a liveried servant he did not recognise. That was strange in itself. In a furious mood, he had begun to follow her. He wasn’t sure why, perhaps it was simply an inability to let go. But thank God he had. When she had taken the little used passageway, his instinct for danger had been alerted. How right he had been!

  Two burly thugs had set upon her as soon as she’d emerged from the palace and following close on her heels, he saw what they intended almost immediately: a coach and pair stood waiting in the shadows beyond. He hadn’t seen Moncaster, the third villain of this blackguardly trio, but it would not have mattered if he had. Two men, three men, he would have intervened in any case. He would have intervened on behalf of any woman so threatened, but his blood had run cold when he saw it was happening to the girl he loved. And he did love her, he knew that now. His wish to marry had stemmed from love, not guilt. He had pretended otherwise, but after all the excuses, the justifications, the weasel words he’d told himself, he loved her. The minute he had seen her threatened he knew that she had all of his heart. But his case was hopeless: she would not change her mind. She was adamant that she could not forgive him.

  He had been surprised, therefore, to get Alfredo’s message asking him to call at Marine Parade. Unsure, too, whether or not he should obey the summons. The thought of seeing her again made his heart jump, yet it could mean nothing but distress for them both. Pride had strengthened his resolve that this unlucky love affair would not destroy him and a meeting would call on every ounce he possessed. Anger had proved useless. He had tried stoking it against her, telling himself again and again that she had dismissed him for no good reason—a past misdemeanour that had no currency in the present. When last night she had fled so precipitately, his wrath had reached its highest pitch; he had felt furious beyond belief. Furious that a chit of a girl should do this to him! But his rage had died the minute he had seen her in danger and he knew that for once in his life, his feelings were not playing him false. Whatever she did now and in the future, this was a woman he loved, truly loved.

  His meeting with her tomorrow would be an elegy, a melancholy closing of the one good chapter in his life. The Court was busy packing for London and the leaves in the Pavilion gardens were already turning gold. It was a time for endings, and his own ending that would have no new beginning—for him at least. He would see her on the morrow, feel the turn of the knife once more, and walk away. He would return to his bare canvases and his bare life. He should not repine. This was the path he had chosen when he had betrayed his friend and seduced the girl he was to marry. From there he had gone from bad to bad. For a brief moment this summer he had glimpsed a different life, but that was at an end. He must not repine.

  * * *

  ‘Flora, lay out my cream figured muslin, please.’

  The maid stared in surprise. ‘The cream muslin?’ she questioned, thinking she must have misheard.

  Domino nodded. ‘And the deep red satin ribbon we bought the other day in Barthlomews. I shall wear it threaded in my hair.’

  ‘Are we going somewhere important, Miss Domino?’ the maid ventured.

  ‘We are going nowhere, but I am to have a visitor today and I wish to look my best.’

  Why? she asked herself. It mattered not how she looked when Joshua came to call. She planned to be with him a few minutes only before he disappeared forever. It was mere whistling in the wind. A façade to cover her misery, a boldness when she felt fatally weakened.

  Flora scurried around laying out underwear, stockings and the figured muslin along with matching satin slippers. She could see that her mistress was hardly herself but that was not to be wondered at. Such a dreadful experience she’d gone through. And now this Joshua Marchmain coming. She supposed it was right that Miss Domino should thank him prettily for his rescue but the man meant trouble in Flora’s view. Ever since Miss Domino had met him, she’d been on a wild carousel, first happy and exultant, then cast down with dejection. It would be better for all of them once they were free of Brighton and free of him.

  Domino dismissed her maid as soon as she could. She wanted time to collect her wits before Joshua arrived. She had formulated the words she needed to say. He had only to respond in similar vein and their ordeal would be finished.

  * * *

  But when an hour later she faced him across the drawing room, the words died on her lips. He looked a picture of quiet elegance, his clothes as always moulding themselves to perfection around his athletic form. The dark blue of his coat set off his shining gold locks and a waistcoat embroidered with small grey and blue flowers worn over dove grey pantaloons completed a more than alluring picture. But his eyes, that familiar colour of melting honey, held a reserved expression.

  ‘I am delighted to see you so well.’ His tone was neutral.

  ‘Thank you, I am well,’ she managed and then as a scattered afterthought, ‘and you?’

  ‘I’ve suffered no lasting damage—at least from the fight,’ he offered drily.

  She tried to keep her mind on the words she had rehearsed. ‘I am so glad you were able to call, Mr Marchmain. I wanted very much to thank you.’ Her voice began to break as she met his shrewd gaze.

  She tried again. ‘I must thank you for your bravery’, and then finishing in a rush, ‘and of course your skill.’

  ‘It’s comforting to know that my experience in Italy has proved useful at last.’ He fingered his scar and his voice sounded a caustic note.

  ‘If it had not been for your intervention,’ Domino doggedly followed her script, ‘I would be in a sorry case.’

  ‘We must not think of that.’ He brushed aside her thanks. ‘You are well and safe and that is all that matters.’

  She felt stupidly annoyed that he seemed determined to make light of his rescue. How nonsensical of her. She should be glad that he was willing to pass over the event so quickly for it could only mean that his visit this morning would be mercifully brief.

  ‘But still,’ she persisted, ‘I am conscious—my father and I are conscious—that we owe you a great deal.’

  ‘You owe me nothing, Domino, unless it’s a fair hearing,
’ he said harshly.

  The interview was not going the way she had imagined. Why had she ever thought it would? A painful silence filled the room for what seemed an age but when he spoke again, his voice was deliberately indifferent.

  ‘May I ask what your plans are?’

  ‘I am to go first to London and from there I will travel on to Spain. Carmela will accompany me.’

  ‘Ah, yes, to Spain and the unknown suitor. I imagine he has been resurrected.’ They were back on dangerous ground and his gaze was derisory.

  ‘There will be no suitor,’ she said shortly.

  ‘How can that be?’ His eyebrows rose in mocking question.

  She decided to fight back, to call his bluff. ‘Surely, Mr Marchmain, you of all people should know the answer to that question.’

  ‘But I don’t.’ His eyes had lost their sardonic amusement. ‘If you no longer intend to marry, it isn’t because you love elsewhere. A week ago I would have said differently. I would have said you had sought and found an abiding love. But now? I think you want only the illusion of such a love.’

  She was desperate to end this dreadful conversation but was stung into exclaiming, ‘You are unfair, sir!’

  ‘I think not. You don’t like reality, Domino. You prefer illusion and when the real world comes too close, you retreat. Your love for Richard Veryan was empty emotion. And now your love for me has gone the same way. You don’t want a flesh and blood man with all the good and bad that that implies, you want a man that doesn’t exist, a fantasy lover. Veryan filled that role until he inconveniently married. My tenure was even shorter. I fell from my pedestal almost immediately.’

  For a moment the breath went out of her and she looked as though she was about to collapse.

  ‘If it’s not to be the unknown bridegroom, then what?’ he asked as if he had not just uttered the most wounding words possible.

  Wasn’t that the question she returned to endlessly? What was she to do once back in Spain? Once they knew she was not intending to marry, her aunts would be eager to suggest a convent.