BRIGHTON BEAUTY

by Clay, Marilyn

  "There, there, dear," Lady Rathbone said, still gazing intently at Chelsea. "If it is any comfort to you, my dear, I am quite certain Ford shares your sentiments. I have seen the way he looks at you."

  Chelsea's eyes widened with fresh alarm. "Looks at me?"

  Lady Rathbone laughed. "Indeed. And just look at the way he prolonged making this trip to London. He would not have gone at all if it were not absolutely necessary. He did not want to be away from you, Alayna. Surely, in light of the way you feel about him now, you intend to return to Honduras with him once the pair of you are married." She paused, then added quietly, "One wonders how you would survive a really long absence, my dear."

  Having grown more uncomfortable by the minute, Chelsea wanted only to bolt from the garden and lock herself in her bedchamber. She was not Alayna Marchmont and she was not to marry Rutherford Campbell!

  "Can you say nothing for yourself, Alayna?," Lady Rathbone’s tone was a bit sad. "You have become so very dear to me. I should not want to see you unhappy for the rest of your days. Happiness is not so very easy to come by in this world. One would be foolhardy indeed to walk away from it."

  Chelsea fought the impulse to run from it. "I am certain you are right, Aunt Millicent," she murmured. "But, I-I . . . but, you see, there is something I . . . I . . . "

  "What is it, my dear? What is troubling you?"

  Chelsea bit her lower lip to keep from blurting out the horrible truth in a rush. If only she could be certain what to do. She gazed at Lady Rathbone imploringly.

  "Yes?" Lady Rathbone's expression was expectant.

  Lowering her lashes, Chelsea considered how to begin. She suddenly felt so very confused and alone, as if she could not fully trust herself to know what was right anymore. It was true, she had missed Ford. She had missed him fiercely. Without him, the castle had seemed empty and forlorn. And in spite of her resolve to confess the whole truth to him, the thought of being jerked from his side and never to see him again was almost more than she could bear. Perhaps . . . was it possible, she did not need to tell him the truth? Perhaps, if . . . oh, it was all so confusing.

  "What is it, Alayna dear? I can see that you are quite distressed. I am sure you will feel much better if you tell me what the trouble is."

  Chelsea felt a rush of confused tears begin to swim in her eyes. "Oh, Aunt Millicent, I . . . "She feared she would burst if she did not tell someone! "I-I . . . you see, I have a friend, Aunt Millicent, who finds herself in a . . . a rather difficult situation. It seems this friend gave her word to another friend to do a certain thing, and my friend has quite tried her best to do it, but the doing . . . that is, you see, when the doing of the deed is uncovered . . . it may cause others, whom my friend has also come to care a great deal for, a . . . a certain amount of grief. My friend's problem, Aunt Millicent, is . . ." she turned round brown eyes upon Lady Rathbone, ". . . to whom does my friend owe her allegiance? To the friend to whom she gave her word, or to those for whom she has come to care?"

  Lady Rathbone drew in a long breath. "Well," she pursed her lips. "Your friend indeed has a problem."

  Her hands clenched tightly in her lap, Chelsea waited breathlessly for the answer.

  "I should think," Lady Rathbone began, "that to remain entirely honorable, your friend should endeavor to keep her word."

  Chelsea could hardly believe her ears.

  "That is," Lady Rathbone continued, "if the doing of the deed does not go against the law, or is in any way dishonorable."

  Chelsea’s eyes squeezed shut. It was just as she feared. She had to tell Lord Rathbone the truth. But could she? Now. Now, that . . . oh, how had her sense of right and wrong become so hopelessly entangled with her feelings for Lord Rathbone?

  Chapter Ten

  “Is There Something You Wish To Confess?”

  Upon entering the dining room the next morning, Chelsea was thrilled beyond measure to find Lord Rathbone himself seated at the head of the table. The smile that lifted the corners of her mouth was both spontaneous and brilliant.

  "Rutherford!" she cried, "you have returned!" Then upon hearing the sound of Lady Rathbone's indulgent laughter, she felt more than a trifle embarrassed by her uncharacteristic show of exuberance.

  "Did I not tell you he would?" the older woman said, amusement still evident in her voice. "Alayna and I have both missed you, Ford."

  "And I you, Mother," Lord Rathbone said, his tone oddly terse. He flicked a gaze at Chelsea as she slid into her place at the table.

  But the gentleman's cool demeanor was lost on her, so overjoyed was she to see him again. Drinking in the glorious sight of his handsome face, it was as if in the past three days she had lost all recollection of it. The vivid impressions she had so carefully tucked into her heart had somehow vanished and now she was breathless to fill up the void again with new and precious images of him.

  Her eyes traveled over his face as if she were beholding it for the first time. The breadth of his tanned brow, his straight nose, and the gentle flare of his nostrils seemed to fascinate her. The resolute set of his jaw and the slight, but delicious curve of his full lower lip intrigued her.

  He looked especially attractive this morning in a forest green brocade waistcoat and buff-coloured jacket. His snowy white cravat contrasted sharply with the deeply tanned skin of his neck and face.

  As Chelsea's eyes traveled upward once more, she noted that while in London, he had had his hair trimmed, for the dark, thick locks were now styled in a manner that she recognized as being very much in vogue with the Corinthian set.

  Suddenly the gentleman turned a quizzical gaze on Chelsea and her stomach did a funny flip-flop.

  "As soon as you have eaten your breakfast, Alayna, there is a matter I should like to take up with you . . . in private," he said quietly.

  The smile on Chelsea's lips widened. "Of course, Rutherford."

  Her gaze cut to Lady Rathbone, whose lips were still twitching as she watched Chelsea. "You'd best eat, my dear," she said.

  Chelsea smiled nervously. "As it happens, I feel quite famished, Aunt Millicent." She turned to the servant hovering at her elbow. "If you'd fill a plate from the sideboard for me, please."

  The servant hastened to do her bidding. "The eggs, too, miss?"

  Chelsea nodded eagerly. "And some of the custard and a wedge of the meat pie. Why, I declare," she said to no one in particular, "I am absolutely ravenous!"

  Only Lady Rathbone seemed to find the comment amusing.

  Minutes later Lord Rathbone laid aside his napkin and gazed directly at his cousin, who, at the moment, was giving full attention to the food on her plate. It had rather surprised him to realize that he had truly missed her. He had thought that being away from her, and from the castle, would feel much the same as it always did, that having left those concerns behind, he would be able to carry on in his normal detached fashion, his mind firmly fixed on the business at hand.

  But that had not been the case this time. Thoughts of Alayna had constantly surfaced, making concentration when he was away from her as difficult as it had been when she was near. Which, he realized, made the troublesome rumors he had heard circulating about her in London that much more difficult to bear.

  His mouth firmed into a thin line as images of her and . . . no! He would not think on that again until he had heard her confirm, or deny, the truth of the matter to him with her own lips.

  The story was a sordid one and he had not enjoyed hearing it bandied about in the clubs and drawing rooms he had frequented. But being a fair man, he would not judge a person on the basis of hearsay alone. He would give Alayna the opportunity to confess the whole truth to him, or to assure him that the vile rumors were nothing more than gossipmonger's tongues run amuck. In Alayna's defense, he did not believe she would fabricate a falsehood in order to protect herself. He was quite certain she would tell him the truth.

  Leaning back in his chair now, he continued to watch her devour the food on her plate. Watching her, h
e could not suppress a small smile. She was gobbling her food in much the same way as the hungry children of newly purchased slaves eat, scooping the food into their mouths as if they had not eaten in a week.

  In many ways, Alayna was as guileless as a child. It was one of the many things that endeared her to him. Despite her continued obstinacy about returning to Honduras with him, he was certain she found his talk of the plantation fascinating. A sort of child-like hunger for adventure shone from her eyes as he talked and as she hung tenaciously on to his every word. And, just a moment ago, he smiled with inward satisfaction, she had been every bit as happy to see him as he was to see her.

  But, his jaw firmed again, he would not let his true feelings for her show just yet. Not until he heard what he wanted to hear, nay, needed to hear from her lips. He had to know if she cared for him, and . . . equally as important, that there had been no other man before him.

  He pushed away from the table. "I shall await you in the library, Alayna."

  She lifted her gaze. "I shall only be a moment."

  "Take your time." Moving away from the table, he felt her eyes following him as he exited the room.

  * * * *

  When Lord Rathbone heard her gentle rap at the library door, he rose from his position before the rent table.

  "Come in, Alayna."

  Stepping into the room, he noted that she had taken the time to change her gown. At the breakfast table, she had looked charming. Now, dressed in a primrose sprigged muslin with a wide blue sash tied beneath her breasts, she looked . . . breathtaking. Her butter gold hair seemed to sparkle and her dark brown eyes were as bright as dew-drops glistening in the meadow. His pulse quickened as he watched her glide toward him, the soft folds of her gown outlining the gentle curves of her lithe body.

  Dragging his eyes to her face, he was suddenly struck by the enormous difference there also. In place of her unmasked joy at seeing him, she now wore a fixed look of . . . resolute determination. His eyes narrowed with disgust. Unless he completely missed the mark, Alayna knew exactly what this interview was about.

  With a cool nod, he indicated a chair where she might sit. But she surprised him by saying, "Thank you, I prefer to stand."

  "Very well." He positioned himself before the large desk in the center of the room and folded both arms across his chest. After a pause, he said, "Is there something you wish to confess to me?"

  He was not prepared for the look of shock that transformed her face again, as if the very life were being sucked from her body.

  So, he had not missed the mark.

  "I am waiting," he said, realizing that in a perverse way he was actually enjoying her discomfort.

  The sharp rise and fall of her breasts momentarily distracted him, but he managed to push the delightful image from his mind. She had grasped the back of a nearby chair, apparently for additional support.

  "Y-you know?" she murmured faintly.

  "I know enough. But, in all fairness to you, I am willing to hear your side of the story."

  "M-my side?"

  "That is correct." He waited, but when she seemed loath, or perhaps, unwilling, to begin, he said, "Perhaps I should tell you what I have heard and then allow you the opportunity to confirm, or refute, it."

  Since she still looked as if for the moment speech was impossible, he surged ahead. "It seems that your . . . shall we say, blatant indiscretions . . . are on the lips of everyone in Town, my dear."

  "M-my indiscretions?" Her lovely brows drew together with puzzlement.

  Rathbone nodded coolly. "You are being linked with a man by the name of Mr. Harry Hill. An actor, Alayna. A common actor!" Feeling rage begin to pulse through his veins, he tried valiantly to contain it. Despite the guilt written all over her face, Alayna had not yet had her say in the matter.

  He watched while a variety of other incriminating emotions appeared on her flushed countenance, then he fairly exploded. "I demand to know the meaning of this, Alayna!"

  In an effort to calm himself he began to pace back and forth before the huge desk. Still, she said nothing.

  He stopped pacing to glare at her. "Either you are acquainted with the man, or you are not! And, if you are, I demand to know to what lengths the . . . er . . . association has progressed."

  Suddenly, her flushed cheeks became the color of new fallen snow. "P-progressed?"

  "Dammit, Alayna! Can you do nothing but stutter and stammer in your own defense? It is enough that my future wife has consorted with such . . . such low-lifes! It would be the outside of enough to learn that she had . . . that she is carrying on a . . . that she means to . . . " He parked both fists on his hips. "You know very well to what I am alluding, Alayna. I demand to know the truth at once!"

  Suddenly the dam of his betrothed's silence seemed to break. Replacing the fearful reticence in her gaze was a new level of determination. Her dark eyes flashed as she cried, "Then I shall tell you the truth! I shall tell you the whole truth, as ugly and horrible as it is!" Her pretty nostrils flared as she spat out the words. "I am not the person you think I am! I am someone entirely different. I would never consort with the sort of person you mentioned. I do not know an actor, or any theatrical people. I would never do anything to bring dishonor to my name . . . or to yours. The truth is, I lov . . . " Abruptly, she halted.

  Stunned, Lord Rathbone just stood there. He watched her dark eyes begin to brim with moisture and her chin to tremble. The anger raging within him melted away. He had heard, that is, he had nearly heard, exactly what he wanted to hear. She loved him. And, the plain truth was, he loved her. He exhaled a long breath. He was satisfied.

  Two strides closed the distance between them. "Alayna darling . . . " he said, his arms reaching to clasp her by the shoulders.

  "I never meant this to happen," she murmured faintly through her tears.

  "Nor did I," he echoed thickly

  "Please believe me, Rutherford, I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you . . . I never meant to . . . "

  "Sh-h-h. It is all right, my darling. You need say no more."

  She lifted imploring eyes to his. "But . . . you do not understand, I am not . . . "

  He reached to put a finger to her lips. "Not another word, my sweet. I know that you love me and that is all that matters."

  "Oh-h," she whimpered.

  In one swift motion, he gathered her into his arms and gently pressed her trembling body to his. "Ah, my dearest Alayna, I do love you. I love you with all my heart. I never meant it to happen either. I never so much as contemplated the possibility. Life is so much simpler without love to complicate it, but the truth of the matter is, you have stolen my heart."

  When at last he pulled back, it was to lower his mouth to hers.

  Chelsea hadn't the will to resist him. With his arms wrapped tightly about her, his moist lips pressed to hers, she seemed to lose what little grasp she had left on rational thought. A moment ago, she had meant to tell him everything, to confess her true identity to him, to reveal her awful treachery. She would leave nothing out. But now . . . clinging desperately to the man she loved, she could no more tell him the truth than she could fly.

  When his lips at last left hers and began instead to drop feathery light caresses on her bare neck and throat, Chelsea reveled in the shivery current that raced through her. She'd never been held by a man before, had never even imagined what a kiss might feel like. But, now, with her arms twined up around his neck, her back arched against the length of his hard body, she knew imagination could never come close to the delicious truth of this reality.

  "Ah, Alayna," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "How shall I wait till we are married to make you mine?"

  Suddenly, Chelsea's eyes sprang open. "Wait? But . . . you must! That is . . . we must! Oh-h!"

  She felt the low rumble of his laugher bubbling up from his throat as he hugged her close to him again. "Of course we shall wait, my darling. I may be head over ears in love, but I am still a gentleman. I would
never compromise you."

  Chelsea did not hear him. Forming her hands into fists, she pushed hard against the solid wall of his chest. "Please, let me go. I should never . . . we mustn't . . . please!"

  His lips twitching, Rutherford moved a small step backward. "I was a fool to ever doubt you, Alayna. You are as pure as . . . allow me to beg your forgiveness, my dear." His tone was both solemn and sincere.

  Still lost in her own mortification over the scandalousness of her behaviour, Chelsea could only repeat, "Please forgive me, sir, I should never have . . . "

  "Forgive you!" Laughing aloud, Lord Rathbone released her completely. "You have done nothing wrong, sweetheart. We are to be married. It is perfectly acceptable that a gentleman and his betrothed should" . . . his eyes twinkled merrily as he gazed down upon her . . . "indulge a bit."

  "Oh!"

  Rathbone laughed again. "You are a perfectly proper young lady, Alayna. And you were entirely within the bounds to call a halt to my forwardness" . . . he grinned rakishly . . . "that is, for now."

  Chelsea was too overset to speak. Stricken, she turned and bolted from the room. She was anything but a perfect young lady! She had taken this horrid perfidy to new depths of degradation. Dear God, how was she to climb out of it now?

  Chapter Eleven

  “The Betrothal Gift”

  When Lady Rathbone retired to her chamber following dinner that evening, Chelsea was left alone again in the company of Lord Rathbone. Turning a shy gaze on him as he relaxed before the fire, she experienced the selfsame breathless reaction that she had felt this morning following his kiss. This afternoon, she had finally realized that not even the sick feeling that lay perpetually in the pit of her stomach was enough to deter her heart from the course it had chosen. She simply couldn't help herself. No man had ever affected her as Lord Rathbone.

  At length, he turned toward her. "I meant to say no more on the subject, Alayna, but I thought you'd like to know that while in London, I took the liberty of setting the record straight regarding your whereabouts these last weeks."