Nicola Cornick - [Bluestocking Brides 02]

by One Night of Scandal

  ‘Sweetheart,’ Ross said, trapping her hand and pulling her close. ‘I love you too.’

  Olivia opened and closed her mouth silently, like a landed fish.

  ‘Perhaps we could talk now,’ Ross said, with scrupulous politeness, ‘unless it is too late.’

  Olivia stared at him, knowing he was not speaking of the hour. ‘I do not believe that it is too late,’ she said huskily.

  She licked her dry lips and watched, fascinated, as Ross’s eyes fixed on her mouth and darkened almost to black with desire. He was still holding her hand and her skin burned beneath his touch.

  ‘If you prefer to retire and would like me to send for your maid then I shall, of course, comply,’ he said, but his eyes gave her a different message.

  Olivia freed herself from his grip and reached out with both hands to grab him by the lapels of his jacket. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she said, a second before his lips met hers.

  When Deb awoke, the early morning light was pouring through the window and spilling across the bed. She was alone. She had already stretched out a hand instinctively and found empty space when memory returned to her and her spirits sank lower than a stone.

  The night was over. It was time to go home.

  She stretched and winced at the stiffness in her body and the unaccustomed soreness, the deep, tender ache inside her. It seemed to echo the ache in her soul. There was always a price to be paid.

  The chinking sound of the harnesses came from below. Richard must be getting the horses ready to leave. She hurried from the bed and threw her clothes on haphazardly. She did not want to be naked when Richard came back. She did not want him to see her vulnerability now, in the bright light of day. Her mind could not encompass all the things that they had done. She did not want to have to think about it.

  Nevertheless, she could not seem to help herself.

  Deb sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed. A cold prickle ran down her spine and settled like a leaden weight in her stomach. Something was wrong and it was nothing to do with the night she had spent with Richard, nor the shockingly intimate and entirely pleasurable nature of their activities. Awareness had come to her during the night. She understood now the difference between how she had felt when she had found herself betrayed by Neil Stratton, and how she felt now. Both experiences, were they known, would bring her disgrace in the eyes of the world. Yet now she felt none of the shame that had dogged her for so long after her sham marriage was exposed. This time she had made her own choice freely and from something she had thought was physical desire. Now she knew how mistaken she was. Now she knew that she had fallen in love.

  She let her hands fall into her lap and stared blindly out of the window. What an absolute fool she had been, thinking that she could dictate to Richard that she wished for a night of passion and then expect nothing to be different afterwards. The night had been all that she had wanted and more, glorious, blissfully fulfilling, but Richard had taken her soul as well as her body, and bound her to him with a love that could never be broken. She knew now that this was the man with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life.

  Looking back with the clear vision of hindsight, Deb could see that she had been falling in love with Richard for weeks. She had discovered so many different facets to a man she had once dismissed as nothing more than a society rake. She had agonised over his loneliness and cherished his tenderness. Yesterday afternoon they had spent a perfect time together, building intimacy upon companionship, deepening the feelings for him that she already possessed. They were feelings that she had held for him almost from the first. The dazzling attraction, the heated tug of desire were all as nothing to the things that she valued in him, the strength and the protectiveness and the humour and the intellect that teased and matched her own…She even had some half-remembered dream of telling him that she loved him…

  She gave a little moan of distress, for there was no reason to suppose that Richard felt the same way. She had never asked him for his love, only his passion.

  She beat an impotent fist on the bed beside her. She was a fool. She had held on so long to her mistrust and disenchantment that she had not been able to see when love had crept up upon her.

  Moving slowly, she went to the head of the stairs and started to descend to join Richard below. She did not spare a backward glance for the bedroom with its tumbled blankets or the bed where she had slept curled next to Richard and had experienced such ecstasy in his arms. She would never forget such pleasure, but they had made a bargain. She had wanted a false betrothal and for Richard to be her lover. He had given her both of those things. And now it was over.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Richard left Deborah, at her request, at the gate of Mallow House. It was raining, the water running in rivulets from Deb’s hat and soaking into the velvet riding dress until she was drenched and shivering.

  They had not spoken much on the ride back from the hunting lodge. When Deb had gone out on to the terrace the horses were ready and she had greeted Richard with a stiltedness that was completely out of character. She realised that Richard thought she was shy in his company now and her misery deepened when she saw the tenderness that this evoked in him. Everything felt wrong. She was being dishonest with Richard, she was not telling him how she felt, and yet she knew no other way, for if she weakened for a moment she knew that she would throw herself into his arms and beg him never to let her go.

  He touched her wet cheek with gloved fingers when they parted.

  ‘I will call on you later, sweetheart,’ he said, and she nodded numbly. Later seemed a long time away and she wanted to wash and to sleep and have time to think what she would say when next she saw him.

  Mallow House was very quiet as Deb let herself in and crept upstairs. It was a half past nine, but no one seemed to be stirring. Deb was too exhausted to question why. She shed her clothes and almost fell into her big bed. She had only awoken an hour before and yet now she felt exhausted again.

  When she finally awoke the afternoon was advanced and there was a suppressed buzz about the house. Deb sent for hot water and luncheon in her bed, and heard without enthusiasm that Olivia and Ross had called and needed to see her urgently in the drawing room. She felt a little sick. It was inevitable that Clarissa Aintree was aware of her absence the previous night and if she had told Liv and Ross…Deb hoped fervently that they were not going to ring a peal over her, but she thought it very likely. She might be seen as a widow of previously unimpeachable reputation, but it still could not excuse such outrageous behaviour. They would be disappointed in her; even though no one else would know about her bad behaviour, Deb did not like the thought of incurring the disapproval of those closest to her. It added another weight to her heart at a time when she felt most vulnerable. She could not regret what she had done, for the night spent with Richard had been the most perfect, special and tender experience of her life, but now the night was over and the light of day was cold indeed.

  She sat passively whilst Mary dressed her hair and then went down to the drawing room. Ross was pacing the rug before the mantelpiece, a deep frown on his forehead. Olivia was sitting upright on a straight-backed chair, her hands locked together, a look of deep distress on her normally serene countenance. Deb forgot her own preoccupations and hurried forward.

  ‘Liv?’ she said. ‘Has something happened?’

  Olivia looked at her with a familiar expression of rueful affection and complete exasperation. ‘Sit down, Deborah,’ she said. ‘I have something to tell you.’

  ‘I did not know about the smugglers being out or about the muster,’ Deb said, white-faced. ‘I had not intended to worry anyone—’ She broke off as Ross gave an irritable sigh. She knew what he wanted to say—that she never thought through the consequences of her actions and, if she had, they would not now be sitting here contemplating the ruin of her reputation.

  ‘I cannot understand how you could be so indiscreet,’ he said.

  Deb felt miserable. Looking
back, she could see exactly how she had been so indiscreet, for she had given no thought to anything except Richard and her feelings for him from the moment that they had gone into the hunting lodge until they had returned that morning.

  ‘It is clear that you have never tried to arrange a romantic liaison, Ross,’ she snapped, angry at his condemnation and her own miserable feelings. ‘It amazes me that anyone ever manages to be indiscreet when they have a whole host of interfering relatives—’

  ‘Well, despite our interference, you have succeeded finely!’ Ross thrust his hand through his hair with all the pent-up impatience he could not express in words. ‘Really, Deb—’

  ‘Ross,’ Olivia intervened gently. ‘It is not so bad. Mrs Aintree has put out the tale that Deb was staying with us last night and if we back her up—’

  ‘Deb did not attend Lady Sally’s dinner with us and everyone knows it.’ Ross said bluntly. He shook his head. ‘My dear Olivia, that story will not hold water for two minutes.’

  ‘Then there is the fact that Deb is betrothed to Lord Richard,’ Olivia continued. ‘Yes, she has been reckless, but it could be a great deal worse—’

  ‘I broke the engagement two nights ago,’ Deb said.

  Both Olivia and Ross swung round to look at her with identical expressions of horror.

  ‘You broke the engagement,’ Ross said carefully, after a moment, ‘yet you spent the night with the man? Will I ever understand you, Deborah?’

  ‘Oh, Deb!’ Olivia wailed. ‘Please tell me that no one knows you broke it off!’

  ‘I have not told anyone,’ Deb said, ‘but I intend to. With Guy’s wedding cancelled there can be no reason for the engagement to continue—’

  ‘No reason!’ Ross exploded. ‘Never mind the betrothal, there is every reason for a marriage to take place!’

  Deb tried not to cry. ‘I will not marry Richard Kestrel!’ she said. ‘Why should he be compromised into marriage with me when the whole matter was my idea? I was the one who instigated this! I asked him to be my lover!’

  ‘Deb!’ Ross and Olivia’s outraged cries mingled with the sound of the door opening.

  ‘Lord Richard Kestrel,’ the maid announced.

  Deb froze. She had wanted to finish her discussion with Olivia and Ross before she faced the equally difficult task of speaking to Richard, but, since she had given the maid no instructions to refuse him—and since he would probably have ignored them anyway—she was not going to have that chance.

  She knew that she had to dismiss him. Their betrothal was at an end and that one perfect night of passion was over. Yet now when she saw him all she wanted to do was run to him and throw herself into his arms. She loved him hopelessly.

  ‘Richard!’ she said, and heard her voice break on the word.

  Richard heard it too. He came across and took her hand and Deb could feel the warmth and reassurance flowing from his body to hers.

  ‘Sweetheart—’ His lips pressed her hair. His arm went about her. Deb leaned against his strength and fought against the feeling of coming home. She could not permit herself to depend on him.

  Olivia was looking almost as relieved as Deb felt. Ross was looking murderous.

  ‘What the hell were you thinking of, Kestrel?’ he said to Richard. He paced across to the window. ‘No, don’t answer that. On reflection it’s easy to see exactly what you were thinking of! When you asked my permission to woo Deborah, I did not appreciate what it was that you had in mind! Why the devil you could not have waited until you were married—?’

  ‘Ross,’ Olivia said again, putting a hand on her husband’s arm, ‘since Deb and Richard are to be married, I think we could put aside our differences.’

  But Deb was not listening. She was looking from Ross’s face to Richard’s as the coldness clutched at her heart and seeped from there to every corner of her being. She freed herself of Richard’s protective arm and took two steps backward.

  ‘You asked Ross’s permission to court me?’ she said to Richard, her voice a whisper. ‘You discussed marrying me? You hatched some plan with him and never spoke of it to me?’

  She saw Richard’s gaze snap back to her, saw his eyes narrow on her face. ‘Deborah,’ he began carefully, ‘it was not in the least like that.’

  Deb had started to shake. ‘No? How was it, then?’

  Richard drove his hands into his pockets. ‘Can we talk about this alone?’ he asked, with restraint.

  ‘No!’ Deb’s chin came up. ‘Since you discussed my future with reference to everyone else before, it seems appropriate that they can be party to the discussions now! After all, they already know far more about it than I do. Apparently I am to be married off without my knowledge!’

  ‘It was not like that,’ Richard said again, quietly but inexorably. ‘Deb, I love you! I have loved you for months! I want to marry you.’

  Deb felt hot, humiliated and hurt. All the time that she had been making plans for her temporary betrothal, Richard had been talking to Ross of quite a different scheme. He had fallen in with her proposal whilst planning something else entirely. And he had not told her.

  She felt foolish and manipulated. Richard had told her that he had explained the situation to Ross, and yet that had not been true. He must have told Ross everything—that she had advertised for a temporary fiancé, that he was playing along with her until he could persuade her into a real betrothal. She had confided in Richard that her marriage to Neil Stratton had been unhappy and that she had no desire to wed ever again, and yet he had paid her scant heed. And last night…She covered her face briefly with her hands. Last night she had given herself to him body and soul. She had finally realised that she loved him with all her heart and that, although to overcome her scruples about marriage would require a leap of faith, she might even have been able to have had the courage. Under other circumstances…

  ‘And when were you going to tell me of your plans for me?’ Deb asked, her voice shaking. ‘After you had told Ross and Olivia and everyone else, and conspired to make me accept you?’ Her voice rose. ‘No doubt I should be grateful to be offered marriage, with my tarnished reputation!’ She swung round on them all, the pain lodged in a hot ball in her chest. ‘But do you know—I am not grateful in the least! You are just like my father—’ she turned on Richard ‘—planning to marry me off regardless of my wishes. You, and Ross, and everyone else who has made arrangements for me of which I was totally unaware! You cannot allow me to make my own choices, nor give me the freedom to do as I choose! That was all I wanted! To be allowed the choice!’

  Richard put out a hand to her. There was something that looked like pain in his eyes and Deb could not allow herself to look on it because it moved her unbearably. She turned away but still she could not block out his words.

  ‘I love you, Deb. I did not tell you or propose to you before because I was afraid. I knew of your doubts about marriage and I was afraid of losing the one thing that was becoming more precious to me as every day passed—’

  Deb put her hands over her ears. ‘I trusted you,’ she said, and as she spoke she realised that it was true. ‘I never thought that I would trust anyone again, but I trusted you.’

  She whirled around and made for the door, pausing when she reached it. ‘Let me be quite clear,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘I do not wish to marry you, Lord Richard. I do not wish to see you again.’

  Olivia came up to the bedroom and found Deb in a tearful heap on the bed. Deb felt her sister touch her shoulder gently and after a moment the tension went out of her body and she allowed Olivia to draw her close and give her a hug. It was unusual for Olivia to be so demonstrative, but Deb found it enormously comforting. She hiccuped a little and reached for a pillowcase to dry her tears. ‘We cannot be forever crying over each other.’

  ‘No,’ Olivia said, proffering her own scrap of cambric handkerchief. ‘I am sorry, Deb. Sorry that I deceived you, I mean.’ She grimaced. ‘I knew Richard wanted to marry you, and I was so pleased!’
She looked at Deb’s tear-swollen face and shook her head slightly. ‘He loves you very much, you know, Deb, and you love him too…’

  Deb bit her lip on a denial. What was the point? She had admitted to herself only that morning that she loved Richard with all her heart. If she had not, she would not be feeling so distressed now.

  She twisted her hands together. ‘He did not tell me he loved me,’ she said.

  Olivia raised her brows. ‘Did you tell him that you loved him?’

  ‘No, but that is different.’ Deb blushed. ‘I only realised…’ her voice dropped ‘…this morning, after we…’

  Olivia laughed. ‘Oh, Deb!’ She sobered up. ‘It was wrong of Richard to mislead you, but his motives were sincere. He knew that you had no wish to wed again and all he wanted was the opportunity to court you. He was in the devil of a fix, you know, wishing to reassure Ross and myself that his intentions were honourable, but also needing to win your trust—’ She broke off. ‘But you must discuss this with Richard himself. It is not for me to say.’

  ‘I trusted him,’ Deb said in a tired voice. ‘I trusted him and he betrayed me.’

  ‘Did he?’ Olivia said, and Deb jumped at the ring of steel in her gentle sister’s voice. ‘You think that you are the only one deceived? And what sort of trust is it that does not even tell Richard the truth of your own situation? I’ll wager that you have not told him about your first marriage, have you?’

  Deb froze. She felt simultaneously hot and cold, her heart ice, the prickling heat breaking out over her whole body. ‘You did not tell Richard that I was never married to Neil? Tell me that he does not know!’

  ‘I have not told him,’ Olivia said, ‘and nor has Ross.’ Her expression was hard. ‘It is your place to do that—if you truly love him. If you trust him, you could tell him anything.’

  ‘No,’ Deb whispered. ‘I cannot.’

  Olivia shrugged, but her hard expression had softened into something like pity. ‘That is, of course, your choice, Deb, just as it is up to you whether or not you marry Richard.’ She stood up. ‘I hope that you will feel well enough to go out later. Do not forget that it is the private view for Lady Sally’s watercolour book tonight.’