Regency Debutantes

by Margaret McPhee

  The shop assistant sniffed, but said nothing.

  Kathryn scanned the street and there in the distance was the retreating footman struggling under his load. Without a further thought she hurried towards him. Her breath became laboured and she felt the sweat bead upon her brow. ‘James!’ she said in a loud voice.

  The footman disappeared around the corner.

  Kathryn walked faster still. From out of nowhere an arm snaked around her waist, pulled her into an alleyway and slammed her hard against a wall. Her scream was rendered useless by the hand clamped across her mouth.

  ‘Out walking alone, Kathryn, without even the accompaniment of a maid? What will people say? But then I’m forgetting that your reputation is already in tatters.’

  She stared up into the face of Anna Marchant. Kathryn ceased her struggles, the blood draining from her cheeks until, beneath the heat of the day, a cold tremor pricked upon her skin.

  The kid-clad hand dropped from her lips, but the grip remained around her wrist.

  ‘Aunt Anna!’ she exclaimed, unable to believe who it was that stood before her.

  The older woman’s lips smirked. ‘Why so pale, niece? Did you think to play me for the fool quite so easily?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she whispered, feeling the stirrings of fear.

  ‘Oh, but I think that you do, Kathryn. Sending Ravensmede to blackmail your uncle into paying a dowry.’

  ‘Blackmail? I thought…’ The words trailed off.

  ‘You thought what?’ sneered her aunt. ‘That your uncle paid the money out of some sense of obligation? Affection, even? So sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but only Ravensmede’s threats forced Mr Marchant’s pen to paper. You could rot in hell for all we care.’

  Realisation hit Kathryn between the eyes. ‘He used the leaflet.’

  ‘Very good. Did you like it? Really most effective, even if I do say so myself. Because of it, Amanda White dare not show her face. Did you know that she’s left the country? Ran away to Italy, so they say. And you and Ravensmede are the scandal of London. All according to plan. Such a shame that he discovered my part in the affair.’

  ‘Nicholas threatened to reveal the truth if Uncle Henry did not supply a dowry?’

  ‘Of course. What choice did we have?’

  It made sense. Kathryn looked directly into her aunt’s eyes and saw the depths of the other woman’s hatred. ‘Why did you do it, Aunt Anna? Why should you want to destroy me so much as to publish such a thing?’

  A smile stretched across Anna Marchant’s face. ‘Why do you think? I loathe you. I’ve always loathed you since the minute you crossed the threshold into my house. Trying to make claims upon your uncle’s affection, thinking you were due our hospitality. I saw what you intended from the start. Trying to cast my own daughter into the shade, thinking yourself superior, and always with that look upon your face as if nothing we did could ever touch you.’

  Kathryn stared as if she could not believe the words tumbling from her aunt’s mouth. ‘You are mistaken, Aunt, much more than you could ever know.’

  The thing that passed for a smile upon Anna Marchant’s face faded. ‘No, Kathryn. I know full well what you are.’ The ribbons of her bonnet danced in the breeze. ‘I never wanted to take you into my home. You may thank Henry and his sense of duty for that. But why should my family and I suffer? It was not our fault that your slut of a mother died, or that your pathetic sot of a father killed himself.’

  Instinct took over. Kathryn drew her hand back, and an almighty crack reverberated through the alley.

  The imprint of Kathryn’s hand, stark and red, appeared upon her aunt’s cheek.

  For a moment the two women just stared at each other, and then Anna Marchant’s voice dropped to a snarl. ‘You’re going to regret that,’ she said, and tightened her grip around her niece’s wrist. ‘You think to thwart me, but I won’t let it happen. Ruined before all of London, and somehow you end up forcing Ravensmede into marriage in an effort to outdo your cousin. Lottie catches herself a decent gentleman for a husband, but you have to go one better with a viscount, and a rich one at that. Do you think after all that has happened that I shall just sit back and let you marry Ravensmede, and worm you way back into society’s favour?’

  ‘Take your hand off me.’ Inside Kathryn was shaking, but her voice was clear and calm.

  ‘Gladly,’ said her aunt, and released her grip on her niece’s wrist. She stepped back.

  Kathryn made to leave.

  ‘Not so fast.’ Anna Marchant drew the small pistol from her reticule and aimed it at Kathryn’s forehead. ‘I’ll see you dead first.’

  Kathryn’s heart hammered hard enough to escape her chest and her legs wobbled. ‘You’ll never get away with it. Lady Maybury is in the shop just a few yards along the street. I was merely trying to catch her footman. If I don’t return soon, she’ll come looking for me.’

  ‘I know exactly where the old woman is. Did you think that I just chanced to be here? I was following you, awaiting my opportunity…which you have very obligingly just handed me.’ A low hollow laugh sounded. ‘I’ll be long gone by the time the footman returns and the dowager realises that you’re not with him.’

  The pistol poked closer. Kathryn determined not to flinch.

  ‘Just think, dear niece, a lead ball in the head, the same as your papa.’ Scrape of metal, and the pistol was cocked.

  A thousand thoughts flashed through Kathryn’s head in that single moment. Images of her father, her mother, her sister, scenes from throughout the years of her life. But one picture dominated all others: Nicholas Maybury. And her one regret was that she would die without telling him of her love. Her eyes closed of their own volition. Her heart was beating in a frenzy, blood pumping so hard that it sounded like the rush of wind in her ears. Yet somewhere in the middle of the storm of emotion was an unexpected calmness, a silent place, a peaceful place.

  ‘Kathryn!’ The deep masculine voice echoed, and all at once she knew she was safe.

  Somehow, by some sliver of chance, he was here. ‘Nicholas!’ she gasped.

  ‘Ravensmede?’ Anna Marchant swung to face the tall athletic figure. She paled, gulped and stumbled back in the opposite direction.

  Kathryn had never seen such a look upon Nicholas’s face. The green eyes glowered dark and menacing, the deep brown of his eyebrows drawn low and angled warned of a mood as black as the devil’s. His hair rippled around a face that was the antithesis of colour. Even his lips, pressed firmly together, glowed with an unearthly pallor. Everything about him was still, tense, controlled. Dressed entirely in the deepest darkest black, he loomed a huge stark silhouette against the skyline. A chill stole through the air, the sky dimmed as a cloud obliterated the sun. ‘Mrs Marchant,’ he said in a voice filled with menace.

  Kathryn shivered.

  Anna Marchant’s eyes widened and with fumbling fingers she swung the pistol towards Ravensmede.

  ‘No!’ Kathryn grabbed for her aunt’s arm, deflecting the pistol’s aim.

  A loud bang. Smell of gunpowder. The drift of wispy plumes of blue smoke.

  And when the smoke cleared Anna Marchant was lying on her back amidst the filth of the alley, bonnet askew, eyes bulging in terror. The dark figure stood above her, a large pistol trained on her sweating forehead. He crouched lower to look directly into the woman’s eyes and when he spoke it was with that same terrible quiet control. ‘Death can be mercifully quick, Mrs Marchant.’ He touched the pistol muzzle between her eyes. ‘And then again, there are ways to make it slow and painful.’ The muzzle slid down to rest against her collarbone.

  ‘Please,’ came the high pitched whimper. ‘Please.’

  ‘Please what?’ he asked. ‘Do it quickly? I don’t believe that the choice is yours to make.’

  ‘No, don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.’ A sob sounded.

  Ravensmede pressed the pistol a little harder. ‘Crying for yourself, Mrs Marchant? Do you think that your
tears of self-pity will stay my hand? After everything that you have done to make Kathryn’s life miserable, to hurt her, even trying to kill her, there is nothing that can do that…’

  Anna Marchant began to weep in earnest.

  ‘Save to spare Kathryn the distress of witnessing such an act. She’s suffered enough because of you. For her sake, and her sake alone, I’m prepared to offer you an alternative. England would fare better for your absence, madam. Therefore, you should remove yourself, your husband, your daughter, and the slanderous Mr Silverton to a place overseas with immediate effect. I’m sure that Silverton can make arrangements with his contacts in the West Indies. So, what is it to be?’

  Mrs Marchant whimpered.

  ‘Speak up, Mrs Marchant. Let us hear your decision.’

  ‘We’ll leave the country.’

  ‘Never to return,’ pressed Ravensmede.

  ‘Never to return,’ repeated a shaken Anna Marchant.

  ‘I’m glad that we both understand the situation. Make no mistake, if you renege on this agreement I’ll see you hanged for your attempt on Kathryn’s life,’ said Ravensmede, and removed the pistol to his pocket. He rose and walked slowly over to Kathryn.

  His eyes scanned her face. ‘Are you all right?’

  Words would not come. Her head nodded, never for a minute breaking their gaze.

  And then his arms were around her, strong, and safe. He pulled her to him and held her like he would never let her go.

  The sun shone from a glorious cloudless sky as Kathryn made her way down the sweeping staircase of the house in Upper Grosvenor Street on Earl Maybury’s arm. She was dressed in a simple gown of cream silk that, with its fashionable high-waist, flattered her petite stature. The décolletage swept low, revealing the gentle swell of her breasts. Tiny shimmering beads adorned the bodice and the edge of the short puff sleeves. Her hair was worn high with the soft curls allowed to drape teasingly down to her neck. Threaded throughout the chestnut locks piled upon her crown were narrow bead-studded ribbons of the palest cream, highlighting the rich red undertone of her hair.

  ‘It’s not too late to change your mind. Are you sure you can wed such a scoundrel, even if he is my son?’ teased Lord Maybury.

  She inclined her head as if deep in thought. ‘To wed Nicholas,’ she said softly, ‘is something of which I thought only to dream.’ Then the strange intensity of the moment was lost. She laughed and her curls danced. ‘Does he know that you’re inciting me to such rebellion?’

  His shoulders shrugged. ‘Most probably—he would expect nothing less.’ The sunlight burnished the silver of his hair. ‘I may be Nicholas’s father, but for today I also take the role that your own dear papa should have had.’ He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

  ‘Yes.’ A sad little smile stole across her face.

  ‘I’m sure that he would have approved of your marriage.’ He patted her small hand. ‘That is, once he got to know Nick, of course.’

  They laughed and stepped from the staircase on to the cool marble floor of the hallway.

  Kathryn stopped and glanced at the door ahead of them, the last barrier that remained between her and Nicholas Maybury. Once she stepped beyond it there would be no going back.

  ‘You plan to keep him on his toes, then?’ The green eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘Even though you are but fashionably late, he should have started to worry by now. I never thought to see him so tamed.’

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and allowed Lord Maybury to open the door.

  He was standing facing the priest, with Cadmount by his side. A tall, imposing figure at the best of times, Kathryn thought she had never seen him look so magnificent as he did today. The ebony coat looked to have been sculpted upon his body and highlighted the snow-white sheen of his neckcloth, shirt and waistcoat. Long muscular legs were wrapped in white breeches. Even his deep dark brown locks had been shaped to perfection. Her heart turned over and she felt strangely shy.

  Lord Maybury deposited her by Nicholas’s side and moved back to sit beside the dowager and Miss Paton.

  The palms of Kathryn’s hands grew suddenly clammy and her throat dry.

  Then the tall figure by her side smiled down at her, and there was such warmth and tenderness in his eyes that she quite forgot her nervousness and relaxed in his protective gaze. And when the priest asked her what she knew he would, she was able to answer in a clear voice without the slightest hint of a tremor. The ring slid smoothly on to her finger as if it had always been destined to fit there.

  It seemed that the ceremony had barely started when she heard the priest pronounce them man and wife.

  Nicholas’s hands moved to take her arms.

  She raised her face to receive the chaste kiss that would seal their union.

  His lips slid intimately over hers with a prolonged passion that raised the colour to her cheeks.

  ‘Nicholas!’ she whispered in scandalised tones and made to pull away.

  He held her tight. ‘It’s quite all right, sweetheart, we’re married now.’ He smiled a wicked smile and shot her a smouldering glance. And throughout the day when he looked at her she could see the promise in his eyes.

  When he entered her bedchamber she was standing by the window as if mesmerised by the luminous glow of the full moon. Curls of chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders, leading his eye down to the sheer cream gossamer of her nightdress and the barely concealed skin beneath. Small bare feet peeped out from under the hem of the nightdress and the slender hands were held loosely by her side. Although he had not spoken, she must have heard him and glanced round over her shoulder. A shy smile flashed at him, ‘Nicholas.’ But she did not change her stance, turning her face once more towards the moon.

  Ravensmede felt his loins harden at the very sight of her. He had longed for this night for so long and now it was here, finally, at last. Kathryn was his, his wife, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for ever. With determined effort he schooled his passion and moved slowly towards her, until he stood so close behind her that the cream gossamer brushed the black satin of his dressing gown.

  She shivered.

  ‘Are you cold?’ He touched his hands to her shoulders, sliding them down to capture her fingers.

  ‘Just a little. It’s this nightdress, it’s just so…’ She blushed and looked back at the moon.

  ‘So very becoming,’ he supplied, and slipped his arms around her so that her back was pressed full against him. The clean scent of her hair drifted up. Unlike most of the women that he had known, she wore no perfume, but her own sweet smell was intoxicating enough. He lowered his face to the red-brown curls and inhaled. By their own accord his hands crept up to cup her breasts. The soft thunder of her heart raced beneath the small firm mounds and he thought he detected a slight tremble in her body. ‘Don’t be afraid, sweetheart, there’s nothing to fear.’ A kiss dropped to the top of her head.

  ‘I know,’ she said and, twisting round in his arms, buried her head against his chest. ‘It’s just that there’s something I need to tell you, something I should have told you a long time ago, had it not been for fear and for pride.’ She laid her palms flat against his chest, and gave her bottom lip a little nibble. ‘But when I stood in that alley with Aunt Anna’s pistol in my face, I realised that I had been a coward not to tell you the truth: I love you, Nicholas.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’ve known since you turned down my offer of marriage in favour of a more scandalous proposition.’

  ‘Oh.’ Embarrassment warmed her cheeks. Her eyes held level with his chest. ‘From all that you’ve done for me, I know that you must feel some measure of affection, and…and desire…and I want to tell you that it is enough. It doesn’t matter that you don’t love me in return.’

  His thumb and forefinger captured her chin and tilted her face up to his. ‘Some measure of affection and desire,’ he said and moved his lips to hover above hers, ‘goes nowhere near it, Kathryn.’

&nbs
p; It seemed that her heart shuddered to a stop.

  ‘I want you…’ his head lowered to hers ‘…I need you…’ until their lips almost touched ‘…I love you…’ and they shared the same breath. ‘Why else did you think that I went to so much trouble to make you my wife?’

  She caught her breath.

  ‘I love you, sweetheart,’ he said again in a voice that was low and seductive. ‘Completely. Utterly.’

  The clear grey eyes darkened to a deep smoky charcoal. A gasp escaped her and his mouth closed over hers.

  It was a kiss of longing and of love. A kiss to prove the words he had spoken. A kiss of passion and of need.

  The last barrier crumbled. Nicholas loved her. Loved her, just as she loved him. He was her husband, and she was his wife. Kathryn gave herself up to the sweetness of the moment.

  Nicholas teased. He tantalised. His hot breath seared the path his mouth had taken, slowly, enticingly, determined to prolong her pleasure.

  Beneath the slick caress of his tongue, her lips parted in invitation, offering herself to his touch, his taste. Her palms flattened and crept up and across the broad strength of his back, her fingers sliding on the cool satin of his robe.

  His hands skimmed down to her buttocks, the sensual massage a prelude to the grip that pressed her to the hard core of his arousal.

  A soft moan escaped her lips.

  With shaking fingers he untied the ribbons of her thin filmy gown so that it fell from her shoulders, exposing the pearl lustre of her skin.

  Her eyes flickered open and she watched his gaze travel over every inch of her bare body.

  ‘My love,’ he said and fluttered soft kisses to her eyelids, her cheeks, across her passion-swollen lips down to the pale column of her neck and further. She arched against him as his mouth moved over the softness of her breast, his tongue washing its rosy peak with erotic precision.

  Slender fingers threaded through his dark locks, pulling him to her, guiding him to her other breast. Shallow reedy breaths. Her hardened nipples ached with desire. Something fluttered and contracted deep within her. ‘Nicholas.’ She whispered his name, not fully understanding the escalating need. A liquid warmth melted between her thighs as he suckled her taut peaks. Then his mouth was gone.