by Lucy Ashford
‘And that,’ she interrupted, ‘is not going to happen.’ She thrust her still half-full glass on the tray of a passing waiter. ‘So, since you’re forcing me to stay—shall we dance?’
He took both her hands and drew her near. His smile had gone now, to be replaced by a strange and intent look on his face. Mine, it appeared to say. You are mine now.
Serena felt a small implosion rippling all through her body and through every limb. She felt rocked by some surge of need that she’d never felt before and that she couldn’t name. Didn’t even want to name. Still Lefevre was watching her, with just his look tormenting her in a way she feared would render her helpless were it not for the basic warning that drummed in her brain, telling her that if she gave way to this terrifying tangle of emotions, she would be lost. To him. The man she despised.
‘You must learn to act your part, Lady Serena,’ he murmured in her ear as they took their place among the dancers. ‘As I have, for many years.’
She looked swiftly up at him. ‘You, monsieur, might enjoy lying to people and manipulating them. I’m afraid I don’t.’
This time he laughed aloud. ‘Your opinion of my character never ceases to amuse me. But we made an agreement and I think you’d be wise to do as I say. Or—’ and he said it quite casually ‘—would you prefer the news to be spread of your husband’s shameful death?’
To which there was no possible answer.
And so Serena danced again with Lefevre. But as the music played and the couples moved around them in a dazzling display of peacock colours, her heart was bleak indeed, not only because he was right and she could not afford to break their pact, but because she was far too aware of his strength. His smile. His powerful masculinity.
Her body was betraying her.
She’d made a fool of herself once already in her life. Never again, she vowed silently. Never again. But she had one whole month of this to endure, so somehow she smiled. Somehow she carried on smiling till the dancing drew to its close, when he led her away, nodding his approval.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Very good. Even I might be fooled into thinking you enjoyed yourself.’
Her smile vanished in a flash. ‘I take no pleasure in being completely humiliated, I assure you!’
He’d drawn her into a corner beneath the musicians’ gallery, from where they could survey the main throng. ‘Many women wouldn’t consider you’re being humiliated,’ he pointed out. ‘Look around. You’re certainly the object of a large amount of interest.’
She didn’t have to look around to know what was going on. Even though they’d been in the ballroom for some time, people were still nudging one another and whispering. Lady Serena. With the Marquis, of all people!
She shivered. ‘I detest being the subject of common gossip.’
‘Welcome to the real world. You’ll get used to it. As I’ve had to.’
Her response came swiftly. ‘That’s different! You demand attention with everything you do, everything you say. You enjoy it!’
‘Do you truly think so?’
Her heart stopped a moment because of something in his eyes.
‘You don’t know anything,’ he went on in the same controlled tone, ‘about my life, or about me. I play games, Lady Serena—just as we all do, one way or another.’
She suddenly felt terribly vulnerable, because of the strange and totally unwanted effect he was having on her. ‘I’ve told you, monsieur, that I do not like your games in the slightest. Maybe I ought to have dealt with Silas Mort myself—’
‘Ha!’ he broke in. ‘As you did the other night? In other words, most ineffectively and putting yourself in danger into the bargain?’ His lip curled. ‘Anyway, there’s no need. Silas Mort won’t trouble you again.’
Again her heart faltered. ‘You’ve spoken to him?’
He considered a moment and said, ‘Certainly, I’ve made it absolutely clear to him that you are under my protection.’
She bit her lip. How? Had Lefevre paid the man off? Had he threatened him? And what words had been spoken between them, about her own foolishness? She felt the sheer humiliation of it scalding her. ‘I suppose,’ she said in a low voice, ‘I ought to thank you.’
‘Oh, do, by all means! But I realise it must have been hard for you to have to face the fact that your much-loved husband wasn’t the hero you thought him to be.’
She closed her eyes briefly. Opened them wide and said innocently, ‘Tell me, monsieur. Talking of heroes—did you never feel like staying in France and trying to restore order, as many of your fellow noblemen did? You were a soldier once, I believe. Didn’t you want to join the Royalist army, to try to defeat the bloodthirsty murderers who are wreaking such havoc in your homeland?’
He shook his head with mock sadness. ‘Regretfully, my lady, I’m no hero.’
She was about to say, Evidently. But then—suddenly—she caught something else in his expression that shook her badly. There was a kind of ragged bleakness in his eyes, a hint even of horrors he’d maybe witnessed. It was gone in an instant, to be hidden again behind that mask of decadence, but she felt a deep and shocking yearning to know more of this man.
It was then that she became aware of someone watching her intently from the other side of the room. A man who looked as if at any moment he was about to head in her direction. Quickly she touched Raphael’s coat sleeve. ‘Monsieur Lefevre, I refused champagne earlier, but now I would be very glad of a drink.’
‘Certainly.’ He looked slightly surprised. ‘Lemonade, or a cordial of some kind? Shall I find you a chair?’
‘I don’t mind what I have. And I’ll find a chair myself!’ Please go. Please go.
So Lefevre left and just in time, because the man she’d seen looking at her in such a resolute fashion was almost upon her. It was Mr Jeremy Wolverton.
Chapter Nine
‘My dear Lady Serena,’ Wolverton began, ‘the minute I saw who you were with, I asked your friends how this could have happened. And they told me you actually arrived with that man!’
Oh, Lord.
Jeremy Wolverton was a worthy churchgoing man who was also very wealthy, thanks to his business as an importer of fine fabrics. His money and his generosity to several charities had brought him an entrée to certain society events, although naturally the higher circles of society were still closed to him. He was thirty-two years old and as yet unmarried. His appearance was every bit as correct as his manners—his brown hair was always neatly cropped and his clothes were immaculate, if severe. Joanna was convinced he had intentions towards Serena, but she, though sorry for the put-downs he received, was careful to give him no encouragement.
‘Mr Wolverton,’ she replied, ‘I appreciate your concern. But I am free to make my own choices as to the company I keep.’
He looked even more worried. ‘But to associate with a man of his reputation! My lady, let me escort you home, straight away. My carriage is outside—’
‘No!’ Serena felt her irritation bubbling up and went on more coolly, ‘Thank you. But as it happens, I’m perfectly happy to spend another hour or two at this party and to leave with you would be unspeakably rude to the Marquis.’
‘You know my opinion of the Marquis!’ Wolverton declared. ‘He is nothing but a despicable pleasure-seeker and not worthy of your company!’
Which was unfortunate, because that was the moment Raphael Lefevre strolled up to Serena’s side with a glass of lemonade. Handing it to her, he said, ‘I assume the Marquis in question is me? It usually is.’
Wolverton coloured. ‘I was advising Lady Serena,’ he said stiffly, ‘that she should take more care of the company she keeps.’
‘And who are you to advise her, I wonder?’ drawled Lefevre, not at all ruffled. ‘Family? Guardian? I thought not. So make yourself scarce, there’s a good fellow.’
‘I strongly object to your to
ne, monsieur! I am Lady Serena’s friend and I bear her nothing but respect. Unfortunately, I suspect that you have rather different intentions. And I warn you, if you do anything to upset her—’
Serena saw with dismay that Lefevre, by far the taller and more powerful man, was facing Wolverton full on. ‘You’ll do what? Pray tell me, I’m intrigued. Perhaps you’ll challenge me to a duel? You really shouldn’t, you know. Whether it’s swords, pistols or fists, I think you’ll come to a rather unhappy end. In fact, I guarantee it. Let me escort you to the door, Mr... Wolverton, isn’t it? No, don’t argue. You’ve had your say and it’s time for you to leave. After all, this is hardly your natural milieu, is it?’
Wolverton was backing away. ‘You arrogant, bullying—’
Lefevre said, quietly but dangerously, ‘Time for you to go, Wolverton.’
As Lefevre accompanied Wolverton to the main doors, Serena realised that the dancing had stopped. The talking had stopped. Every single person in that crowded ballroom had been watching—and as soon as the two men were out of sight, their eyes turned on her.
Serena was upset. Humiliated. And something else—Jeremy Wolverton had always been a stalwart friend to the charity school and to her. She knew he would have been delighted to receive an invitation to this ball, so Lefevre’s put-down in public just now would have hurt him sorely.
As the Marquis returned to her, she faced him with battle in her eyes. ‘My goodness,’ she said, ‘I must admit I didn’t realise when we made our agreement that it included the possibility of you threatening to fight off my male acquaintances.’
That was when she realised the enormous tension that possessed his body. His shoulders were still braced as if for action, his jaw set hard. Serena stepped back. People dismissed Lefevre as a shallow rake, but yet again she felt she was glimpsing something in him that was far more dangerous than that.
But then, slowly, he relaxed. He even smiled that wickedly hypnotic smile of his and said, ‘You realise, though, Lady Serena, that I tend to make an impact wherever I go. One way or another.’
‘And I hate it,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Hate it, do you hear?’ She was aware that everyone was still watching them and she was suddenly overtaken by an enormous fatigue. ‘Please take me home. Now.’
So he did. He led her from the room past all those onlookers with his arm firmly round her waist and Serena felt like his prisoner. But the trouble was, she didn’t loathe the feeling as much as she knew she should. He was a man guaranteed to make men envious and women melt, no matter how much they claimed to detest him. So she said nothing as he collected her cloak and wrapped it round her shoulders; but when he led her outside and she saw his carriage waiting with a groom standing by the horses’ heads, she whipped round to him, saying, ‘How did your groom know to be here so early?’
‘I told him to be ready at about this time. You see, I suspected we might be leaving sooner than expected—for one reason or another.’
This man. This arrogant man. ‘You have everything planned, don’t you?’ Serena said bitterly. ‘Down to the last detail. I believe you’ve been determined to humiliate me from our very first meeting!’
He was pointing to the open carriage door. ‘People are watching. Best get inside.’
‘No. No, I won’t!’
He said harshly, ‘Get in the carriage and we can have our argument in there. Not out here, where every passer-by can stare at us. And smile at me, for God’s sake.’
So she did. She looked up at him and smiled, at the same time aware that her heart was fluttering against her ribs, because, although he was utterly hateful, her eyes were somehow held by his mesmerising silver-grey ones and she felt the heat rising in her body.
Of course, he was right. People were strolling by on the pavement and vehicles clattered along the busy road, so she let him help her up into the carriage and then, when he’d seated himself opposite to her, she looked straight at him and said, ‘What a perfect evening we have had, you and I! How could I wish for pleasanter company than yours, my lord, ever? Did you take me to this ball tonight for yet another wager? How much will your winnings be this time?’
He rapped on the roof to indicate they were ready to move away. Then he said, ‘If you’re referring to the ball last November, I did not dance with you for a wager.’
Again, her world rocked. ‘You did. I heard what your friend said that night. You cannot deny it.’
‘But I do deny it, absolutely. That fool who made the comment wasn’t my friend—he was a mischief-maker and a complete liar. There was no truth whatsoever in his taunt about a wager and afterwards I dealt with him accordingly. Unfortunately, the damage had been done.’
She was silent, her mind reeling. All these months. All these months, I’ve believed it. She said at last, ‘Why didn’t you tell me at the time? Why didn’t you deny straight away that you’d danced with me for money?’
‘If I remember correctly, you didn’t give me a chance. You believed instantly what that ridiculous man had said and you stalked away.’
Much shaken, Serena answered, ‘If what you say is true—then why did you ask me to dance in the first place?’
His eyes gleamed. ‘Why did I ask you to dance? If you’re looking for compliments, then here they are. Was it because of your beauty? Partly, since of course it’s exceptional. But since you ask, there was something else. I asked you to dance because you looked as if you didn’t care in the least whether or not anyone asked you. In other words, you struck me as altogether different from all the other foolish, flirtatious females there. You intrigued me—and have done since I first laid eyes on you soon after my arrival in the city. But as for tonight, what can I say? I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy the occasion. It’s not my aim to make the coming month an endurance test for you.’
‘You were unspeakably rude to poor Mr Wolverton!’
‘As I recall, Wolverton was rude about me. Besides, he’s an upstart.’
He spoke so calmly, yet Serena felt anything but calm, because all night this man had stirred up a confusion of feelings she had no idea how to handle, except with fresh defiance. ‘So I’m to reject my friends and look blissfully happy whenever I’m with you—is that correct? Difficult though it is, I really am trying my best, Monsieur Lefevre!’
The carriage was moving at a steady pace now and the streetlights glinting through its windows cast mysterious shadows on his starkly handsome face. He said, ‘You really don’t need to hate me all the time, you know. I can see your scorn churning around inside you, but be careful. Such tension can make you ill.’
‘I wouldn’t need to think about you at all if you hadn’t imposed this ridiculous agreement on me. And let me assure you, I usually have more worthwhile matters to occupy my mind!’
He settled back against the seat and gave her his curious half-smile. ‘You’re not thinking of marrying again, are you? Of course, you won’t lack for suitors, but I sincerely hope you’re not going to marry Wolverton. He’s rich, admittedly, but what a dreary existence you’d lead.’
‘You think so?’ She managed a cool stare. ‘Even so, it might be preferable to being in your power, Monsieur le Marquis!’
‘It’s unfortunate for you, then, that you have to remain in my power for some time yet.’
She made no response but sat silent, rigid, until the carriage drew up outside her front door. ‘Three days since our kiss,’ he said softly as he accompanied her up the steps, ‘but quite a number of days to go. And I rather wish you could try to enjoy them. Live for now. That’s my motto.’ Then he took her hand and kissed it. Only lightly, but she felt the warmth of his lips and suddenly imagined that clever, knowing mouth pressed against other parts of her body...
She shivered a little, not with revulsion, but with some dark craving that made her mind swim. She closed her eyes briefly, her hand still enfolded by his strong one. When she opened them
he was watching her carefully.
At last he released her, murmuring, ‘Until next time, my lady. Adieu.’
And with that, he was gone.
* * *
Serena didn’t want any more surprises. She wanted to be on her own to nurse her wounds, but the ever-eager Grinling was opening the front door almost before the Marquis’s carriage had moved away and Mrs Penney was there, too, swiftly followed by Martha, who helped her out of her velvet cloak.
‘Oh, ma’am,’ Martha enthused as she followed Serena up to her room. ‘Did you have a lovely evening? Such a handsome gentleman, the Marquis!’ Martha hesitated as they entered Serena’s bedchamber. ‘It’s so good to see you enjoy yourself for a change!’
Martha had been her maid for years and was one of the very few people who had guessed the truth about her marriage. Lionel had betrayed her countless times and in countless ways, but Serena had always been forced to hide her unhappiness, because society adored him. And he’d died fighting bravely for his country—or so everyone, including she, had believed.
She’d built a new life for herself since then, with no men to complicate her independence, just the company of her true and loving female friends. But now the Marquis of Montpellier had crashed into her world with an impact that had somehow changed everything—because when he’d kissed her the other night, she’d felt such a disturbing rush of pleasure that her insides had melted. Her body had begged for more. And what really, truly frightened her was that she hadn’t hated that moment of weakness as she knew she should.
You must stay in control, she whispered to herself. You’re good at being in control.
But was she?
She’d had to force herself to be strong in order to survive her marriage. At first she’d blamed herself for Lionel’s reluctance to spend much time with his new bride and thought it her fault that he was so eager to join his old set of friends once their honeymoon was over. He took up with former mistresses, too—she discovered that soon enough.