Cicely blinked. The rushing sound in her ears began to diminish.
He can give you a beautiful home?
‘ - you will not be happy,’ he went on.
He can give you a beautiful home. The words began to sink in.
And her expression changed.
Gone was the rushing in her ears, and the weakness in her knees. In their place was a growing disdain. To begin with she had been perplexed that he should think she was going to marry Chuff Chuff, but realizing he thought she was going to marry him for Parmiston Manor, her anger began to stir. Did he really know her so little? Did he hold her in such low esteem that he thought she would marry for mercenary reasons?
‘It isn’t enough,’ he said.
‘Isn’t it?’ she demanded. She was by now almost back in control of herself.
He ignored her comment and walked towards her, his eyes fixed tumultuously on her own. She had never realized how deep they were before, as though they were whirlpools that could draw her in. She stood her ground as he approached her, but even so a part of her had an urge to back away. He was so overpoweringly, so overwhelmingly masculine; something she was able to forget on occasion, when it was hidden under a civilised veneer, but it was always there, waiting to break through. And it had broken through now, revealing the full strength and power of the man beneath.
‘I can’t let you do it,’ he said again. He cupped her chin. ‘You’ll regret it.’ He searched her eyes as though searching her soul. ‘Chuffington’s a buffoon-’
At his criticism of her childhood friend her anger began to rise again, and she used it to fight the unwanted sensations that were bubbling just beneath the surface, aroused by his touch. It would be so easy to let her eyes close; so easy to fall into his arms and turn up her face for his kiss, but she could not allow herself to do it. If she once surrendered to him she would do so completely; body, mind and soul. And she had no intention of surrendering herself to a man who thought so little of her that he believed she would marry without love. Let alone a man who was obviously very close to another woman, in a relationship she did not understand. And so she focused on her anger, telling herself he had no right to speak of her childhood friend in that way.
‘Lord Chuffington is a dear, sweet man,’ she said, taking a step backwards and freeing herself from his touch. ‘He has more virtues than you could possibly imagine. He -’
‘Virtues!’ He spoke contemptuously. ‘You don’t need virtues! You need a man who can show you what it is to be a woman. He can give you a safe life; an easy life; but there is more to life than ease and safety, Cicely.’ His voice became husky. ‘There is so much more.’
Looking at him standing before her she did not doubt it. It was as though his words had tapped into the primal heart of her, and she was filled with a sense of anticipation, as though something momentous was about to happen. His presence was so overpowering, the feelings he aroused in her so overwhelming, that she did not know how to control them. And if she lost control . . . But still she did not turn away. She was held there by his presence, and the searing energy flashing between them. She flexed her feet, but it did no good. She could not move. She was held fast by the overwhelming force that enveloped them, crackling all around them like a forest fire.
‘There are kisses, for a start,’ he said throatily. ‘You have never been kissed, ‘but - ’
‘Wrong,’ she said breathlessly, remembering the gossamer-light brush of his lips against hers when they had been overtaken by their feelings once before. ‘You kissed me -’
‘In the study?’ He shook his head. ‘That wasn’t a kiss.’ He dragged her into his arms. ‘This is a kiss.’
His mouth closed over hers and the world disappeared. She was aware of nothing but Alex. It was as if there was no forest, no ground, no air and no sky; nothing but the searing heat of his body and his hot mouth claiming hers. His arms pressed her closer and then closer still as he crushed her body against him, until she could feel his every muscle, hard, firm and unyielding, pressed against her soft and pliant flesh.
Her hands rose of their own accord and slid round his neck. It felt so wonderful, opening up to her a whole new world, one she had never known existed. It was a world of heat and passion, of deep, intuitive feelings, of overwhelming sensations, and of pure unbridled joy. She had never known it was possible to feel like this, to be so close to another person, spiritually, physically and emotionally, that she felt she was melting into him. But she knew it now, and with every touch of his mouth, every brush of his hand, she was aware of it more and more.
She wanted it to go on for ever, and when his mouth left hers she gave an unwitting cry, feeling suddenly lost. But he had released her only so that he could pull back and look at her, drinking her in.
His dark eyes traced the delicate curves of her face, lingering on her cheeks, her eyelids, her chin and her brow, before they looked deeply into her own.
Then taking her face between his hands he caressed her, his strong thumbs following the line of her cheekbones until at last they held her face with a strength and delicacy that made her shiver to the depths of her soul. And then he kissed her again. Slowly, languorously, as if time did not matter, as if they had all eternity in which to discover each other.
His hands dropped to her shoulders and trailed a blaze of heat down her spine . . .
In the background, she was dimly aware of a sound. Some small part of her, a part that had not yet completely succumbed to intoxicating sensations that were coursing through her body, began to interpret it as bells.
Alex released her, slowly, reluctantly, as though it cost him an enormous effort, and yet he let her go. Gradually she began to emerge from her rapturous state and return to reality.
And reality was that the church bells were tolling the time, their ponderous chimes ringing out the hour of twelve. If she did not return at once to her aunt’s villa she would be missed, for it was time to change for luncheon.
She stepped back, still dazed, and tried to collect herself. Steadying her rapid pulse, she smoothed her crumpled skirt and pinned her straying locks back in place. What had come over her? Why had she so forgotten herself that she had allowed him to kiss her, and even worse, responded? Her head was so clear and so sensible, but her feelings were turbulent and out of control.
‘I have to go,’ she said.
She did not dare look at him. She was uncomfortably aware that his dark eyes were still full of desire and she knew that if she looked at him she would stay. Without waiting for him to reply she turned and ran down the forest path, not looking back. She arrived back at her aunt’s villa ten minutes later flustered and out of breath. She slipped in at the door without ringing the bell and ran up to her room, not allowing herself to stop until she had closed the door behind her.
Fortunately, her aunt and cousin were in their rooms changing for luncheon, and had not noticed her absence. Even so, she must make sure she was composed before she appeared downstairs. She sat down on the edge of her bed and at last allowed herself to rest. Her breathing was coming thick and fast, and her feet were sore. She kicked off her shoes and luxuriated in the freedom it brought her: her shoes had been designed for gentle strolling on properly paved paths, not running over rough and uneven forest floors.
Why had Alex kissed her? she wondered as she began to regain her breath. Was it really nothing more then a desire for dalliance? She did not think so. His kiss had been too intense. It had carried the full weight of his heart and soul behind it. Or at least, so it had seemed to her. But she had to admit that she was inexperienced in such matters. Oh, it was so perplexing! For all she knew, it could have been motivated solely by a desire to stop her marrying Lord Chuffington. But that would imply jealousy, and why would he be jealous if he did not have any feelings for her? Particularly if he had feelings for Eugenie?
This thought was too difficult to answer, and so she turned her attention to the problem of why he had told her that she couldn’t mar
ry Lord Chuffington in the first place. What had given him the preposterous idea she was likely to do so? It must have been some idle village gossip.
She would have told him that he was mistaken if he had given her a chance, but just as she had been about to do so he had accused her of being about to marry for position and a manor house, and then, before she could gather her scattered wits, he had driven all thought of anything else out of her mind by kissing her.
That wasn’t a kiss. This is a kiss.
His words came back to her. Oh, yes, that was a kiss. It had been like nothing she had ever experienced before, and deep in the heart of her she knew that she wanted to experience it again. But she could not allow herself to do so.
She began to change, taking off her plain skirt and blouse and changing them for something more modish. As she did so she could not help wishing that the present customs did not demand her to change her clothes several times a day. One outfit for the daytime and another for evening seemed to her to be quite sufficient. Still, she could not run contrary to society in every way, and so she donned a simple day dress in a tiny blue-and-white check, with a high neckline, sashed waist and long sleeves, before going downstairs for luncheon.
She had by now completely recovered from her exertions, and bore no visible traces of what had just happened.
‘Ah! Just in time,’ said her aunt, as she went into the sitting-room. ‘It is half past twelve. Mr Evington should be here any minute, and then we will go into lunch.’
Making no mention of the fact that she had already seen Mr Evington that morning, Cicely set about composing herself, knowing that she must be able to spend the next few hours in his company without becoming distracted by wayward thoughts.
True to her aunt’s prediction, Alex was at that moment announced. He greeted Sophie and Mrs Lessing then turned to Cicely politely, giving no sign that anything untoward had passed between them. For this Cicely was grateful. The luncheon was going to be difficult enough for her as it was - a smouldering glance would have made it impossible.
Fortunately, Mrs Lessing, as hostess, did most of the talking for the next ten minutes. She made Mr Evington feel at home, then arranged everything as they went through into the dining-room for lunch.
Once the first course - a clear soup - had been served, the conversation turned to the matter of the theft.
‘I have managed to take the Kurhaus,’ said Mrs Lessing as they began to eat. ‘I have had to pull any number of strings, and call in one or two favours as well, but it is done. Unfortunately, however, I have not been able to take it for Friday.’
Cicely looked up. This was an unwelcome complication,
‘We will have to amend our plans slightly, that is all,’ said Mrs Lessing, ‘and stage the theft for Wednesday.’
‘That doesn’t give us much time,’ said Cicely, not liking the change in the arrangement. ‘Martin Goss won’t arrive in Marienbad until Monday. You then have to arrange to make his acquaintance and invite him to the dinner. I don’t see how it can be done in such a short space of time.’
‘I’ve thought of a way round that,’ said Sophie exuberantly. ‘We don’t need to make his acquaintance at all - at least not properly, by waiting for someone to introduce us. There is another way.’
‘Not a way I like,’ put in her mother reprovingly.
‘But it will work.’ Sophie turned to Cicely. ‘I mean to bump into him on the promenade, which will cut out all need for a formal introduction. "So silly of me," I will say, fluttering my eyelashes. "I cannot have been looking where I was going." He will say "It is quite alright, Miss . . . ?" I will introduce myself, he will doff his hat and introduce himself - to mother, of course, observing the niceties - and then, apparently wanting to make up for bumping into him I will tell him he must let me make amends by inviting him to our dinner party.’
‘It’s a good idea,’ said Alex approvingly. ‘Goss is a vain man. He will be flattered by your attention, and he is therefore likely to accept the invitation. Engaging in a flirtation with a pretty young woman is just his style.’
‘I think it’s a dreadful idea,’ declared Mrs Lessing, putting down her spoon with a determined clatter. ‘You were not brought up to play the coquette,’ she said to Sophie. ‘You were brought up to be well behaved.’
‘But mother, it is only acting,’ said Sophie appealingly.
Mrs Lessing shook her head. ‘I would rather we could think of another way.’
‘But that’s just it,’ said Sophie with a sigh. ‘We can’t.’
‘And we do have to make sure Goss attends the dinner party,’ Cicely reminded her aunt.
‘I suppose so,’ said Mrs Lessing with a frown.
‘And it is in a good cause,’ Sophie reminded her.
‘I wish there were another way,’ said Mrs Lessing again, ‘but if there isn’t then we must go ahead with it. I just hope, after all this, we catch the wretched man, that’s all.’ She turned to Sophie. ‘And you, miss, will see that no one we know is close by when you do your bumping trick.’ Having voiced her concerns, Mrs Lessing became practical again. ‘Now, as to who else is to be invited to the party. . . ’
Mrs Lessing outlined her plans for the dinner party, ending by saying, ‘I have made out the guest list, but I will need help with the invitations.’
‘Sophie and I will help you write them this afternoon,’ said Cicely.
‘Meanwhile, I will give the private detectives their instructions, and make sure they know exactly what they are to do.’ said Alex. ‘As to the tiara . . . ’ He pulled a box out of the inside pocket of his jacket and laid it on the table. He lifted the lid. Inside was an exquisite tiara. It was made of diamonds, with three sapphires set into the rim.
Sophie gasped.
‘That will certainly tempt him,’ said Mrs Lessing. She frowned. ‘Sophie will not be in any danger, will she? He is not likely to harm her in any way? Because if he is, then this ends now.’
‘No.’ Alex spoke certainly. ‘Goss has never been guilty of violence. Stealth is his style. Sophie will not be in any danger.’
‘Even so.’ Cicely spoke out boldly. She had a feeling that Alex would not like what she was about to say, but her mind was made up. ‘I intend to be outside the Kurhaus in case anything goes wrong.’
‘That’s impossible -’ began Alex.
Cicely cut across him. ‘I know what you are going to say, that he will recognise me, but I have thought it all out. I will be dressed in some of my aunt’s old mourning clothes - that is, if you will lend them to me, aunt? - and will be swathed from head to foot in black, making me appear older than my years. In addition I will be wearing a large hat complete with veil, so that my face will be completely hidden. There is no way that Goss will recognise me in such an outfit, even if he sees me. And I mean to make sure that he doesn’t see me. I will keep well hidden - something the dull black material of the mourning clothes will make easy as it is specially designed to soak up the light. Without any hint of a glint or sparkle I will blend in with the shadows and be virtually invisible. But I will be on hand if Sophie needs any help.’
‘And if I forbid it?’ asked Alex, his eyes fixed on her own.
She turned towards him innocently.
He gave a wry smile. ‘You will do it anyway.’ Then he became serious. ‘In that case, I intend to be there as well. Like you, I will keep well hidden, and will wear concealing clothes, so that even if Goss spots me he will not recognise me.’
Sophie breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Good. I didn’t want you to think I was a chicken, but I will feel better if you are near by.’
‘Then it is all settled.’ Alex rose. ‘Now I must be going. Thank you for a delightful luncheon,’ he said to Mrs Lessing. And then, to all three ladies, ‘I think it better if, until the night of the dinner party, we do not see each other again.’
His eyes drifted to Cicely as he said it.
Was that regret she saw there? she wondered.
Or had she s
imply imagined it?
Chapter Nine
Cicely, Sophie and Mrs Lessing rose early the next morning as the two girls felt in need of a visit to the Kurhaus in order to rehearse their plan. Sophie wanted to work out the route she would take with Martin Goss and decide at which point she would swoon, Cicely wanted to find a good spot from which to keep an eye on the proceedings, whilst Mrs Lessing, declaring they could not go unchaperoned, accompanied them.
The morning was fine. Cicely had been blessed with good weather throughout her stay, for sunshine was in no way guaranteed in the spa town. The climate at Marienbad was similar to England’s. It was often cool in the summer and it frequently rained.
The stroll to the Kurhaus was delightful. The band was playing and there was a holiday atmosphere, with many of the great and the good enjoying a brief respite from the pressures of their everyday lives. The English maintained a strong presence in the town, drawn by the magnet of their king. There were the Prime Minister and a number of other politicians, as well as Sir Herbert Beerbohm-Tree, the great actor and owner of His Majesty’s Theatre in London. Then, too, there were a great many English ladies, all discreetly dressed in elegant coats and skirts, sharply contrasting with the Continental ladies, whose lace and frills seemed, to Cicely’s mind, out of place in the early morning, being more suited to evening wear. Still, they added to the cosmopolitan air of the place, and provided an interesting change from being at home.
Once outside the Kurhaus Sophie paced out several routes before settling on one that would lead her in the direction of a convenient bench. ‘If I swoon here,’ she said, indicating the spot with her parasol, ‘then Mr Goss can help me to the bench before going to fetch my mother.’
‘Yes,’ said Cicely. ‘It seems to be a good place. How are you coming on with your swoon? Have you been able to make your tiara fall off?’
‘Not yet,’ Sophie admitted. ‘The difficult part is deciding how firmly to attach it to my head. Too firmly, and it won’t fall off. Not firmly enough, and it falls off too soon. But I will practice again when we get home. Don’t forget that, if the worst comes to the worst, I can always pass a hand over my brow and knock it off.’
Marriage at the Manor Page 15
