Playing with Fire

by Sandra Heath

  She flinched at his anger, and hastily shoved it back into the statue. An embarrassed hush fell on the room as Hermione, mortified at having exposed the secret in the first place, quickly closed the flap, turned the scarab, and stepped away from the statue as if she feared it would point an accusing finger at her.

  Sir Julian overcame his anger, then summoned an apologetic smile. “I must ask you all to forgive me, but the letter happens to be precious to me.”

  Amanda tossed her head and went back to the bookcase she had been examining before. Hermione was still too embarrassed to meet anyone’s eyes, and she quickly went to take a seat on an empty sofa opposite Tansy, who smiled encouragingly at her.

  Sir Julian put the papyrus away and came to join them, being careful to sit with Hermione, by way of showing her he was not upset with her. She stole a shy glance at him, found his upon her already, and looked quickly away again. But the awkwardness did not last long, for they both had too much in common and far too much to talk about.

  Amanda sighed loudly as she sauntered to the next bookcase. Her sequined gown glittered in the combination of candles and firelight, and Tansy’s attention was drawn to her. There was definitely something different about her tonight, something reminiscent of an occasion in their childhood when Amanda had been the first to find out that Tansy’s mother was ill and would not get better. Tansy could hear her childish, taunting voice even now. I know something you don’t know. I know something you don’t know…. Amanda had that look about her again tonight.

  Martin watched Amanda too, and he shared Tansy’s suspicions. Something was afoot, and he did not think it boded well for anyone. His hand crept up to rest over Tansy’s once more, and this time her fingers curled into his, warm, gentle, and more beloved to him than he had quite realized.

  Chapter 23

  The handclasp between Tansy and Martin did not escape Amanda’s eagle eye. Scarcely able to credit that he could show such favor toward the Church Mouse, Amanda was immediately stirred with a malignant urge to spoil things if she could. So she went to the decanter of sherry, poured a glass, and took it to Martin, approaching him in such a way that Tansy was forced to release his hand and step aside. Amanda promptly inserted herself neatly in the resulting gap, then turned her back on Tansy as she pressed the glass upon Martin. “I think it most splendid of you to come down like this, Lieutenant, and I for one do not wish you to scurry away again when we go in to dine.”

  He summoned a slight laugh. “I do not think I am about to scurry anywhere, Miss Richardson. A painful shuffle is about all I can manage at the moment.”

  “Well, however you move from A to B, sir, I must beg you to stay down here with us. I look to you to rescue me again from the horrors of Ancient Egypt, for I vow that so far tonight the conversation here has more resembled the market chatter in Cairo or Alexandria than a country house in England!”

  Sir Julian raised an eyebrow at her. “Come now, Amanda, I do not think we have been that bad.”

  Tansy went to sit down on a nearby chair, where she was able to feast her eyes on Martin. She drank in the soft shadows cast by his dark lashes, and admired the curve of his lips, lips she had now kissed twice. Her heart almost turned over with love. Please don’t let me be misunderstanding this now. Please don’t let it be a lonely fantasy….

  Amanda was replying to Sir Julian. “Oh, yes, your conversation has indeed been that bad,” she said, fussing over Martin like a nurse with a small child. “I am not in the least bit interested in old pieces of stone or bits of horrid papyrus, yet that is all you and Mrs. Entwhistle have talked about. I think I will scream if you continue in the same vein when we go in to dinner.”

  Sir Julian held up his hands in mock submission. “Very well, Amanda, we promise not to utter the word Egypt at the table.”

  “I trust instead that you will tell us all about London. Didn’t you say earlier that you’d been there recently?”

  “Er, yes, I believe I did.” Sir Julian didn’t see the trap yawning before him.

  “Did you encounter Lord Sanderby while you were there? Oh, you must have done, for how could you not? Do tell me all about him, Uncle.” Amanda was curious to know what he would say. After all, he had been most sparing with the facts so far!

  Sir Julian did not wish to speak of Randal Fenworth, but Amanda pressed again until at last he decided to be frank. “My dear, you already know that I do not like Sanderby in the least, so I think it would be wiser if we left the subject alone, don’t you? I wish to enjoy my dinner, not suffer indigestion because of him.”

  There was an awkward silence; then Amanda’s chin came up resentfully. “I don’t think that is very amusing, Uncle!”

  “Nor is it meant to be. I’m sorry, my dear, but since you insist upon speaking of Lord Sanderby, you leave me no option but to be frank with you. In my opinion he is a scoundrel of the first water, and I can hardly bring myself to be civil about him, let alone discuss him amicably over dinner. You are my niece, so I feel a responsibility toward you, which is why I have to advise you—again—to withdraw from this match while you can.”

  The others remained awkwardly silent, for there was really nothing any of them could say or do. Hermione kept her eyes downcast, and Martin studied the wall opposite. Tansy just fidgeted. Amanda, however, was ready to argue. “Why do you really offer such advice, Uncle? Can’t you bear to think I will enjoy a greater status in society than you?”

  Martin squirmed, wishing he’d remained in his room after all. Tansy and Hermione were shocked by what Amanda said. “Amanda!” they both cried together.

  She regretted nothing. “Oh, keep out of it, for you two are nobodies anyway!” She didn’t take her eyes from Sir Julian. “My Lord Sanderby didn’t fall out with you over your horrid Egyptian things, his father did, so why are you so venomous about him? I demand you tell me!”

  “You will demand nothing, miss!” Sir Julian replied sharply.

  Amanda didn’t even flinch. “I don’t care what you think about the earl. I’m going to marry him anyway! And if you think I will have anything to do with you afterward, you are very much mistaken! When I am Countess of Sanderby, I will be far too grand a lady to bother with a silly old antiquarian who is the laughingstock of London!”

  A nerve twitched at Sir Julian’s temple. “I will forgive you for this outburst because I do not doubt that you are very tired after your demanding voyage, but if you speak to me like this again, I will expel you from Chelworth and leave you to manage as best you will,” he said quietly.

  Amanda stared at him. Her expression was still truculent, and for a moment it seemed she would continue to defy and insult him, but to everyone’s relief she fell silent. Hermione found her tongue and changed the subject; then Martin injected a note of humor into the proceedings, and the atmosphere lightened perceptibly. The brief altercation was forgotten—but not by Amanda, who never forgot an insult, real or imagined.

  The new topic Hermione raised was cats, which, of course, was something else in which Amanda was completely disinterested. As Sir Julian, Tansy, and the chaperone discussed the merits of their favorite creatures, Amanda leaned down close to Martin. “Aren’t they all too boring for words?”

  He cleared his throat slightly and didn’t reply, so she tried a different tack. “It truly is delightful to have you here like this,” she whispered, giving him the full benefit of her most alluring expression as she set about driving the Church Mouse completely from his mind.

  “I have never seen myself as delightful company, so I think you are far too kind, Miss Richardson,” Martin replied.

  “Amanda, please,” she corrected. “After all, I sat with you every day on the voyage, and you called me by my first name then.”

  “Did I? I don’t recall.”

  “You are trying to spare my blushes, I know. But the truth is that I feel far more for you than I should; indeed, I am in danger of forgetting which man I am soon to marry.” She was confident of playing him li
ke a fish.

  Martin looked up at her and spoke in a low voice only she could hear. “Miss Richardson, what I did when at death’s door I cannot really comment on, but now that I am on the way to recovery, I can assure you that I have no desire whatsoever to address you by your first name,” he said. “In fact, I have no desire for you at all, having overheard far more of your shrewish tongue than you think. I find it very hard indeed to believe that you would ever forget that you are to marry Lord Sanderby, because gaining a title is clearly the be-all and end-all of your shallow existence. So pray do not try to charm me, for it will not work. I cannot be impressed by a woman I consider to be despicable in every way. Your cousin puts you completely in the shade, and I would rather spent one minute with her than a thousand with you.”

  Amanda recoiled as if he had stuck her with a pin, not only because it was the first time a man on whom she had set her sights had rejected her, but because he had been aware of some of the things she’d said to Tansy. Conflicting emotions battled on her face so that she almost grimaced with the effort of controlling them. Jealousy swung through her like an unstoppable pendulum. How dared he prefer Tansy! How dared Tansy win him! With a superhuman effort, she gathered in her rage and turned suddenly to Sir Julian. “I…I fear I feel a little unwell. Another headache….”

  “Oh, my dear, is there anything I can do?” Hermione inquired.

  Amanda ignored her. “I think I will go to my room to lie down.”

  Sir Julian was concerned. “But what of your dinner?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Amanda, if this is due to the disagreement we had a few minutes ago….”

  “No, of course not.”

  It was impossible not to feel thankful when the door closed behind her, for her blend of quarrelsome temper and strutting vanity was too much to stomach. Sir Julian and Tansy remained convinced that the sudden headache was due to the sharp things the former had said, but Hermione and Martin knew otherwise. The chaperone had observed the whispered exchange with Martin and wondered greatly what he had said. Something had not only displeased the future countess, but shocked her too, for her cheeks had gone the sort of a deep, dull red that denotes humiliation as well as outrage. Had the handsome lieutenant snubbed her? Oh, how Hermione Entwhistle hoped so!

  Martin was not in the least repentant because he considered the rebuke to have been richly deserved.

  In fact, the poisonous little vixen warranted more punishment by far for some of the things she had said and done.

  * * * *

  The thirst for revenge poured through Amanda’s veins as she flounced across the black-and-white-tiled floor of the atrium. She had never, never been spoken to like that before, and if it was the last thing she did, she would wipe the smile from Lieutenant Martin Ballard’s face! She would see to it that his name was reviled throughout society!

  The anger and disbelief that engulfed her were so overwhelming that she needed to lash out at something. But there was nothing at hand, except the beautiful ferns around the pharaoh. With a snarl that was very unlovely indeed, she seized the fronds of one and wrenched with all her might. The fern rocked in its terra-cotta container, then slowly toppled over, cracking and spilling earth and black water all over the pristine tiles. And over Amanda’s immaculate gown. Dirty splashes stained the exquisite silver satin, and she became more enraged than ever.

  With a choked cry, she kicked out at the terra-cotta. It was not a wise act when wearing slippers that were made of the same silver satin as the spoiled gown. As her toes were painfully stubbed, she resorted to one or two of the disgraceful new words she had heard Randal say by the postern. Only then did she realize Tansy’s wide-eyed maid, Letty, was watching her antics from the entrance to the kitchen. It was a little late to assume some dignity, but somehow Amanda achieved it. “Well, don’t just stand there, girl, clean it!” she snapped. Then, nose in the air, she ascended the staircase in a manner she hoped was regal.

  As she reached the top, she hesitated. Martin’s closed door seemed so inviting. She glanced back down. The atrium was deserted, the maid having hurried away to get things to clean the mess. Would there ever be a better opportunity to search the dear lieutenant’s room and do some mischief? Hardly had the thought entered her head than she acted upon it, slipping into the firelit chamber to search everything. Two furry shadows slunk in behind her, moving low around the edges of the room and slipping beneath the bed. Then they peeped out from beneath the trailing coverlet, watching every move she made.

  Most of Martin’s things were in his locked sea chest, the key to which was nowhere to be seen, and after a few unsuccessful attempts to get in, Amanda soon gave up. Outside the wind had risen a little more, and occasionally the flames flared in the hearth as a draft sucked down the chimney.

  She would not have found the locket if she hadn’t trodden on it. Her eyes glittered as she bent to pick it up, her questing fingers within easy reach of a feline armory that remained strangely inactive. She opened the locket to look again at the little portrait of Marguerite Kenny. She held it to the firelight, and only then noticed the inscription on the other half of the locket. To my beloved son, Martin, on his first birthday, 1769. So dear Mama was a low actress, was she? No doubt the good lieutenant was very careful to keep that a secret from his fellow officers!

  She closed the locket with a click, and slipped it into the bodice of her gown. It must be precious to Martin, or he wouldn’t wear it all the time, so with luck its loss would cause him considerable anguish. Stealing it was small revenge for the things he had said, but it would do to be going on with….

  Hearing something down in the atrium, she hurried back to the door, then halted as Tansy’s voice carried up to the landing. Then Martin answered, and Amanda tiptoed to the balustrade to peep down. Tansy was assisting him toward the staircase, because he was returning to his room, and they paused for a moment where two footmen were now assisting Letty with the damaged fern. Amanda drew back out of view and ran to her own room.

  Ozzy and Cleo emerged from beneath Martin’s bed and trotted down to the ground floor. They had business to attend to, and so took no notice of Tansy as she spoke to them. They crossed the hall to the kitchens, then found an open window in the scullery. Within moments they were on their way toward the postern.

  Back in the house, Tansy helped Martin climb the stairs. The effort he’d put into dressing in his uniform and then coming down to the library had really begun to tell now, and halfway up he had to pause to rest awhile. “Dear God above, this is ridiculous!” he breathed. “I am weaker than a kitten!”

  “You had no business leaving your bed.”

  “Right now I have to agree.” He smiled at her.

  Warmth suffused her cheeks. “Lieutenant….”

  “My name is Martin,” he interrupted quietly.

  She was full of confusion, which she tried to conceal by glancing back toward the ferns. “I…I think we had better continue before we attract attention,” she said, making to take his arm again, but he resisted.

  “Only if you call me Martin,” he said.

  She avoided his eyes. “Very well…Martin.”

  He allowed her to help him once again, but as they reached his door and she made to leave him, he prevented her. “Tansy?”

  “Yes?”

  “I want you to know that I think you are perfection.”

  Her heart, indeed her whole body, was in danger of melting. “Perfection? Oh, I hardly—”

  He put a finger to her lips. “Don’t say anything. Just know that—”

  Sir Julian’s voice rang up from the atrium below. “Tansy? Do come down, for dinner is served at last!”

  Heart thundering, she hurried back downstairs.

  Chapter 24

  Shortly afterward, having changed out of her ruined evening gown, Amanda left her room to keep her second assignation of the day with Randal. Beneath her fur-lined cloak she now wore; rose silk, and her maid had repinned h
er hair, so once again she looked all that she should. Excitement bubbled through her as she hurried across the black-and-white tiles of the atrium. Sir Julian, Tansy, and Mrs. Entwhistle were still in the dining room, so all was quiet as she entered the deserted billiard room then went out into the gardens.

  The night air was cold and fresh, with the tang of salt on the stiff breeze that now swept in from the sea. Clouds scudded swiftly inland, obscuring the stars, and the daffodils and other spring flowers shuddered as she gathered her cloak to hurry up toward the postern. Her progress was observed from the top of the wall, where Ozzy and Cleo were waiting a suitable distance from the postern—out of earshot, so to speak—for on this occasion they were not interested in upsetting Randal in any way. They edged a little nearer as Amanda opened the postern, but did not go too close.

  Randal was waiting, and she ran into his arms, lifting her lips to his with no thought of her reputation. The call of common sense was very faint indeed, for she regarded his ring as all but on her finger. She was confident she had cast her spell over him, made him a slave to his passions, convinced him she was the most desirable, most exquisite, most irresistible bride in the whole world, but in Randal Fenworth she had met her match. He had no conscience as he sighed, whispered his undying subjugation, soothed and excited her, called her his countess, and did all the things she had dreamed he’d do. Her vanity was flattered as never before, and the shock of Martin’s rebuff almost ceased to matter. Almost, but not quite, for she would never forgive and forget what he had said.

  But at last Randal deemed the moment ripe to introduce a little cold light of day into her dizzy darkness. “You know, your uncle would probably have me hung, drawn, and quartered if he found us like this, don’t you?” he whispered, his lips brushing her hair, her forehead, the tip of her little nose….

  “Oh, don’t let’s think about him…” she breathed, trying to kiss him again.