Jo Beverley - [Malloren 01]

by My Lady Notorious

  He took a pinch of snuff. “Lady Vernham is welcome to accompany her child.”

  “But Verity is now Lady Verity Frazer, and her husband’s wishes must be taken into account. Now, sir,” said Rothgar with a bucolic bonhomie that would terrify anyone who knew him, “take some refreshment. If you are come in response to my note, you know we have an entertainment planned for tonight. You must stay.”

  Despite his protests, Vernham was drawn into the Tapestry Room and seated with a dish of tea in his hands. “I demand to see my ward!” he snapped, then he saw Chastity. He blanched.

  She smiled at him.

  She had never seen eyes bulge before, but now she did.

  “But of course you must see your ward,” said Rothgar, and sent for Verity and the baby.

  By the time they arrived, accompanied by a hard-eyed Major Frazer, Vernham was on his feet, uneasily eyeing his company. He gave the babe scarcely a glance. “Good, then you will come with me now.”

  “Of course I won’t,” said Verity firmly. “And you will not take William, Henry. You will have to petition the courts, which I believe can take a very long time.”

  Vernham’s narrow eyes flickered about the room. All the Mallorens were smiling, even Cyn, but Henry didn’t seem to find that comforting, which proved Verity correct when she had described him as a shrewd man.

  “I suppose that is true,” he said with an attempt at an easy manner. “Nothing I can do, really, at this point if the youngster is all right. I must not take any more of your time. I apologize if I have distressed you, Verity, but I was extremely anxious about you. It was not kind of you to leave no message, no indication of where you had gone.”

  “But I was running away from you, sir,” said Verity simply.

  He was thrown off balance. “Why, for God’s sake?”

  Nathaniel stepped in at that point, to prevent an annoyed Verity from saying too much. “Her reasons may have been misguided, Vernham, but we must all rejoice that everything has turned out so well. I intend to apply to be the child’s guardian, which I am sure you must see to be proper, and thus administer the property.”

  Vernham flashed him a look of pure hate, but smiled. “I will contest, as you must expect. I am sure the courts will uphold my brother’s will.” He drew on his gloves, still glancing uneasily around, as if expecting to be prevented from leaving. “Which reminds me,” he added with strained casualness. “A document is missing, Lady Verity, one which my brother had in safekeeping. Did you by any chance take it with you? It is a codicil to the will, I believe, and should be delivered to the solicitors.”

  Chastity held her breath and worked hard at not giving anything away.

  “Oh, that,” said Verity vaguely. “Yes, I did take it for safekeeping. I wonder where I put it. I believe it must be in one of my pockets.”

  Chastity could almost see Henry Vernham gnashing his teeth behind his smile. The trouble was that she could also see the amusement in Verity’s eyes. At any moment she would give the game away by giggling. She never had been able to carry a lie.

  “Do you think you could look?” asked Vernham tightly.

  A distraction came in the shape of Fort, who burst into the room. “They said . . . It is you. I have a score to settle with you, you wretched cur!”

  He had Vernham by the throat, and it took three Mallorens to get him off. At least one Malloren was not being philanthropic. “You’ll have to wait in line, Thornhill,” said Cyn. “He’s mine.”

  “You’ll have to fight me for it,” snarled Fort.

  Cyn just raised a brow, and Fort cursed.

  Vernham held his hands to his bruised throat. “I offered to marry the slut!”

  Fort knocked him out.

  “How crude,” murmured Rothgar. He rang a bell. A footman came in and was ordered to take away the unconscious gentleman and care for him.

  When Vernham had been removed, Rothgar said, “I confess, though, that I was a little perplexed as to how to prevail upon him to stay in this lion’s den. You would all persist in licking your chops over him. My felicitations, Thornhill.”

  “Felicitations be damned,” said Fort. “I want to gut him.”

  “Later,” said Rothgar. “First I want a confrontation between him and Walgrave, preferably before witnesses.”

  The first guests began to arrive in the evening, uncomplicated local people thrilled by an invitation to the Abbey. Some arrived already masked—mostly the younger guests; others put on their disguises after they had shed coats and cloaks. For some, the disguise was just a face mask, but most also wore the encompassing hooded silken cloaks called dominoes. In most cases little attempt was made to truly disguise their identity, and they were constantly greeting each other.

  Chastity, on the other hand, had gone to great lengths to be sure she would not be recognized. A rose silk domino and a pearl half-mask were moderately concealing, but in addition she’d powdered her wig heavily with silver-gray.

  When she’d looked in the mirror in her room, she’d been sure even Cyn would never recognize her. She remembered his words. Would the eyes of love penetrate even this disguise?

  As she observed the scene, watching mainly for the appearance of her father, Chastity absorbed the chatter of the local people. They talked of children and crops and—with amusement rather than passion—the latest fashion. Her lips began to quiver, and she realized how much she wanted this for herself. An ordinary life, wrapped up in matters of extraordinary importance.

  These people took an interest in politics, but would not kill for power; an interest in fashion, but would not beggar themselves over it.

  She heard two portly gentlemen grumbling about Lord Bute and the influx of greedy Scots into England, but even that topic didn’t stir great heat. Whitehall could go hang as long as the squires were left to care for their land.

  Then she realized that the topic had been raised by the presence of the man himself. Lord Bute’s slender mask could not conceal—was not intended to conceal—one of the handsomest men in England. He was accompanied by a woman in full-face mask and red domino. Another Society lady out adventuring?

  He smilingly accepted the attention of the small court about him, and of the local people inclined to brush against the great. Chastity shook her head. He was handsome, amiable, and quite well-intentioned, but not of the caliber to lead England to greatness. She could quite see how his holding power had driven her father to extremes.

  She began to search the arriving guests for her father. Surely she would know him. Would he even bother with a mask? It was not in his style.

  She was distracted by a gentleman bowing before her. “Sweet rose, will you walk with me?”

  The voice and the blue velvet tickled at her memory. “Perhaps I am waiting for someone, sir,” she said.

  “Then wait no longer, my charming bud. He is here.”

  Now she had it. It was Lord Heatherington! What was he doing here? She tapped him gently on the wrist with her fan. “Wretched deceiver. He has not your height.”

  “Then you do not want him. Will you not allow me an opportunity to persuade you of my charms?”

  He was not an unattractive man, but knowing what she did, Chastity would not go apart with this man for the Crown of England. “I fear not, sir,” she said. “You must find another blossom.”

  He took her rejection gracefully, bowed, and moved away.

  That interruption meant that a number of people had arrived without her scrutinizing them. A gentleman in gold silk and a mask passed by, stopped, turned, and eyed her. He came forward. “My pretty chameleon,” Cyn murmured. “I see the worry has turned you gray.”

  “How did you know me?”

  “How could I not? Come,” he said, holding out a hand, “I have to find Rothgar.”

  “Why?” asked Chastity, suddenly nervous.

  “Merely to tell him Brand has persuaded Vernham to join the throng.”

  Chastity could not resist. She placed her hand in his and
they wove through the growing crowd in search of the marquess. “How on earth did Brand manage that?”

  “Told him it was the only way he’d get any food and drink. Extremely fond of his drink, is Vernham. Been calling for brandy ever since he came around.”

  “Has Rothgar told you his plans?”

  “No. Don’t worry. I won’t let anything, or anyone, hurt you.” It was as if he knew she was filled with fear.

  Rothgar was not in the hall, and so they moved toward the first reception room. A sudden crush near the door made Chastity aware that Cyn was wearing a sword. “Will it come to violence then?” she whispered anxiously.

  He smiled, all Malloren. “I hope so.”

  The cheerful uproar of happy people, without a care in their heads beyond crops and children, became almost macabre to Chastity as she contemplated the coming horrors.

  They found Rothgar in the room arranged for gaming, settling Bute at a table. He was being particularly attentive to Bute’s masked partner. Chastity realized that she had to be Augusta, Princess of Wales, the mother of King George.

  Her throat seized up. Was this just chance, or was Rothgar playing for incredibly high stakes? Was the fact that Princess Augusta and the Earl of Walgrave were vicious enemies part of the web he was weaving? Augusta had always been jealous of the closeness between Walgrave and her husband, the Prince of Wales. When Prince Frederick died, she had turned her son—the present king—against the earl.

  Cyn gave Rothgar the message that Vernham had joined the party, and Rothgar nodded. His hair was powdered white, and he wore a light maquillage that emphasized a wickedness in him, but he was not disguised except for a slender black mask. Anyone would know him, and know him to be dangerous. Chastity had grown used to him as he was with his family, relaxed in country clothes. Now, grand enough for court in deep-blue satin and silver, she feared him once again.

  Had Fort been right? Would Rothgar take this chance to destroy an enemy at any cost?

  Perhaps he guessed her thoughts. He smiled, and captured a hand to kiss it. “Begin planning your wedding, mignon.”

  “You can’t be sure . . .”

  He raised his brows. “All is falling so beautifully into place.”

  Chastity knew then that he was right. They were all moving at his direction. She cast an alarmed look at the princess. “I am not going to unmask,” she said firmly.

  “You will do as you are told. Cyn, stay with her, and control her as a good husband should.”

  “We’re not married yet,” said Cyn levelly, “and even if we were, I would not force her to unmask here.”

  Rothgar did not seem particularly put out. “Then at least stay with her.”

  “That accords with my wishes perfectly.” Cyn led Chastity away.

  “I’m scared to death,” she whispered. “I’ve been so happy, and it’s all going to shatter.”

  “To open the gateway to yet greater happiness. I’ve never known Rothgar to be confident and fail.” He drew her into a quiet room and faced her. “He has agreed that I am fit for service now. He will not stand in my way.”

  Chastity felt as if the world had become an empty husk. “When will you go?” she asked, trying to be brave.

  “After we’re wed. Or perhaps not at all.” He trapped her gently against the wall. “I’m not sure you will like military life.”

  Her feelings in turmoil, Chastity protested, “Cyn, you can’t give up your career for me!”

  “But I can’t give up you for my career.” His fingers traced the edges of her mask. “There are other things,” he reminded her, and her body instantly responded.

  “You love being a soldier.” Chastity was proud of the firmness in her voice, especially when his body against hers was dissolving her into pure need.

  “I’ve been thinking about that, Chastity,” he said softly as his hand wandered—seemingly uncontrollably—down her neck to loose the fastening of her cloak and lay it open. “I’m not sure it’s true. I love travel and adventure.” His fingers traveled to the swell of her breasts beneath the silken shift.

  “I love doing something significant,” he said, and the heel of his hand found the significant spot beneath the stomacher where her nipples swelled with sensitivity. He pressed just enough to steal her breath. His lashes shadowed his cheeks as he thoughtfully studied her reactions.

  “But there are other things,” he murmured. “If the war is ending, soldiering will be dull, but there will be interesting work in the Canadas—establishing government, mapping and exploring. What more could any man want than to explore a place so beautiful and mysterious?” His hand explored the dip between her breasts.

  Chastity leaned her head helplessly against his shoulder. “You’re confusing me. You don’t really want that.”

  His fingers slid behind the stomacher. “I delight in confusing you, and there are no words in the language to express the depth of my need.” He found her sensitive flesh and captured it.

  “Ah!” The cry of desire escaped Chastity and Cyn caught it in his mouth. He used his tongue fiercely to promise other delights, stroking in and out as she shuddered and melted. Her flimsy hoops were pressed flat and his thigh came between hers to both comfort and torment her.

  Chastity’s legs ached to uselessness and she clung to him. Her heart deafened her. Fiery heat engulfed her, dizzying her beyond a scrap of reason.

  His mouth released her and she gazed at him, dying with a need that he surely would not assuage.

  Then his hand left her bodice and conquered her skirts to find the heated ache and stroke her there, speeding her rampaging body to impossible heights.

  “Cyn!” she gasped, clutching him. “Dear God! Dear God!”

  “Melt for me, Chastity,” he whispered. “Here, now.”

  She had no choice. She clung to him as shudders racked her, and muffled her own cries of release against his velvet shoulder. Then calm settled.

  Chastity was dizzy and sticky and her legs still felt like stuffed rags. Even as her heart slowed, his mouth played a soothing message against her neck.

  She sucked in a breath. “Why?”

  He drew back to smile at her and she could see the passion that marked him. “Because I desire you to the point of insanity.”

  “But . . .”

  “But I have a vow, and one I intend to keep. I hope,” he said, resting his head against hers, “not for much longer.”

  “Oh, Cyn . . .” She stroked his hair gently. “I did not need that. Not really.”

  “But I did.” He moved back and grinned. “Do you think me a noble martyr? Sweet Chastity, there is only one pleasure in the world greater than making you dissolve in ecstasy.”

  She had to believe him honest. “I had no idea . . .” And the halting phrase expressed a world of ignorance.

  “We will explore it together, along with a new land. Will you, beloved?”

  She searched his masked features. “You really want to give up soldiering?”

  “Yes.”

  She surrendered to the dream. “And what would I do?”

  “Explore with me . . . in and out of bed.” He began to deftly reorder her clothing. “We could have a home, perhaps in Montreal. Or there is a promising town being built called Halifax. It’s in Acadia on the east coast. You could stay there when you had to, and travel with me when you could.”

  She captured his head and kissed him. “It sounds wonderful. Do you know, I have never much relished a life lived in drawing rooms.” She was wondering what would happen if she tested his vow.

  “I do indeed know. I recognized a kindred spirit when we first met.” He removed himself from her hold. “A bold piece of goods.”

  “It was probably the pistols that gave you the hint,” she murmured, moving toward him again.

  He shook his head. “Doubtless. Give me your left hand, stealer of hearts.”

  Chastity halted and held out her hand. He slipped a ring onto her finger, a gold fede ring made up of two
clasped hands. She stared at it. “Oh, Cyn—”

  He slid another ring on top, a hoop of diamonds. “It’s called a keeper ring,” he said. “King George has just set the fashion by giving one to his new bride. It sits on top, to guard the ring and the relationship from all harm. Do you know a diamond is the hardest stone?”

  Chastity touched the beautiful rings and tears escaped the mask to roll down her cheeks. “Oh, Cyn, I’m so afraid. I’m afraid to hope. I’m still the Notorious Chastity Ware.”

  He kissed the tears away. “Come and dance, my Lady Notorious. It’ll chase away care.”

  Chastity lost herself in the dancing—the first time she had danced with Cyn—until she saw Nerissa Trelyn in her set.

  This was Nerissa Trelyn the leader of Society, and she had done little to disguise herself. Her beautiful blonde hair was unpowdered, and a small feather mask did not disguise her features. Instead of a domino, she wore a flowing sacque gown of pristine white silk.

  Chastity thought bitterly that she would look positively virginal if it weren’t for the wide, low neckline which made the most of her magnificent figure. If her identity was in the smallest doubt, she wore the magnificent Trelyn diamonds, given by her doting husband.

  She partnered her husband with almost regal dignity, the Queen of Society. Lord Trelyn was not an old man—he must be about Rothgar’s age—but he acted as if he were sixty, while at the same time preening himself on the possession of this glorious creature.

  Chastity felt some sympathy for Nerissa, until she remembered that this marriage had been the lady’s own choice, and that she had apparently jilted Bryght Malloren in the process, and was now the mistress of Lord Heatherington.

  Chastity began again to scan the guests for her father, but in the dim atmosphere of the Chinese ballroom it was impossible to see far. There were even spices burning—incense or some such—and the silvery smoke from them and the candles fogged the air.

  When the dance ended, she moved with Cyn into the refreshment room and drank some wine. “It is a magnificent affair, especially for one prepared in such a hurry.”