Suddenly Mr Barrington looked across at his opponent and his gaze was arrested. Lucy saw a tightening to his features as his eyes narrowed and swept Christopher Wilding, a man who had suddenly taken on a whole new persona for Lucy. The look that passed between them crackled with hidden fire and, for just a moment, she saw something savage and raw stir in the depths of Viscount Rockley’s eyes, before they became icy with contempt.
‘You know why I’m here, Barrington,’ said Viscount Rockley in a cold voice, seeing Barrington’s shoulders stiffen.
Lucy could almost feel the effort Mr Barrington was exerting to keep his rage under control and he smiled thinly, looking at his opponent with cool mockery.
‘I applaud your detective work, Rockley.’
Viscount Rockley’s face was like granite. ‘It wasn’t difficult. Your habits are well known,’ he said with biting scorn. ‘After what you have done, I have every reason in the world to kill you. However, I will reserve that ultimate pleasure until I have ruined you.’
Mr Barrington snorted with contempt. ‘That’s extremely generous of you, Rockley. Play on.’
Chapter Four
Lucy was puzzled by the incident, curious as to what had induced this unconcealed animosity between the two of them.
The game began in earnest. It followed the classic pattern with Mr Barrington winning a little, then losing more and more, until he ceased to win anything at all as his partner, who, unlike Mr Barrington, was completely unaffected by alcohol, raised the stakes higher and higher. With a mixture of languor and self-assurance, his eyes on the cards did not stir.
‘His partner is Christopher Wilding—Viscount Rockley,’ Sofia said quietly to Sir Simon Bucklow, distraught that the game was not going Mark’s way. ‘The man looks set to ruin him.’
‘It’s more than likely that he will,’ Sir Simon murmured. ‘Rockley is extremely proficient at the game—all that time he spends at sea, I suppose. A man has to have something to help him pass the time.’
Fascinated by the scene being played out before her eyes, Lucy looked at the man now known to her as Viscount Rockley. He looked so different to the man she knew. There was a strong, arrogant set to his jaw and his face was as hard and forbidding as a granite sculpture, his fingers, long and slender, handling the cards with expert ease. He was the kind of man who was capable of silencing a room full of people just by appearing in the doorway.
She didn’t realise she was staring at him until his instinct made him look up, as if sensing her gaze, and Lucy felt her breath catch in her throat when his eyes locked on to hers, compelling and piercing. His dark brows lifted a fraction and a slight smile twitched his lips at the corners.
* * *
For the next half-hour she watched every move of the game. The air was heavy with tension. It became clear early on that Viscount Rockley’s mastery of the game surpassed Mr Barrington’s—he had the amazing ability to reject the right cards from the original hand and an equal ability to enter into all the complicated moves which influenced the game. There was also a feeling that something else was going on between these two men, something that no one present was party to.
Beside her, the tension was becoming unbearable for Sofia as Mr Barrington lost more and more of his winnings to his partner, who presided over the game like a predatory hawk. The light from the chandeliers played on his chiselled features as he watched his opponent closely, quietly confident, and inside the room the air was charged with expectant excitement.
He was experienced and the more Mr Barrington lost, the more Viscount Rockley incited him to go on playing, to bid higher and higher. He must have been able to see Mr Barrington was inebriated and not in possession of his right senses. He would have had to be blind not to, but he lounged indifferently across from him, his expression bland as he coolly regarded his opponent, whose flushed face and shaking hands clearly betrayed his emotions. The wagers were high and Mr Barrington seemed oblivious to the muted murmurs of the spectators as he watched Viscount Rockley’s flexible fingers shuffle again and again, flicking over card after card, producing from his hand an ace, another ace, a king, a queen.
When Mr Barrington had lost his former winnings, pushing a pile of banknotes into the centre of the table, Viscount Rockley raised the stake yet again to three thousand guineas.
No longer able to stand by and watch his friend lose what he suspected was every penny to his name, Sir Simon Bucklow stepped forward.
‘Don’t be a fool, Mark,’ he told him. ‘You cannot cover the bet if you lose. After losing what you have won tonight, you no longer have three thousand guineas to your name.
Impatient at being interrupted, Mr Barrington shot him a look which told him not to interfere as he put his signature to a chit and placed it with his opponent’s money in the centre of the table. ‘There you are mistaken. I can afford it. I will take the bet and I aim to win it back on the next hand.
The game had attracted attention. People came in from the ballroom to watch. There was a ripple of excitement from the spectators as Mr Barrington, in an agitated state and perspiration gathering on his brow, accepted the bet as Viscount Rockley piled on the agony. A pulse beat at the side of his face, his play becoming erratic and desperate as the play went on and he was reduced to signing one IOU after another.
* * *
One hour later the game was over. Lucy didn’t realise she had been holding her breath, until she released it in a long sigh. Viscount Rockley rose from his chair, pocketed the IOUs and looked down at his defeated opponent coldly. A thin smile curled his lips, his eyes showing contempt for his victim, utterly unconcerned for the pain he must be feeling and knowing that in situations such as this it was not uncommon for a man who had staked his entire fortune on a game of cards to go out and shoot himself.
‘Rotten luck, Barrington,’ he said calmly, ‘but that’s how it goes. It was a fair contest. If you wish to try to recoup your losses and exact your revenge, I will be happy to give you the opportunity of doing so.’
‘Oh, I will, Rockley, you can count on it. This is not the end.’
Leaning forward so his next words were heard by no one but Barrington, Rockley said, ‘You robbed me of something that was priceless to me—my family. I swore then that when I found you, you would answer to me. This is just the beginning.’
With everyone talking about Mr Barrington’s rotten luck, Lucy was shocked to the very core of her being by what she had just witnessed. Retreating to the back of the room, away from the players who continued to hold everyone’s attention, she left the room and moved towards the top of the stairs where it was quiet, gripping the balustrade with trembling hands.
While the two men had been playing she had not really had the chance to take in the significance of what was happening. Now she thought of Viscount Rockley and wondered what Mr Barrington had done to make him hate him so much. She was at a loss to know what to say or how to deal with the situation. Suddenly Viscount Rockley came striding out of the room. Seeing her standing there, he fixed his gaze on her and walked towards her.
‘Miss Walsh. I’m sorry you had to witness that. I doubt Barrington will be able to settle the IOUs.’
‘What will you do? Have him thrown into a debtors’ prison if he can’t pay? You know what my feelings are where he is concerned, but I would take no pleasure in seeing him brought so low. He has a ranch to sell, but would you really do that to a man?’
‘Your defence of Barrington is touching, but he does not own a ranch.’
‘He doesn’t?’
‘No. I know him—have done for years. He is a gambler like his father before him.’ With a slight lift to his sleek eyebrows and drenching her in his most charming smile, he studied her for a moment, his silver-grey eyes levelled on hers, penetrating and disturbing. Taking her hand, he turned it over and kissed her palm, then closed her fingers over it. ‘I am all too aware of the dange
r Barrington poses. I will come for you soon. Be sure of it.’ Inclining his head in a bow, he descended the stairs—unaware as he did so of the savage fury that lanced through Mark Barrington who had stepped out of the card room in time to witness the intimacy of their parting.
Accompanied by Sofia and Sir Simon Bucklow, as Viscount Rockley disappeared through the door into the street Mr Barrington strode to Lucy, furious with her. ‘You,’ he hissed. ‘You know him?’
She nodded, unable to speak.
He rounded on Sofia, whose expression was blank, but in her eyes Lucy saw fear. ‘Did you know of this?’
‘No—I swear it, Mark.’
Lucy had to admire Sofia’s composure under attack, although she saw her swallow before she replied.
Mr Barrington turned again to Lucy. ‘Have you nothing to say?’
‘No, because I have done nothing wrong.’
‘Nothing wrong. Look around you and tell me that,’ he said, sweeping his arm wide to indicate the crowd of curious onlookers gathering around the doorway to the cardroom. ‘Everyone here tonight knows you are betrothed to me. It has just been brought to my attention by Sir Simon—who bore witness to the incident himself—that you accompanied Rockley on to the terrace earlier where you were seen in an intimate embrace—hardly the actions of a lady of virtue,’ he hissed. ‘Rockley has just made an excellent job of compromising you.’
Lucy didn’t deign to reply. Never had she felt so embarrassed or so humiliated in the whole of her life. All she wanted at that moment was to escape all those watching, accusing eyes. Mr Barrington was beyond reasonable argument. Bright colour suffused his face. His pride as well as his pocket was severely dented. Seeing the expressions on the faces of those who stood around, ranging from mockery to contempt, he realised he had become a creature of ridicule. When he spoke there was a world of condemnation in it.
‘That man has made me a laughing stock, an object of ridicule. But if he thinks to get the better of me he’s mistaken. And you!’ He glowered at Lucy. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at? How dare you humiliate me in this manner? How dare you do this to me? I did not expect you to be in league with Rockley. It’s plain that the blackguard has an eye for you himself. You should not have been in the card room—nor you, Sofia.’
Aware that they were attracting a great deal of interest and whispering among those gathered, Lucy had no intention of airing their grievances any further in public. Although she was not deaf—already she heard those gathered questioning her morals and her loyalties were roundly denounced: after all, what else could be expected from an American girl—savages all of them.
Turning to Sofia, she said, ‘I would like to leave now, Sofia. I have no stomach for dancing.’ What was there left to enjoy?
Mr Barrington gave her an angry, censorious look that she’d had the temerity to witness his downfall, his humiliation. He tensed as if he would strike her or shout at her perhaps, but in the end he visibly slumped within himself, his anger spent for the present.
Feeling physically ill, Lucy accompanied Sofia down the stairs. Knowing there was no help for it but to brazen it out, in a defiant gesture she thrust out her chin and squared her shoulders.
* * *
Mr Barrington left Skeffington House embittered. In a murderous rage, he gave vent to his fury on the way back to the house. Throughout, Lucy remained impeccably calm. To retaliate would only increase his anger. Not even the scorn of those who had witnessed the whole sorry episode in the card room raised a reaction. She had learned at the academy that to keep control could win its own battles—her control over her temper sometimes astonished her.
‘This isn’t over by any means,’ he said with an acid drawl, the cords of his neck above his cravat standing out, quivering and tense.
‘I cannot imagine what you mean,’ Lucy said.
His eyes became narrow and cold. ‘Lord Rockley cut the ground from beneath my feet once before and I do not forget the wrong he did me. I intend to make him suffer for it. I’m a patient man and also a determined one. I hate and I wait for the opportunity to strike back.’
‘Try not to upset yourself, Mark,’ Sofia said quietly. ‘Perhaps we should not have gone to the ball.’
‘And how dare you announce we are to be married,’ Lucy retorted. ‘I refuse to be manipulated and pushed around by you.’
‘Carry on with your defiance and you will regret it.’
Lucy made no reply, but it increased her curiosity about what could have happened between the two men to have made them such deadly enemies.
* * *
It was not until they reached the house that Sofia turned on her, her steely reprimands echoing those of Mr Barrington, while he poured himself a generous glass of brandy from the decanter.
‘How could you do it, Lucy? How could you be so careless as to flaunt yourself with Lord Rockley? You father would be ashamed that you have learned so little at the academy.’
Lucy was regretful in that moment. There would be disappointment and hurt in her father’s heart and she hated being the cause since, despite their separation, his love for her had been vast and all encompassing.
‘Forgive me if I upset you, Sofia, but I will repeat what I said to Mr Barrington. I have done nothing wrong. Perhaps he would not have played so irrationally had he abstained from drinking so much before embarking on such a vital game of cards with a man who is clearly his opponent in life as well as at the gaming tables.’
‘I have no idea what you are talking about, Lucy, or what has prompted that remark. What I will say is that Mark is far more amenable than you give him credit for.’
‘Then it’s a shame you can’t marry him yourself, Sofia,’ Lucy remarked sharply. ‘Does my father know of your adulterous relationship with the man he has chosen for me to wed?’
Silence and the truth fell between them like a dead weight and if looks really could kill, then Lucy had no doubt she would be dead that instant. Saying nothing, her chest heaving with fury, Sofia turned and left the room.
Mr Barrington had been humiliated, ruined, and Lucy would like to know what transgression he was guilty of to warrant such vicious disgrace and humiliation from Lord Rockley. Tonight, Mr Barrington had presented her as his intended bride with the intention of sealing the deal and marrying her very soon—even though she continued to resist. He had told everyone—boasted of it, in fact. Instead she and Viscount Rockley had dragged him into a hotbed of scandal and predictable innuendo. No doubt it would entertain society for days to come, but she feared that she would be the one to suffer for it.
Never had it been as clear as this that her future hung in the balance. There was a hard, cold, tight feeling inside her and for the first time she cursed Lord Rockley for tonight’s catastrophe. Why could he not have left well alone? He had apologised for the intimacies they had shared earlier, then he had left her, unaware as he did so of the catastrophe that was about to unfold around her. As she climbed the stairs to her room she seemed to be made of steel and ice, sheathed in an unnatural calm that belied the emotions seething inside her.
What was she going to do? It was time she began to think for herself and not rely on others to help her. She did consider going to her godmother’s house, but when she was away she always closed the house, leaving a caretaker to keep an eye on things while the servants went to their respective homes until it was time for her to return. She had money in the bank from her father’s allowance. There should be enough to see her to France—and maybe even enough to pay her passage to Louisiana. It would be difficult persuading Sofia and Mr Barrington to agree, but she must insist that her wishes be taken into account.
Whatever she decided, she must achieve it with dignity. She would not compromise herself further than she had at the Skeffington ball. But when she allowed herself to dwell on Lord Rockley’s kiss, which had inspired emotions and feelings she had
never felt before, she could not escape the fact that she had embarked upon a hazardous obstacle course of emotions that left her breathless and intoxicated. She had left the secure world of her learning to the more dangerous ground on to which Viscount Rockley sought to entice her. As she splashed the cold water on her face prior to going to bed, it chilled her flesh while leaving the secret fires within her uncooled.
There were so many unanswered questions that kept her awake until almost dawn, when finally she fell into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
Home alone with a raw ache inside him, the vexing tide of anger which had consumed Christopher since setting eyes on Mark Barrington began to subside. So concerned was he about Miss Walsh that his mind was locked in furious combat with the desire to go after her and snatch her from the clutches of Barrington and her stepmother, but he couldn’t, at least not yet.
He was seized with a passionate longing to protect the lovely young woman who had crept into his heart. What was it that drew him to her? he asked himself. Her sincerity? Her gentleness and purity of both body and mind? Was it her smile, her touch, that set the blood pounding in his veins? Everything about her threw him off balance. Why had he kissed her? What madness had made him do that? Why had he allowed himself to get carried away?
At the time he’d been besieged by a confusion of emotions that all battled for supremacy. He was astounded by the passion that had erupted between them, astounded that this young woman had the ability to almost make him lose his mind. His conscience pricked him, reminding him of the unforgivable sin that he had been kissing a girl fresh out of the schoolroom. She had kissed so innocently, yet even though she had wanted the kiss surely she did not realise what she was doing.
He was instantly thrust back just over three years, when he had returned from the West Indies and seen his sister about to take her own life in the lake close to his Charleston home. The relief that he had been in time and anger he had felt afterwards, knowing Barrington was the cause of her misery, had almost consumed him. Even now Christopher felt the wrenching loss of first his mother and then his father—the proud man who had turned his back on his noble heritage and married the daughter of a poor clergyman.
A Viscount to Save Her Reputation Page 8