by Louise Allen
Colonel Sir George Reed was a sad disappointment to Antonia who had imagined a distinguished military man of impeccable bearing, nobly sacrificing hearth and home for duty. Instead, the man who took her hand in his damp grasp reminded her of no one more than the Duke of York. Portly, the red veins of his cheeks competing with the scarlet of his dress uniform jacket, and with a lecherous eye to match that of the Prince Regent’s brother, he bent over her hand.
For a moment, as he held fast to her fingers, Antonia felt a stab of sympathy for Claudia. Faced with such a husband, who would not turn to another man for consolation, especially if the other man was Marcus?
Sir George’s corsets creaked as he straightened up from planting a kiss on Antonia’s gloved hand and she had a struggle to repress a giggle. To her alarm, he tucked her hand under his arm and announced, ‘Now, my dear, you must allow me to take a little promenade up and down the room while I learn all about you.’
Antonia shot a glance of startled entreaty towards Marcus, which he met with a stony gaze. Claudia, on the other hand, smiled vixen-like from her chaise longue as her husband, perspiring profusely from the combination of tight stays and the intense heat, passed by.
‘Now, do not allow Miss Dane to tire you, Georgie darling,’ she called sweetly, bringing a flush to Antonia’s cheeks.
But Antonia was far more exercised preventing Georgie darling’s straying fingers from inching any further up her arm towards the underswell of her breast. It took all her social grace not to shake him off and slap his face. Instead, she drew herself up stiffly and away from him and enquired in a voice of frigid formality if the drive from Brighton had been free of incident.
‘Tiresome, tiresome, my dear, but nothing which cannot be forgotten in the face of your beauty,’ he wheezed enthusiastically. Mercifully Lady Anne appeared and begged Sir George to permit her to take Miss Dane to admire the new hangings in the study.
The two ladies shut the door of the study behind themselves and gazed at each other. It was difficult to tell which was the more horrified, and almost together they said, ‘Beastly man…’
‘My dear Miss Dane, I cannot apologise enough. Had I known what he was like I would never have invited him! No wonder Marcus was so angry with me. And the Reeds obviously loathe one another. My dear, you must not leave my side for an instant. Fortunately he has shown not the slightest interest in Sophia, she is far too young for his taste, thank goodness.’ Lady Anne subsided into a chair and fanned her flushed cheeks.
‘What is the seating plan for dinner?’ Antonia asked, seized with a sudden alarming thought.
'Oh, my heavens.' Lady Anne jumped up. 'I must see Mead at once, for I fear I have placed Sir George next to you…’ She hastened from the room, leaving Antonia to divert her thoughts by admiring the handsome cut-velvet draperies at the windows. They changed the aspect of the room somewhat from that cool day in March when she had been dragged unceremoniously into Marcus’s presence, accused of poaching.
She ran her fingers over the arm of the carved chair in which she had been sitting when he had kissed her for the first time. The warmth of that recollection was rudely interrupted by a kiss of a very different kind: the pressure of wet lips on her bare shoulder.
Antonia spun round with a small shriek of outrage to find herself pinned against the desk by the rotund and lascivious figure of Colonel Sir George Reed. ‘Alone at last,’ he announced with undisguised satisfaction.
‘No, leave me be,’ Antonia gasped, wriggling away.
‘No need to pretend now. My wife told me you were a bit of a goer, a game pullet.’ He opened his arms as if to envelop her. ‘Good of our hostess to make this room available, what? Thought she was a bit starched up at first, but I was wrong.’
‘Sir George, I believe your wife is looking for you.’
Marcus’s voice dripped ice. Antonia, glimpsing his set face over the gold braid of the Colonel’s shoulder, thought she had never been so glad to see him.
Sir George swung round with an oath, but clearly failed to read the danger signals in his host’s face. ‘Damn it, Allington, no need to spoil sport. After all, you’ve got Claudia to amuse you.’
‘Sir, if you cannot take a hint, I may be forced to make my meaning more plain. I do not wish to embarrass Lady Reed, a guest in my house, by calling out her husband, but if you persist in annoying Miss Dane, you leave me no choice.’
Sir George’s face purpled, but he straightened his scarlet coat and barged out of the room without a word.
‘Nauseating man.’ Antonia felt sick with reaction. ‘He is really quite beyond the pale.’
‘Then why were you foolish enough to permit yourself to be alone with him in here?’ Marcus demanded curtly.
‘I did not invite him here, I came in here to escape from his lecherous pawings, but it appears that his beloved wife had told him that I might welcome his repellent advances.’ She stamped her foot with anger. ‘And if you had been half the man I thought you were, you would have called him out when he did not apologise to me. But oh, no! That might embarrass dear Claudia, and we would not want to embarrass her, would we? Tell me, Marcus, just what lengths would he have to go to for you to challenge him?’
Marcus’s face was cold, with all the old arrogance back in his eyes. ‘The man is old enough to be my father, and a guest under my roof.’
‘And his wife is your mistress! And we do not want to alienate him, do we? He might stop being quite so complaisant and take her away. You disgust me, the three of you.’ Antonia turned her face away, wishing she could bury it in the velvet drapes and burst into tears.
‘There you both are.’ Lady Anne swept into the room, beaming to see them both together. Her smile froze as she took in their expressions. ‘l came to tell you that Mead has announced dinner. Marcus, will you take Miss Dane in?’
Antonia met his eyes, daring him to refuse, but instead he said politely, ‘Miss Dane?’ She took his proffered arm and allowed herself to be escorted into the glittering dining room.
Lady Anne, deprived of a fifth lady by Donna’s absence and forced to rearrange her table hastily by Sir George’s behaviour, had none the less managed a reasonable disposition of her guests.
Marcus, at the head of the long board, faced his sister, who was flanked by Sir George and Sir John Ollard. With Mr Leigh on Sir George’s right, Anne had safely isolated the Colonel from both his wife and Antonia. Miss Fitch had brightened considerably at finding herself opposite Mr Leigh and next to the paternal Lord Meredith.
That left Antonia and Claudia on either side of Anne’s brother. Antonia saw him catch his sister’s gaze down the length of the gleaming table, heavy with plate and crystal. He raised his glass in a salute to her and Anne smiled back. What is that about?
Antonia sipped the champagne Mead poured for her, relishing its coolness, the burst of bubbles in her mouth. Normally she would make one glass of wine last all evening, but tonight she scarcely noticed that her glass was being refilled again, and then again, as the fish dishes were removed with entrées and roasts.
The long windows had been thrown open to the warm evening air and the scent of beeswax, perfumes and food mingled headily. Marcus was being meticulous in his behaviour towards Claudia, maintaining a polite dialogue about trivialities and showing none of the ennui he would normally display at such chatter. But however attentive, he was not flirting and seemed impervious to her coquettish looks and teasing jibes.
Antonia chatted comfortably with Lord Meredith but, when he turned politely to engage Miss Fitch in conversation, she found it difficult to talk to, or even to look at Marcus. She was acutely aware of him, of the Russian Leather cologne he used, of his long fingers as they played on the stem of his glass. She wanted them running up and down her throat, caressing her nape.
Antonia pulled herself together with a start and took a long mouthful of wine. The effect made her blink with the horrified recognition that she had drunk rather too much.
‘Your Gra
ce.’ Claudia managed to make the formal title sound like the most intimate endearment. ‘Please will you help me to just the tiniest morsel more of that lobster? It is so delicious.’
‘And matches your dress so perfectly,’ Antonia observed and then had to slap her hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. She looked sideways under her lashes and saw Marcus bite his lip as he served Claudia. It was as much as Antonia could do not to burst into laughter at the sight of her rival’s cheeks, flushed with anger, as pink as the boiled crustacean.
‘How brave of you, Miss Dane, to wear such a very trying shade of green,’ Claudia responded acidly. ‘One so rarely sees it without feeling depressed, although Lady Jersey, I suppose, has the style to carry it off.’
‘Well, I wear it a good deal, but I can quite see that on an older woman with a faded complexion it could be difficult to manage.’ Antonia took another sip of wine and continued smoothly, ‘Unless, of course, she used a lot of rouge.’
Marcus lifted his table napkin as though to cover his entire lower face while Claudia had gone so pale with anger that her rouge stood out in circles on her cheeks. She took a deep breath, causing a spectacular uplift of her breasts in the low-cut gown.
Antonia, beyond discretion, watched more closely. From the movement of Claudia’s shoulders she had put her hand on Marcus’s thigh.
Marcus turned his head sharply to meet Claudia’s hooded gaze, then he too moved, clearly replacing her hand firmly in her own lap.
Antonia realised that she was tired of behaving like the well-bred virgin she was. If she wanted Marcus – and with the wine coursing through her, she knew she wanted nothing more in the world – then she would have to fight for him.
Chapter Twenty
At the end of what must have seemed to their harassed hostess to be an interminable meal, Lady Anne at last stood up, gathering the attention of her female guests with a smile. ‘Ladies, shall we leave the gentlemen to their port?’
As she got somewhat unsteadily to her feet, Antonia bent and whispered in Marcus’s ear, ‘Meet me in the conservatory as soon as may be.’
In as dignified manner as she could, Antonia followed the other ladies out and found herself a seat. She looked around, hoping no-one would come and speak with her, at least until her head stopped spinning and she could work out exactly what she thought she was doing with that invitation just now.
Sophia Fitch perched nervously at one end of the chaise with Claudia on the other. Clearly the older woman had decided to amuse herself by patronising the little mouse. ‘Tell me, Miss Fitch, when are you going to announce your engagement to Mr Leigh? Such a worthy young man, I am sure. Does he have a patron? I suppose, coming from such an obscure family, he will need one.’
Antonia was about to leap to Sophia’s defence, but the girl, usually so shy, rallied at this attack on her beloved Richard. Her little figure quivered with indignation but her voice was steady as she replied, ‘Mr Leigh is one of the Hampshire Leighs, and as such need look no further than his uncle the Bishop for advancement. He is going as private secretary to Lord Seymour at the War Office, but hopes before long to stand for Parliament.’
‘Oh.’ Claudia laid one small white hand on her forehead in a weary gesture. ‘Do not talk to me of politics, it is so tedious.’
‘Well, in that case,’ Sophia snapped, ‘I will not bore you any longer.’ She rose to her feet, walked across the room to the piano and began to pick out a new ballad. Antonia felt like applauding before a note was played.
She glanced every few moments at the ormolu clock on the mantelshelf until, unable to bear sitting still any longer, got up to whisper a question in Anne’s ear.
‘Oh yes,’ her hostess whispered back. ‘Down the corridor on the left, the third door. Marcus has had one of Mr Bramah’s flushing water closets installed – such a boon.’
Antonia admired the new-fangled sanitary arrangements, wondering how much it would cost to replace the old earth closets at the Dower House. She glanced in the mirror on the wash stand, tweaked her hair into order and wished she had a little rice powder to calm her hectic cheeks. That last glass of wine sang in her veins, making her feel quite unaccustomedly reckless. Never mind, it would give her the courage to do what she had to do and drive Claudia out of Marcus’s mind for ever.
The conservatory was filled with a damp heat and the heady scent of lilies underlain with wet moss and earth. A few candelabra had been set on columns amongst the plant stands and beds of ferns, casting mysterious pools of shadow. Moths fluttered in through the open doors, fatally drawn towards the candle flames by the voluptuous smell of the hothouse plants.
Antonia strolled up and down the tiled floor, her gown swishing in the stillness. Would he come to her after that angry scene in the study? She walked on, biting her lip in growing anxiety as the wine-induced courage began to ebb away. No, he was not coming, she had lost.
‘Antonia.’ His voice was husky and very close. Antonia’s heart leapt, but she turned slowly to face Marcus, the man she loved.
The moonlight burnished his hair, casting strong shadows across his face, veiling his eyes. But she could see his mouth curling with a sensual tenderness and the rise and fall of his shirt, gleaming white against the dark blue cloth of his coat, showed that he was not entirely master of his emotions.
‘You wanted to speak to me?’
‘No, what I wanted was this.’ Antonia stepped straight up to him, wound her arms sinuously around his neck and, pulling his head down, fastened her lips full on his.
There was the merest hint of hesitation. She had taken him by surprise, acted as no well-bred young woman would ever dream of acting. But then his instincts took command and Marcus pulled her tighter against his body, deepened the kiss, opening and exploring the softness of her mouth. The scent of him filled her nostrils, the taste of him sent her senses reeling.
Without freeing her mouth he swept her into his arms and carried her effortlessly to where a bench had been set in a bower of fragrant stephanotis. Antonia found herself nestling on his lap, the strength of his thighs supporting her, his arms holding her fast against his chest.
The kiss went on and on druggingly, sweeping away all reason and sensibility. Antonia had prepared a little speech, all about how she was prepared to forgive him if he renounced Claudia, but even if she had been able to free her mouth, she could hardly recollect what she had intended to say.
At last he broke the kiss and she gave a little moan of protest which became a whimper of sheer sensual pleasure as his teeth nibbled gently down her throat, his tongue-tip tracing the sensitive line of her jaw before his lips found the swell of her breast.
His lips were so hot on the cool curves, they seemed to burn where they touched. Antonia’s hands pushed under the edges of his coat, her fingers caressing and tasting the firm flesh beneath the fine lawn of his shirt.
Her fingertips found the waistband of his breeches, tugging his shirt free so she could press her palm against the smooth muscled back. Marcus groaned deep in his throat and cupped the swell of her breast in one hand in an answering caress. His thumb stroked against the silk of the bodice, sending such a sensual shock coursing through her that Antonia gasped.
At the sound he raised his head and, gazed into her eyes. For a long moment their eyes held in a wordless communication, then Antonia saw his attention caught by something behind her.
To her shock she found herself deposited unceremoniously on to the cold ironwork of the bench as Marcus got to his feet, tugging his waistcoat straight over the chaos she had wrought with his shirt.
‘Marcus,’ she protested softly.
‘Shh,’ he hissed, hard eyes staring into the dark foliage. Leaving her breathless on the bench, he stepped out into a patch of moonlight. ‘Claudia.’ His voice was heavy with sensuality. ‘So, this is where you are. I was looking for you.’ He took another long stride and Antonia, peering through the tangle of foliage, saw him reach the side of Claudia Reed, bend his head and
claim her lips with a hard kiss.
Antonia was too shocked even to gasp, then too humiliated to risk being seen by the other woman, who was greedily kissing Marcus, her knowing body curving into his.
‘Later, Claudia, later,’ Marcus murmured, leading her towards the door. ‘We must rejoin the others, or it will cause comment.’
All intoxication burned away by anger and humiliation, Antonia stared at a moth scorching its wings in the candle flame. Just like me, scorched by my passion for Marcus.
She should have known he was not a forgiving man. She had refused his suit, she had tricked him on the riverbank with Jeremy, putting him at a disadvantage in front of the other man. She had let her satisfaction at the trick show too plainly this evening and he had wreaked a terrible revenge on her, guaranteeing she would never dare cross swords with him again.
Humiliated, stricken to immobility by misery, she sat on, unheeding of time, until Anne Meredith sought her out, concern on her face.
‘Antonia, my dear, are you unwell?’
‘No. Yes.’ Words seemed to come from a long way away. It was an enormous effort to squeeze them past her stiff lips. ‘l think I have caught a chill. Forgive me, but I must go home. May I have the carriage?’
‘But, of course, my dear.’ Lady Anne hurried out, returning some minutes later with Antonia’s cloak and reticule. ‘Let me put this round your shoulders. Why, your hands are quite frozen. Mead is sending for the carriage, it will not be long. Would you like me to accompany you back to the Dower House? Miss Donaldson may not have returned.’
‘No. No, thank you. You are very kind, but I shall be better by myself. I am so sorry.’
‘It is I who am sorry,’ Anne Meredith replied as she helped Antonia to the front door.
Marcus caught his sister’s gaze as she swept into the room, guessing from the sounds of carriage wheels on gravel that she had just sent Antonia home. His mouth set in a grim line, he continued to play, determined to give Anne no opportunity to speak to him that evening. Beside him, Claudia pressed her thigh against his, her breast brushing his arm whenever she leaned across to examine his cards. No, he needed to avoid Anne tonight: he had other plans.
