His smile did not dim but tenderness entered his eyes. Her arm returned to lie gently across his back.
“Why do you speak as a lady of quality?” he asked. “Is this part of your acting abilities for it seems so natural to you.”
How could she tell him the truth, a truth she had spoken to no one? Once she uttered Stolford’s name she knew it would be as a cry to him from the darkest places of the earth. His heart was evil and she dared not reveal to anyone who he was to her.
Therefore, she said, “If you have found me in the midst of an acting troupe, then whatever my story, it cannot be a good one. Suffice it to say, that for eight years this has been my home and these people my family.”
“I suppose you are right. It hardly matters.”
“The minutes are passing, my lord. You should leave now.” But she did not want him to go.
He narrowed his gaze as though filled with a hundred thoughts at once. “I made a promise to Mrs. Ash that I would do so, but not just yet.” Before she knew what he was about, he rose, pulling her up with him, and took her in his arms and kissed her.
Judith felt just as she had in the orchard, as though each of her joints had suddenly melted within her. Her legs could no longer support her and she was convinced she would have fallen had he not held her so tightly. Perhaps she should try to resist him, but there was something about Kelthorne that revealed the deepest longings of her heart, a yearning for the life she had forsaken so many years ago.
Therefore, she held him tightly, clinging to him as he searched her lips and then her mouth, tasting of her and exploring her in a way she had thought never to experience. Was this love, her heart asked? Surely that was impossible for she scarcely knew him just as he knew little of her, but, oh, how sweet was the delight of embracing this man and feeling the strength of his arms about her.
In truth, no one really knew her. Though Margaret understood her best of all, even she was not privy to the deepest secrets of her heart. Could she ever reveal such depths of desire to Kelthorne?
Perhaps not in words for she hardly knew him, but she could speak her heart in how firmly she wrapped her arms about his neck, how forcefully she returned his kisses, how wet her cheeks became with unexpected tears.
He drew back. “What is this?” he asked softly. He still held her close, but he thumbed his own face, which had grown wet with her tears. Then he gently wiped her cheeks dry.
“I do not know,” she said. “You spoke of needing me to let you go but tell me, my lord, what is this power you hold over me to make me feel such things as profoundly as I do? It is a very great mystery and one I would wish away for it frightens me. It is almost as though you know me to the very depths of my soul but that is impossible. Or perhaps your attentions cause me to want to be known.”
“I do want to know you,” he whispered, “desperately.” He kissed her again and again, the precious minutes diminishing one by one and far too quickly.
The time together felt stolen. Margaret would be at her tent door at any moment only she did not want Kelthorne to leave. She wanted him just as she had told him in the orchard to be kept chained to her bed.
What wicked thoughts and yet how sweet his lips were pressed to hers. How fierce the ache in her heart. How great her longing to have him stay with her forever.
A scratching on the canvas forced her to step out of the tight circle of his arms and to gather her shawl about her shoulders once more. “Come” she murmured.
Margaret peeked her head inside. “Ye must leave, milord,” she said quietly. “Ye made a promise.”
“Yes, of course.” He held Judith’s gaze for a very long moment. Finally, he drew in a deep breath, bowed quite formally to her, then turned and was gone.
Margaret remained. Judith felt tears start to her eyes all over again before she could stop them. She began to tremble. Margaret did not hesitate but gathered her gently in her arms and held her close. Judith began to weep, incomprehensibly so. What had Kelthorne done to her that the moment he was gone she collapsed into a fit of tears?
“What is happening to me?” she whispered.
“There, there,” Margaret murmured, petting her head as though she were a child.
After a long moment, Judith drew away and sought her kerchief. She blew her nose soundly and confronted her friend. “You should not have permitted him to come to me.” More tears poured from her eyes.
Margaret’s eyes were watery as well. “I did not think t’would do ye harm.”
“How can you speak so? Do you not understand that he kissed me again and that his kisses make me desire things I cannot have?”
“Why can ye not have such things?”
Judith stared at her thinking she must be daft to have asked such an absurd question. “Because he is an earl and I am a mere songstress in an acting troupe, that is why. And because he is a rogue and probably has no more real interest in me than he does for Betty or Angelique or Kitty or Lydia. ”
Margaret nodded sagely. “I see,” she said. “Well, then, ye had best not encourage him by throwing yer arms about his neck.”
With that, Margaret shook her head and left the tent.
Judith stood staring at the canvas door and began to feel quite illused. Margaret had sent Kelthorne to her. She had not asked for him to come to her tent and as for throwing her arms about his neck, just how was she not to have done so?
She dropped onto her bed ready to cry anew but the deuced leg snapped again and the next moment she was bounced forward and did a complete somersault hitting her foot on the stool by the door.
She sat up laughing and rubbing her poor foot. She had been ridiculous tonight. If her heart was burning and even more so now because she had been kissed again, t’was her own fault and no one else’s.
With that, she rose to her feet, restored the weak leg, climbed into bed and prepared to spend the next hour or so fortifying her mind against any future assault on her sensibilities—or her lips—by the Earl of Kelthorne.
*** *** ***
Kelthorne walked back to the castle, not knowing even to the smallest degree just what he was to do with the profound desire he felt for Judith. He believed quite fully that he could seduce her if he so desired, since once she was captive in his arms, she withheld very little from him.
But what of Abigail Currivard? How could he in any manner justify pursuing Judith when a lady he might possibly make his wife was presently residing beneath his roof?
And what of his recent vows? When he had determined to reorder his life, to leave off his roguish ways, it had not been on a whim. Only, he had not planned on meeting Judith Lovington, beneath a late-summer moon, in his orchard.
As he drew near the steep rise to the castle and house proper, he heard Miss Currivard’s laughter coming faintly from one of the upper windows. He suspected she was in the billiard room. A moment later, he heard Laurence’s voice as well and then the laughter of another female, perhaps Miss Banwell.
It would seem the castle had not gone to sleep as he had hoped. In truth, once he left the camp, he had not wanted to speak with anyone upon his return. He had desired only the solitude of his bedchamber hoping for more time to reflect. Most particularly, he was trying to determine just why, when Miss Currivard was present in his house, he had become obsessed with seeking Judith out.
He met his butler in the entrance hall. “Why have you not retired?” he asked. “‘Tis very late.”
His butler, Coxley, smiled crookedly as was his way and shook his head. “‘Tis been a long time since the castle was so merry. ‘Tis no trouble, I promise ye that, milord.”
“Very well, but you must know I do not require that you wait on my guests past midnight. We all know the way to the cellars which, as you know, is all we truly want at this hour.”
“Very good, very good, and just as it should be for the young folk. You will find Mr. Doulting, Miss Banwell and Miss Currivard in the billiard room."
“As I suspected. Thank you.�
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He made his way up the stairs to the first floor and paused outside the door. Laurence, clearly half-foxed, appeared to be entertaining the ladies exceedingly well for they were both laughing, almost hysterically.
“No, no,” Miss Currivard said. “You must desist, Mr. Doulting. Oh, I cannot catch my breath. I do not know when I have had such a gay time. ”
Laurence’s voice rang out. “And here is the Prince Regent mounting a horse.”
From the placement of the doorway, Kelthorne was able to glance inside without being seen. The ladies’ backs were to him. Laurence sported some sort of tablecloth folded about his neck and stuffed into his breeches. A pillow underneath gave the impression of great portliness. Kelthorne rather doubted that the corpulent Prince Regent would appreciate being mimicked by Laurence, who attempted but failed time and again to get a leg over a footstool.
Once more the ladies began to laugh and the more Laurence made his faltering attempts, each time tumbling to the floor, the harder the ladies laughed.
“Are you in need of assistance?” Kelthorne called out at last.
The ladies immediately ceased their laughter, turning around to greet him, their eyes bright with merriment.
“You have come just at the right time,” Miss Banwell said gaily. “For Mr. Doulting has been entertaining us quite to perfection as you can see and this is his best impression yet.”
Laurence was now astride the footstool and pretending to gallop. “Hallo, Aubrey. What do you think of my mount?”
“Almost as ridiculous as you are.”
Suddenly, Laurence stopped pretending to gallop and instead began to weave from side to side. “Why is the house moving?” he inquired.
Miss Currivard instantly left her seat and extended her hands down to him. “I told you not to drink that last snifter. It was half full. Are you going to be ill?”
Laurence smiled sloppily up into her face and took her hands in his. “Never, with such beauty before me. Aubrey, is she not an angel?” Miss Currivard lifted him slowly to his feet.
“Of course she is.” He moved swiftly to offer Laurence the support of his arm about his shoulder, which his friend accepted. He guided him to the sofa where he bid him lie down. “And no more brandy for you, ridiculous gudgeon.”
“Miss Currivard!” Laurence cried. “The prince in a state of drunkenness.” He puffed out his cheeks until his face turned red. It was a stunning likeness.
Once more the ladies burst into laughter.
“I saw him once just like that!” Miss Banwell exclaimed. “At Carlton House this very season past. Mr. Doulting, I believe you may be a genius.”
Kelthorne removed the pillow and the tablecloth after which Laurence reclined his head. “You have returned just in time, Aubrey, for I am completely worn out. Now you must entertain your guests.”
Kelthorne regarded the ladies wondering if he could perchance suggest that the hour was ripe for retiring, but they both met his gaze with eyes showing not the smallest hint of fatigue. “May I offer a game of pool?”
“I should like that,” Miss Currivard said quickly.
Miss Banwell wrinkled her nose. “I have already lost three times. I do not intend to do so again. How glad I am there is a pianoforte in this room. I do like this chamber a great deal, Lord Kelthorne, for it offers a variety of entertainment.”
“Thank you. It was the one thing I insisted upon when my sisters suggested I refurbish the house, a pianoforte in several of the chambers. I have one here, one in the drawing room, as you know, and if you have not been to the little music room off the conservatory, there is a pianoforte in there as well.”
“Well, it is an excellent notion for now I shall play for you while Mr. Doulting regains his strength and you and Abigail clatter all those balls about for the next half hour or so.”
Kelthorne set up the billiard balls and bowed to Miss Currivard who thanked him. She then proceeded to show that she was quite skilled at billiards. The conversation was lively among the four of them. Miss Banwell was quite accomplished on the instrument and could carry on a great deal of discourse all the while playing every note correctly. Laurence quickly recovered from his antics and held his part in the ongoing dialogue. As for Miss Currivard, she spoke, as she always did, with great intelligence. He only grew uncomfortable when the subject turned to the troupe’s performance.
“I must say,” she said, holding her cue stick upright. “I was enchanted the entire time, from beginning to end. Really, it was remarkable that so much varied skill and talent could be found in the wilds of Somerset. I do not believe I was ever more entertained, not even at Drury Lane.”
“I quite agree,” Kelthorne said, realizing she had assessed the troupe’s ability exactly. “The actor, Charles Hemyock, is a man of great dramatic presence and execution. He quite puts me in mind of Keane.”
“I have not yet had the privilege of seeing Keane perform,” Harriet called out.
Laurence twisted his head to look at her. “You have not seen real acting until you have seen Keane. Was it Byron who said when he saw Keane perform one of the Bard’s plays that it was like reading Shakespeare by flashes of lightning?”
“I do not think it was Byron, but I cannot think who it was.”
“What an intriguing description,” Miss Currivard said. “I believe I would say something similar of Miss Lovington’s performance—hearing her sing was like listening to an entire Beethoven symphony in one simple song. Did you not think her extraordinary?”
Kelthorne stared at Miss Currivard remembering how he had offended all the ladies earlier by praising Judith to the skies.
Miss Currivard laughed suddenly. “But of course you do. I now confess it was unhandsome of me earlier to have thought your praise of her as coming it a bit too strong. But you were right, you know, she does sing with the voice of the angels.”
“And that, Miss Currivard, is very handsome of you now to say as much. I will only add that I think anyone who hears her must hold just such an opinion.”
“I agree. I wonder that she has not been taken up by one of the London theaters.”
Kelthorne took his turn and struck the ball hard with his cue, sending it forcefully against the edge of the table and breaking apart a cluster of balls. He had wondered the same thing. “Now there is a mystery,” he stated. “She ought to be in London. There can be no two opinions on that score. I wonder what has prevented her.”
“I did not see her after the performance,” Miss Currivard stated. “I was surprised for all the other ladies were happy to consort with anyone who wished to speak with them. She alone was absent. I noticed it most particularly.”
Kelthorne was surprised at how easily the lady on the opposite side of the table spoke of her. He wondered if she did so by design.
Laurence said, “Mr. Hemyock once spoke quite vehemently on the subject of how often the troupe pulls up its stakes on her account. She has apparently been pursued a dozen times by quite unworthy gentlemen, so much so that the only escape she has is for the entire troupe to steal away in the middle of the night.”
“Is this so?” Kelthorne said. “Good God. ” He recalled the dagger Judith had showed him, how she had spoken of knowing just how to use it. “I confess I am all amazement.”
Miss Banwell played the last note of a sonata and rose from the pianoforte. “Mr. Doulting, might I persuade you to guide me through this rather maze-like house to my room? I have grown fatigued and now desire my bed but I have a dreadful fear of spirits and old Coxley informed me Portislow Castle has at least three in residence.”
Laurence sat up and yawned. “I find I am ready to retire as well. Your request comes at a most propitious moment, although I may have to lean on your arm, if but a little.”
“You are welcome to it, sir.”
Arm in arm, they quit the chamber, Miss Banwell’s laughter returning from down the hall. The ploy was neither unexpected nor unusual. Kelthorne thought it likely that a previous a
rrangement had been constructed between Miss Currivard and her good friend in order to allow for a little private conversation.
He continued to play, moving around the table and passing in front of Miss Currivard. He heard her sniff, if faintly, and glanced at her wondering if she might be weeping though he could imagine no possible cause for it. There was nothing of that in her expression, however. Instead, she appeared rather stunned.
He made his shot and tried to comprehend whether she had suddenly grown missish at being alone with him until the scent of lavender struck his nostrils, reminding him too late that he carried Judith’s scent on his person. There could be no doubt that Miss Currivard had caught the fragrance as well. What was to be done?
He continued to move around the table making his shots. Silence settled in the room and it was utterly his fault. Yet there was nothing he could do to alter what had happened except to try to begin anew if he could.
“Have you been to London often?” he asked, not looking at her but lining up his next shot.
“No, not very often, three times only and just to enjoy the theaters with my father. I do not believe I could have borne London society with even the smallest degree of equanimity.” She took up a seat near the table, her cue stick still in hand.
He bent over to analyze his next shot further and glanced at her. A slight frown had settled between her brows. “I do not take your meaning,” he said. He adjusted his stick and slung the cue forcefully. Balls clattered again.
She was silent for a moment. “You play billiards very well. My father adores the game. He loves many things. He loves in particular the notion of his daughter getting a handle to her name.”
He rose up and stared at her. “This is plain speaking.”
“Yes. Sometimes it is best to state that which must be obvious regardless of propriety. The reason I could not bear the thought of residing in the Metropolis for any great length of time was because Bath had already proved so full of fortune hunters that I nearly went mad. Only after six months did I begin to feel I might enjoy some normalcy in my social engagements. Therefore, I thought that were I to go to London, my experiences would be worsened tenfold.”
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