His Countess for a Week

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘It was nothing of the kind,’ he retorted. ‘I organised the boats to row out and fetch the crew and passengers, that is all.’

  ‘He said you rowed out yourself, to pick up the last of the crew, even though you risked your little boat being dragged down with the sinking ship. You acted very nobly.’

  She was regarding him over the rim of her teacup and the warm appreciation in her eyes sent a dull flush creeping into his cheeks.

  ‘Fustian,’ he growled. ‘Did Joseph also say that he was there with me, risking his own life?’

  ‘No, but I can believe it. He is devoted to you. Which I think is why he told Ruth your history. He says your actions that night prompted the authorities to pardon you.’

  Ran waved a hand dismissively. ‘I was recommended for pardon because we had managed to save most of the valuable cargo, not the people.’

  She shook her head. ‘I believe you do yourself a disservice, my lord.’

  Ran said nothing, but he could not deny the warm glow inside, knowing she thought well of him for that small service, at least. He noticed the change in the room. People were beginning to return to their seats. He had been talking with Bella for a good fifteen minutes. So much for keeping his distance!

  He said, ‘Our hostess has promised us even more delights when we have drunk our tea. Will you stay?’

  ‘I think I must,’ she said seriously. ‘Sir Kenelm and Lady Prees have been very kind to me. I should not like to appear ungrateful.’

  He drained his cup and set it down.

  ‘I, on the other hand, have no such scruples and do not intend to sit through any more excruciating sonnets, odes or rhymes. I bid you goodnight, ma’am.’

  Ran sought out his hostess and took his leave, assuring her with all the charm he could muster that only a previous engagement could draw him away. He left the house, pausing on the steps to button his greatcoat. He would have stayed, he admitted to himself, if he could have remained at Arabella’s side for the rest of the evening, talking with her. Laughing with her. But he had already spent too long in her company tonight.

  But as he set off along the street, pulling up his collar against the icy wind, he wished he might have carried her away with him. To his rooms, to her house. Anywhere as long as they might have been together. The ache was so strong he stopped and put one hand on the railings to steady himself. It could not be. It could never be. Had she not said, time and again, how much she loved her husband? His only consolation was the final look she had given him: he had read disappointment in those clear eyes.

  She had wanted him to stay.

  The thought of it gnawed away at him as he strode away through the darkness, and when he reached the end of the street, he hesitated. It was early yet and he had no wish to retire to Mivart’s. Instead he turned his steps in the opposite direction, towards St James’s Street and one of the discreet little gambling hells where he knew he would be welcomed.

  * * *

  The card room was comfortably full. He was invited to join a table playing vingt-et-un and sat down, hoping a game or two would relax him, distract him from thoughts of Arabella Roffey. It worked, until Charles Teddington walked in.

  Ran had been losing steadily. Not enough to worry him, he knew he was not giving the games his full attention, but he had just risen from the table when Teddington came up.

  ‘Ah, Westray. Well met, sir.’

  Ran nodded, disliking the fellow’s oily charm.

  ‘What say you to a game of piquet, my lord?’

  Ran had been about to take his leave, but instead he accepted. After all, he might learn something of interest. Something that might help Arabella. He followed Teddington to a small table set back in one of the room’s alcoves. A servant brought a fresh pack of cards and trimmed the candles while they made themselves comfortable.

  ‘You will drink with me, my lord?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Wine, or would you prefer brandy?’

  ‘Your choice.’

  Again, that unctuous smile. ‘Brandy, then.’

  Teddington nodded to the hovering footman, who hurried away. He won the cut and Randolph watched him as he shuffled the cards and dealt them with practised ease. They played in silence, each deciding upon his discards, weighing up his opponent. The advantage went with the elder hand, as expected, and at the end of the first partie, Teddington admitted defeat.

  ‘A few more tricks and I should have beaten you, my lord. Shall we play again?’ When Ran hesitated, he gave a soft laugh. ‘I should have the opportunity for revenge, I think.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Good.’ He picked up the decanter and waved it at Ran, who shook his head. ‘What, my lord? You have barely touched your drink.’

  ‘It was a close game and I needed to concentrate.’ Not quite true, Ran thought. He had noted Teddington’s wild discards, but he would not put it past the fellow to be shamming, drawing him in.

  ‘Well, I shall fill your glass, nevertheless,’ said Teddington, suiting the action to the words. ‘Don’t want to be distracted while we play, what?’

  Ran merely smiled. He would not drink it. Over the years he had grown adept at pretending to sip at a glass and disposing of its contents in a flowerpot, an ice bucket, even out of the window. Anywhere but down his throat.

  * * *

  The next two parties went predictably, the non-dealer scoring highest. Ran stifled a yawn. His opponent was competent, but he did not like the fellow and he was not in the mood to sit up all night playing at cards with him.

  ‘Talking of distractions,’ said Teddington, shuffling the cards for the next round. ‘May I ask, are you thinking of matrimony, Lord Westray?’

  Randolph was surprised into a laugh. ‘Why, no. Not at all.’

  ‘Ah. Then you will not take it amiss if I give you the hint. Concerning a certain lady.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘A widow.’

  Ran’s long fingers played with the stem of his brandy glass while his opponent dealt the cards. He said coolly, ‘There are any number of widows in town.’

  ‘But this one is particularly...tempting. Arabella Roffey.’

  ‘Ah, yes. The golden widow.’ Despite his careless drawl and lazy smile, Ran was tense, all his senses alert.

  ‘The same. A veritable diamond.’ Teddington glanced up. ‘I’ve seen you watching her.’

  Randolph hoped his countenance did not give him away.

  ‘Of course.’ He smiled. ‘She is a very attractive woman.’

  ‘Damned attractive.’ Teddington shot him another glance. ‘What do you mean by her, my lord?’

  ‘I? Why, nothing.’

  The fellow watched him from under frowning brows. Then he nodded.

  ‘I am relieved to hear that.’ He drained his glass and slopped more brandy into it. ‘You see, I have an interest there myself.’

  Ran cursed silently. The fellow was warning him off!

  ‘Cosy little armful,’ Teddington went on. ‘A man might do worse for himself, don’t you think?’

  Ran said carefully, ‘She has not been widowed a year, I believe.’

  ‘She’s nervous, like a wild bird, but I was a friend of her husband. That gives me the advantage.’ He grinned. ‘Once the year is up the vultures will be circling, eager to get their talons on her fortune. I am going to make sure of her before anyone else has the chance!’

  Randolph shrugged. ‘Since I am not one of the, er, vultures, it is no concern of mine.’ He picked up his cards. ‘Shall we play?’

  * * *

  The next few hands were more closely fought. Teddington gained a pique in the first and won two tricks from a throw-in in the second before Randolph’s anger cooled sufficiently for him to concentrate once more on the game. He was in no doubt that he could still win, for his opponent was drinking
steadily and Ran’s points were mounting. He toyed with the idea of staying for a rematch. He had not touched his brandy and his unclouded brain told him he might ruin Teddington at one sitting, if he so wished. Tempting, but he decided against it. He preferred not to make an enemy of the man, until it was necessary.

  ‘I’m done!’ Teddington threw down his cards with a forced laugh. ‘That repique in the final partie secured your victory, my lord. Shall we play again? I want my revenge!’

  ‘Not tonight.’ Randolph pushed back his chair. ‘I have an appointment in the morning.’

  ‘Very well, sir. Until the next time.’ Teddington picked up his glass and saluted him, saying with a grin, ‘Let us hope I am luckier in love than at cards, eh?’

  Ran stretched his mouth to a smile and took his leave. He sauntered out to the street, his demeanour that of a man without a care in the world, but his thoughts were very dark. If what Chislett had told him about Teddington was true, the fellow was no mere fortune hunter, but possibly a murderer. The idea of Arabella being his next prey chilled him to the bone.

  Chapter Nine

  Arabella’s black skirts whispered about her as she crossed the hall.

  ‘I wonder if I am right to wear silk?’ She stopped to look in the mirror. ‘Do you think it too soon, Esther?’

  She turned to her companion, who had followed her down the stairs.

  ‘No, no, my dear. You are more than halfway through your year of mourning. I am sure no one can object.’

  Arabella cast another glance at her reflection. The soft sheen of the material was very different from the lustreless fabrics she had worn for the past few months and she felt another tremor of doubt, despite her companion’s assurance. Dear, timid little Esther Hatcliffe would say whatever she thought was required of her.

  The deep chime of the longcase clock sounded just as the footman announced that her carriage was at the door. There was no time to change. She threw her velvet-lined cloak about her shoulders.

  ‘Are you sure you do not wish me to accompany you?’ asked Esther, walking with her to the door. ‘I have only to fetch my coat.’

  ‘Thank you, but I do not require you tonight. And there is no need for you to wait up for me. I do not intend to remain long at Sweigne House.’

  ‘Oh, but I shall.’ Esther smiled at Arabella. ‘You know I will not be able to sleep until I have seen you are safely back in the house. And I shall look forward to you telling me all about your evening!’

  Arabella walked out to the waiting carriage, leaving her companion standing in the doorway, waving after her. Poor Esther, she thought, as the carriage rattled away along the street. So eager to please, so afraid of offending. Arabella felt quite sorry for her. She was not the companion she would have chosen and quite possibly not the companion Sir Adam had hoped for, when he had insisted she should live with Arabella in London. It was necessary, upon occasion, to take a companion when she went out, but not tonight. Indeed, Esther would be very much in the way.

  Lady Sweigne was a hostess of some renown. She was garrulous to the point of absurdity, but her good nature and her fortune were equally boundless. Her routs were famous for the excellence of the refreshments, the elegance of the company and superiority of the entertainment. Even at this time of the year her rooms would be agreeably full. There was no dancing, only skilled musicians whose melodious sounds provided unobtrusive background to the conversation. In the card room, play was not deep; whist, vingt-et-un, cribbage and loo were encouraged, but not piquet. It was all very respectable, which was the reason Arabella had suggested to Charles Teddington that they meet there. She thought it would be a safe rendezvous for what she hoped would be their last meeting.

  * * *

  Sweigne House was aglow with candlelight when Arabella stepped down from her coach, promising a welcome haven from the icy streets, where the blustery wind sent little eddies of snow scudding along the gutters.

  She was so busy anticipating the warm rooms that she did not notice the cloaked figure on the flagway until he spoke.

  ‘Good evening, Mrs Roffey.’

  She jumped. ‘Oh. Lord Westray.’

  The heat flooding her cheeks gave away her agitation at seeing him. Not that she could quite see him, for his collar was turned up and his hat pulled down, its brim throwing his face into shadow, but there was no mistaking that deep, smooth voice with its hint of teasing laughter.

  ‘Here.’ He held out his hand. ‘Let me help you up the steps. They may be icy.’

  Once over the threshold she released him, but could not bring herself to walk away without a word of thanks.

  ‘My pleasure.’ He took off his hat and shook it, sending a small shower of fine snow on to the marble floor. ‘A cold night to venture out. You are perhaps meeting friends here?’

  The remark seemed innocent enough, but when she looked into his eyes there was no smile in them. She had suspected in the past that he could read her thoughts; now she could read his. He knew she was meeting Charles Teddington and he did not approve. She took a deep breath.

  ‘I hope I shall see many friends here, my lord,’ she said, before walking off to the ladies’ retiring room.

  * * *

  Arabella entered the drawing room with her head held high, nodding to acquaintances with a calm assurance that was quite at odds with the nervous flutter inside. Knowing Randolph was present did not help her anxiety at all. She saw him immediately, on the far side of the room, talking with Sir Arran Eversleigh. His fair hair gleamed in the candlelight and he was laughing at something his companion was saying. The familiar wave of longing swept over her.

  As if aware of her gaze, he met her eyes. She looked away quickly. If she could not ignore his presence, then she must endure it as best she could. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her head a little higher and moved on to speak to her hostess, who greeted her in her slightly breathless, voluble way.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Roffey, you came. I am delighted, delighted. Indeed, I am quite humbled that so many of my friends have turned out on such a cold night as this to come to my little salon. I see Mrs Darby and Lady Prees over there by the fire. Shall you join them? Or in the far corner, Mrs Beausale and her friends are discussing literature.’ She laughed and leaned closer, putting a hand on Arabella’s arm and saying with a twinkle, ‘Novels, I believe, not poetry, for which we must all be thankful! My dear, the readings at her soirée last week were not quite to my taste, but then, I know nothing about the finer points of such matters!’

  ‘Nor I, ma’am.’

  A smile and short reply were all that was required of Arabella before her hostess continued.

  ‘Perhaps cards are your pleasure? But here is Mr Teddington approaching. Your especial friend, is he not, ma’am? One can’t help but notice! Not that there is anything—That is, no one thinks your behaviour has been anything but irreproachable and he is such a charming gentleman.’ She looked relieved to break off as Charles Teddington approached them.

  He bowed to Lady Sweigne and, when their hostess turned away to greet more latecomers, turned to Arabella.

  ‘This is not the quiet little party I envisaged, madam.’

  ‘Lady Sweigne’s parties are always popular, I believe, but it will suit our purposes.’ His brows rose and she added, ‘My purpose.’

  He glanced around the room. ‘I doubt there is anywhere in here we may talk alone together without arousing gossip. Shall we try a hand of cards?’

  She inclined her head and he escorted her to the card room, where the air was warmed by a cheerful fire and the glow of candlelight. It was much quieter, only a murmur of voices from the small baize tables that had been set up around the room and one larger table, where a game of loo was in progress. Soft-footed servants circulated with decanters, keeping the guests supplied with drink, sherry for the ladies, port for the gentlemen.

  ‘The table in t
he corner is free,’ he remarked. ‘What shall it be, ma’am—cribbage?’

  ‘Anything, as long as we may play alone.’

  He gave a soft laugh as he held her chair for her to sit. ‘Should I be encouraged by your words?’

  ‘Not really.’ She smoothed her skirts while he took his seat opposite and picked up the fresh pack of cards. ‘If you know anything more about my husband, you will tell me now, if you please.’

  Her blunt words startled him. ‘What, here? Madam, I—’

  She cut him short. ‘Pray open the pack, Mr Teddington. We need to look as if we intend to play. Then no one will interrupt us.’

  ‘You are very severe tonight, Mrs Roffey.’

  ‘With good reason.’ She drew a card and waited while he took one. ‘Your deal, I think. This will be our last meeting, Mr Teddington. There will be no more walks along deserted paths or tête-à-têtes in shadowed alcoves. It is beginning to cause comment.’

  ‘But we agreed. Discretion was necessary.’

  ‘You have told me very little, almost nothing, in fact, that I could not have guessed. I do not believe you know anything of import.’

  There. She had issued the challenge. He continued to deal the cards, but his smile was fixed.

  He picked up his hand. ‘Let us at least make a pretence of playing,’ he muttered. ‘There is more I could tell you, but I do not want to upset you.’

  ‘Your procrastination has been much worse!’

  ‘You are impatient for the truth, ma’am, I understand that, but let us proceed cautiously.’ When she drew in a breath he added quickly, ‘I shall tell you what I know. Names, facts, everything about your husband’s death, you have my word, but not here, in front of so many people. What I have to say is too distressing.’

  ‘You must tell me tonight,’ she insisted. ‘I swear, once I leave this house, I will not meet with you again.’

  He was not pleased. His ready smile had disappeared and there was a petulant twist to his mouth.