The Earl's Secret Passion (Scandals of Scarcliffe Hall Book 1)

by Gemma Blackwood

  "How's that?" asked Robert.

  "Why, to make our family the most well-thought-of in the region, naturally. Even you can't argue with that, Robert. Those blasted Balfours have monopolised local society for too long."

  "I thought we did not come here to enjoy society," said Robert curtly. "We came to escape it."

  "It's only one ball, Scarcliffe," said Beaumont soothingly. "If I can bear it, so shall you."

  It was not the ball itself that irritated Robert so, but its motive. His father's obsession with outdoing the Balfours ought to have burned itself out years ago, but the constant irritation of having them as neighbours had kept the flame burning brightly. Now, Robert found it interfering with his own pastimes.

  Would it one day be his role to keep up the bitter rivalry with the Duke of Loxwell? Who would even be Duke, by that time? Some cousin of Cecily's who Robert had never even met! Why on earth should he hate a man whose name he did not know?

  Why on earth should he hate any kin of Cecily's at all?

  Robert gritted his teeth and did his best to fool himself that it was only natural to think of Cecily under the present circumstances. It meant nothing. Better still, his thoughts of her would soon be driven away by any number of beautiful, suitable women who would be attending his masked ball.

  "You are quite right, Hart," he said to Jonathan. "It's a fine idea of father's to give the Balfours a taste of their own medicine."

  "Back to the house, then," said Hart, wheeling his mount around in a lazy circle. "We must be sweet-smelling and properly attired to greet the ladies."

  "I would rather meet them smelling like a horse," commented Beaumont.

  "In your case, even that would not put them off," laughed Northmere. "If only we all had your problems!"

  As they rode back to the house, each man occasionally kicking his horse into a gallop to demonstrate his might to the others, Robert listened with half an ear to their teasing chatter. Northmere, despite his protestations that he was not a ladies man, had recently been caught in a compromising position with a young lady that the others would not soon let him forget. Beaumont's good looks and fortune were repeatedly punctured with ribald comments, and Hart, for his part, was thoroughly mocked for his notorious secrecy when it came to the fairer sex.

  Robert fell behind the others, uninterested in their racing and their ribaldry, and let himself think over, for one last time, the fact that the one woman he most wished to see at the ball was the one who had not been invited.

  Chapter Nine

  "You have come up with some dreadful schemes in your time, Ceci," said Jemima, struggling to fasten the buttons of her long, silk evening gloves, "but this is most definitely the worst."

  "Oh, don't be ridiculous." Cecily was struggling to pull a ballgown over her head without creasing the silk. The task was made infinitely more difficult by the fact that she and Jemima were inside a carriage, curtains firmly drawn over the windows. "It's perfectly simple, and it's already going so well! Telling Mama and Papa that we were to pass the evening with our friend in town – the work of a moment! The footmen and the carriage driver who accompanied us are three absolute favourites of mine – they will not reveal where we have been, on pain of my absolute displeasure! Now it only remains for us to change into our ball gowns, and make our arrival at Scarcliffe Hall as the mysterious sisters, Miss Jane and Miss Harriet Somerville."

  "That's another thing," said Jemima, helping Cecily into the dress. "No-one will ever believe that we're sisters. We don't look a bit alike."

  "What does that matter? We will be wearing masks! There's not a chance of anyone recognising us."

  "It's a mad scheme, Ceci, and I wish I had never agreed to it." Jemima bit her lip. "Not least because I cannot help but feel that you had some other motive for returning to Scarcliffe Hall."

  "Motive? Why, of course I have a motive!" Cecily lifted the curtain a little to reveal the footman nervously riding Robert's stallion beside the carriage. "I need to return Lord Robert's horse!"

  The look of worry did not leave Jemima's features. "Have you been thinking of Lord Robert very often, Ceci?"

  By way of answer – or rather, by way of avoiding one – Cecily held her mask to her face and turned away so that Jemima could tie the ribbons.

  She had chosen a mask in the shape of a fox's head, decorated in the Venetian style with swirls of silver and black, matching her silver dress perfectly. Jemima, who had recently come out of half-mourning for her brother, had chosen a gorgeous gown of green and blue which she set off with a blue mask sporting several peacock feathers. Cecily knew how much Jemima loved bright colours. Her spirits during her mourning period had been as dreary as the blacks and purples she wore.

  Once they were both dressed and safely masked, Cecily pulled back the curtains to get a peep at the approach to Scarcliffe Hall. The Hall itself was a sight fit to take her breath away. Every window was gleaming with light. She could feel the bustle and excitement of the ball even from her seat in the carriage, and she longed to join it.

  The idea of seeing Robert again – of dancing with him, while he had not a clue who she was – was so delicious it made Cecily shiver all over. She was glad to have Jemima as her partner in crime. Without her, Cecily's own fears might have stopped her from embarking on this little adventure.

  The thought that they might be caught never entered Cecily's mind. She was not the sort of person who dwelt on potential disaster. What would happen, would happen. She fully intended to enjoy every moment of it.

  When the carriage stopped at the entrance to the Hall, the footman who had been riding at the back of the carriage stood ready to lend Cecily a hand down.

  "Now, remember our agreement, gentlemen," Cecily reminded the servants as they prepared to take the carriage round to the stableyard. "Not a word of this to my father. And, if you keep my secret well, Parker, I shall speak to Mama about giving you leave to visit your sister and her new baby, as well as seeing that a case of fine wine makes its way to the servant's quarters."

  "Our lips are sealed, my lady," said the footman, as his colleague dismounted Robert's stallion.

  "They will recognise this horse in the stableyard," said Cecily, giving Thunder a final loving pat on the nose. "See that they give him a good welcome home."

  "Ceci! You'll dirty your gloves," Jemima tutted, leading her away from the horse.

  Now, they approached the final hurdle. The footmen at the door.

  Cecily had hoped that the Hartleys were so desperate for guests that they were lax enough not to give their footmen a list to ward off interlopers at the door. She was disappointed to see that she had been wrong to assume so. Evidently, the Hartleys were keen on keeping their ball a private affair.

  "Follow my lead," she whispered to Jemima, slipping her hand through Jemima's arm for courage.

  "We are Miss Jane and Miss Harriet Somerville," she announced imperiously, fixing the footman with a stern glare through her mask. "I'm afraid our invitation has been left at home."

  "Good evening, Miss Somerville," said the footman. Cecily made to sweep past him into the room. "Just a moment, Miss! Allow me to check off your name." To Cecily's despair, the footman began searching for her name on the list. "Excuse me, Miss. I'll only be a moment…"

  "Is there a problem?"

  The deep voice which interrupted them was vaguely familiar. Cecily looked the tall man in the black mask up and down. That build… that regal bearing… that wink!

  It was the Duke of Beaumont.

  Holding her breath for luck, Cecily flipped up her mask and gave the Duke a beaming smile. "Good evening, Your Grace."

  She could not see Beaumont's frown entirely, but it was evident by the way his lips pursed below his mask. "I am no-one's Grace, young lady. As you can see, this evening, I am a gondolier of Venice."

  "And I am Miss Jane Somerville," said Cecily, making a deep curtsy. "With my sister, Miss Harriet Somerville. If only the Duke of Beaumont were here! He knows
me well, and he would surely vouch for the invitation which I sadly left at home."

  Beaumont paused for a moment, looking Cecily and Jemima over with a disconcerting eye. "I believe I can help you," he said, offering an arm to each lady. "The Miss Somervilles are here with me," he said to the footman peremptorily, leaving the man no option but to bow and step aside.

  "I can't say I care for the game you're playing, Miss…Somerville," the Duke muttered as he led Cecily and Jemima into the glittering ballroom. "You are not as well-disguised as you imagine. If the Marquess should find you here, I cannot vouch for your safety."

  "La! What's the Marquess of Lilistone to me?" Cecily tossed her hair proudly. "The nerve of holding a masquerade not ten miles from my own house, without inviting me! If I am discovered, he'll soon find out what the Balfours are made of!"

  "I have no wish to become embroiled in the feud between your families," sighed Beaumont.

  "Do you think you might stoop to become embroiled in as much as a dance?" Cecily asked lightly. The Duke gave a sharp intake of breath.

  "You seem to have forgotten, Miss Somerville, that you are no more than a gentleman's daughter this evening. Is it your habit to speak to the aristocracy so?"

  "Why, Your Grace, you have forgotten that I am only speaking to a gondolier," answered Cecily.

  "Quite right," laughed Beaumont. "And if you promise not to spread word of the gondolier's identity, he would be honoured to dance with each of you this evening."

  "I will find it quite impossible to reveal you, since I have not been introduced," complained Jemima. The Duke made a florid bow and kissed her hand.

  "Call me Antonio, Miss Somerville."

  "Gracious! You have Italian manners, too." Jemima took out her dance card without further protest and wrote Signor Gondolier beside the dance the Duke indicated.

  "A dopo, ladies," said Beaumont, whirling his red-lined cloak with a flourish and disappearing into the crowd.

  "That was the Duke of Beaumont," Cecily whispered to Jemima.

  "My goodness! He was a good sport, not to reveal us."

  "I think he is enjoying his anonymity as much as we are."

  "Speak for yourself. My legs are jelly."

  Cecily took two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and handed one to Jemima. "Fortify yourself, dear sister. We have a long night ahead of us."

  Chapter Ten

  Robert stood on the balcony overlooking the gardens, watching his guests grouping and regrouping in brightly-coloured gaggles below him. The sound of laughter floated upwards. The gardens were dotted with flaring candles; a veritable fairy wonderland for his mysteriously-attired guests to play in. Dancing feet were stamping merrily within the ballroom. Endless amounts of champagne were circulating on masterfully-managed trays which dodged through the crowd in the hands of capable footmen. It was the perfect party.

  And he'd done it all for his father. The man who wasn't even there to see it.

  The Marquess had never been one to pay much attention to his own health, but falling completely lame on the afternoon of the ball he had commanded Robert to hold – that was a little much, even for him. Robert tried to think charitable thoughts about his father, who was in a great deal of pain, but found it difficult. If he had spoken up sooner, he might have saved everyone a great deal of trouble.

  As it was, they'd had to summon Doctor Hawkins just as the first guests were arriving. Now, Robert was doing his duty as both host of the ball and concerned son.

  Doctor Hawkins was, by all accounts, an admirable physician, but that was not the point. Robert loved his father, despite their differences, and he couldn't help but worry. Not to mention the small part of him that had hoped his father would congratulate him on this triumph of an evening.

  Robert took a swig of champagne and allowed himself to feel a little smug. The Balfours would be green with envy when they heard what they had missed. Cecily would doubtless be fuming.

  Not that he was about to waste a single thought on her.

  The Baron Northmere was dressed as a Roman gladiator, very dashing in his red cloak. Robert greeted him by lifting his champagne glass in a toast as he came out onto the balcony.

  "Enjoying yourself, Northmere?"

  "I'm supposed to be in disguise," Northmere grumbled. "How am I to seduce anyone if they know who I am?"

  "Is your reputation among the ladies so appalling?"

  "You have no idea." Northmere turned away from the gardens and took off his helmet-shaped mask, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I have been dancing for hours. All these young ladies want to do is dance." He gave Robert a meaningful look. "I had other amusements in mind for the evening."

  "The night's young," Robert shrugged. He might not approve of Northmere's chosen pastimes, which were liable to leave young women in dire circumstances, but he was not enough of a spoilsport to chide him for them. "What are you doing up here with me? There are plenty of shepherdesses and Red Riding Hoods to choose from downstairs."

  "I am passing on a message from Beaumont, who has gone off to hide somewhere now that his disguise is discovered."

  "What message?"

  Northmere leaned in to whisper it. "That the lady in the silver vixen's mask looks a lot like a certain acquaintance of yours."

  Robert's mouth went dry. "The silver vixen?"

  Northmere checked to see that no-one was watching them, and pointed to a corner of the garden where a young lady in a silver dress was surrounded by admirers.

  There was no mistaking it. The moment Northmere pointed her out, Robert knew who she was. There was something about her shoulders, her figure, the graceful twirl of her hands through the air as she vibrantly expressed herself, that was unmistakable.

  The way it made him feel was more unmistakable still.

  "Cecily," Robert breathed, as Northmere sauntered away. "What are you doing here?"

  Had she no idea of the dangers she risked by publicly showing her face at Scarcliffe Hall? If his father caught wind of it… Worse, his brother…

  Hart had been angry enough that Robert had given Cecily shelter once. He would not bear another Balfour invasion.

  Robert ran down the stairs and pushed his way through the chattering crowds to reach the garden. Cecily was laughing flirtatiously at a joke one of the men beside her had made. Her silver mask gleamed in the candlelight.

  "Excuse me," said Robert, bulling his way into the intimate circle. "I believe I have the honour of the next dance."

  Cecily's eyes widened. Even beneath the mask, their blue was striking. "I'm afraid you are mistaken," she said coolly.

  "I think not."

  Robert took her by the arm and dragged her away with him, not caring if she kept her feet or not.

  "Poor show!" called the gentlemen he had stolen her from. "I say, poor show!"

  Robert ignored them. At least his mask – a simple thing in plain black – would prevent them from putting a name to his rudeness.

  "My goodness!" Cecily gasped, as they rounded a dark corner into the walled rose garden. Robert pushed her deeper into the shadows, away from the house. "You are a little too fond of hiding me away in secret corners, Lord Robert!" She paused. "It is you, isn't it? It must be. I can't help but recognise that ungentlemanly way of dragging me about to places I have no wish to go."

  "You are in no position to keep an uncivil tongue in your head," Robert gritted out. "You know very well – at least, if you had any sense, you'd know – that there will be such a scene if you're caught that you'll very likely be ruined."

  Cecily wrenched her wrist from his grip. "As if you care a fig for my reputation! I expect you thought it a very good scheme, holding a ball you knew I could not be invited to. Well, I've outwitted you, and if it's made you angry, well – I'm pleased!" She folded her arms. "I wish now I had not taken the trouble of returning your horse to the stables."

  Robert could not help smiling. "You brought back Thunder?"

  "Naturally, I did! I am not a horse
thief!"

  "Keep your voice down," said Robert, hustling her deeper down the network of paths between rose bushes. A delicate perfume hung in the air, and Cecily's lips were just visible in the moonlight. It would have been romantic if she hadn't been such a stubborn wretch. "You cannot stay here. Hang it all, Lady Cecily, it's too dangerous! Can't you see I am trying to protect you?"

  "I never asked for your protection. Don't flatter yourself that I need it."

  "Do you always treat your hosts with such disdain?"

  "Do you always manhandle your guests so roughly?"

  Robert was on the point of forgetting himself and raising his voice when Cecily let out a soft gasp and tugged urgently at his arm. "Would you look at that!"

  Robert turned back towards the house. It took him a moment to see what she was seeing.

  In an upstairs window, two figures were clearly silhouetted by the candlelight. Two rather intimately intertwined figures. A tall, powerfully-built man, and a shorter and more slender girl.

  They were kissing, deeply. They rather looked as if they were enjoying it.

  "Who do you suppose that is?" asked Cecily. He did not need to look at her to know that she was highly amused. "I don't suppose they thought anyone would be hiding in the dark out here to catch them."

  "Probably Northmere, up to his old tricks," Robert sighed. "I pity the girl."

  "Really? I rather envy her."

  The thought of stopping Cecily's impudent mouth with a kiss was not, to Robert's surprise, an unpleasant one. Nor was it an image he could easily push aside.

  "Have you no shame?" he muttered. The last thing he wanted was for Cecily to discover the effect she had on him. He could only imagine how unendurable her mirth would be.

  "But isn't that precisely the purpose of a masked ball?" asked Cecily. She spoke softly, and, perhaps unconsciously, took a step closer towards him so that he could hear her. The dark enhanced the sound of her whisper until it filled Robert's senses. "The masks allow us to do things we would never dream of doing in the open."