by Lucy Ashford
She continued to listen, speechless.
‘After your first visit to Newman,’ Beau went on, ‘it was apparent that the jeweller was disturbed by your reappearance. That same day, soon after you’d left him, Newman shut up shop and went to see Lord Featherstone. Yes, the very man who came here the other day to pay you his respects. You wondered why I didn’t like him. There were several reasons, one of them being that he was a gambling crony of Simon’s—though you thought him rather charming, I remember. Anyway, Newman went to see Featherstone straight after your first visit to him, and of course I guessed that it might be to warn him that Paulette was back in London, and was now under my protection.’
‘So you’re saying that your men continued to watch Newman? Even after I’d reported back to you?’
‘I’d have been a fool not to have him watched. And I knew Featherstone would be at the party tonight. So I tackled him about the jewels, and he has them.’
‘But you said—you told me you would know for certain, if someone else had them...’
‘I said I would know if someone else had purchased them, on the open market. Featherstone won them at cards. I forced it out of him this evening that one night late in February, he and my brother played privately, just the two of them, till three in the morning. The Brandon jewels were Simon’s last stake—and he lost them. Simon begged two favours of Featherstone—one, that he be allowed to keep them for long enough to make copies of them, and two, that Featherstone keep quiet about his winnings. Simon gave the fakes to Paulette. She found out the truth, of course, when she took them to Newman to get them valued. By then it was early March, and Simon’s deception prompted her to leave her husband—and the country—for good, with her new lover. Simon’s last chance to win her back had gone.’
A sudden burst of rain rattled against the window; Beau waited for it to subside, then began again. ‘In April, my brother died. I got out of Featherstone tonight that he was intending to come to me and request an exorbitant sum, in return for him handing back the jewels and keeping quiet about how they were lost. But he hadn’t quite summoned up the courage, it appears. Nor had Featherstone grasped the reality that the jewels were in fact stolen. My brother was a thief.’
Deb let out a low gasp, but Beau carried on relentlessly. ‘The Brandon jewels belong to whoever is the current Duke of Cirencester, and cannot ever be sold or gifted away. Unknown to me, Simon took them from the family safe on the day before his gambling spree with Featherstone. I didn’t realise it until shortly after his death, and then I guessed he’d either gambled them away, or given them to Paulette. As it happened, I was right about both.’
His eyes, if anything, grew bleaker. ‘Featherstone will return the jewels. But I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me that you learned today the jewels were counterfeit. What you hoped to achieve, by lying to me.’
She was very pale. ‘I—I was trying to think of some way to break the news to you. I thought, you see, that you loved your brother so much.’
‘Well, now you know the truth.’ Beau dragged his hand across his temples. ‘I’d still like you to stay till the memorial service, if you feel you can manage it. Then you can go.’
And that was it? thought Deb, panicking. A half-hearted request and a dismissal? For good? She felt as if—as if he’d pounded her and hung her upside down like a piece of laundry. He’d walked over to the drinks table, to pour himself one of his sparse brandies, and she turned on him, heaving air into her lungs. She whispered, ‘Do you think all this has been easy, playing the part of Paulette under your scornful gaze?’
He poured her a small sherry and held it out. ‘Drink this. You look as though you need it. And you’d have found everything a great deal easier if you’d told me the truth,’ he rapped out.
She was tired. She was overwrought. She was emotionally exhausted from living in this new and strange world that she didn’t even like. ‘Perhaps I didn’t tell you the truth,’ she breathed, ‘because I guessed you would fly into a cold rage and blame me for everything! Just as you are doing now, your Grace! I have no fondness whatsoever for my cousin Paulette. But I feel as if I’ve been selling my soul during my time with you. And I could tell you that you’re selling yours—but of course you haven’t got one!’ She slammed down the tiny glass of sherry without drinking it, then went to pour herself some brandy and swallowed it in one.
Oh! She shuddered a little. My goodness. That was—strong. That was...
He’d knocked back his own brandy and was pacing towards her, but she held her ground—he admired her for that. He suddenly realised that he admired a whole lot of things about this young woman—which was unfortunate, since she was nothing but trouble.
‘You think you know a good deal about me, don’t you?’ he said in a voice that was icy with menace. ‘But you know nothing. Absolutely nothing.’
She clenched her fists. ‘I’ve realised that you’re ruthless and heartless. And sometimes, I almost feel sorry for Paulette—’
‘Why?’ he answered harshly. ‘Why feel sorry for her? Her family was hateful to your mother and to you.’
‘And you think that revenge is the answer?’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t! I despise the very notion of revenge—it’s pitiful and it’s life-wasting. I’m only doing this—being Paulette—because you forced me into it! You have got so very much, and yet you’re wasting days—no, weeks—of your life trying to honour Simon’s memory, or so you say. And yet a large part of that time has been taken up with your efforts to claw back a few jewels, that with your vast wealth, you shouldn’t care tuppence for! Although I suppose that one day some predatory woman might beguile you into giving them to her...’
Oh, no. She shouldn’t have said that—big mistake, Deb.
‘Some predatory woman?’ he echoed silkily.
Her heart thumped. He was towering over her, in a way that made her lungs suddenly ache and her pulse pound. The memory of how his lips had felt against hers sent a disturbing tremor straight to her heart.
‘Why not?’ she shrugged. ‘There were enough of them after you at that party—Lady Rebecca, for one.’
He drew closer. ‘Lady Rebecca,’ he said softly, ‘is a brainless fool with a squawk like a parrot’s.’
Somehow, Deb realised, his hand had slipped round her waist and was sending warm flickers of sensation to all her nerve-endings. Or was it the brandy? Oh, Lord, she shouldn’t have had that brandy...
‘Leave me alone,’ she whispered. ‘You make it quite impossible for me to defend myself against you.’
His blue eyes were hooded suddenly. ‘You think that I’d harm you, Miss O’Hara?’
‘Oh, no.’ Deb twisted out of his grasp and faced him scornfully. ‘Apart from threatening to throw me in Newgate. And making me watch, while you surround yourself with the kind of empty-brained society beauties who were flocking around you tonight...’
‘They did make an impression on you,’ he murmured. ‘But as I think I’ve told you before—I don’t have to buy women.’
She tilted her chin. ‘They throw themselves into your arms, of course?’
‘Well, yes,’ he admitted. ‘As a matter of fact, quite often, they do.’
She began to laugh. A rather hollow laugh. Because something was happening. Beau had put his strong, lean hands on her shoulders and was pulling her slowly towards him—no, was that right? Was he pulling her, or was she leaning into him? Oh, that brandy...
Beau gazed down at her and watched the emotions flickering across her piquant and expressive face. She was right about him, of course; he was, in so many ways, proud and arrogant. And she, with her outspokenness and downright honesty, was troubling him more and more each day. But—why didn’t she tell him she knew the jewels had been gambled away?
He reminded himself that he too had been far from honest. He hadn’t told her yet tha
t Simon had always hated his older brother, ever since they were small. God knew, Beau had tried to make his brother’s life easier. But he’d failed, just as he’d failed to make this girl confide in him, or even like him. And what she was doing to his own peace of mind just terrified him.
Deborah O’Hara was turning his previously well-ordered life upside down. At this precise moment, she was demolishing his self-control as well, for his body pounded with the primeval urge to take her in his arms. He could see her small breasts rapidly rising and falling as if she was struggling for breath; he could see her golden eyes grow shadowy, and her lips flutter, and all he could think was that he wanted to kiss her, very badly.
He bent his head and breathed in her scent. She smelled sweet, of soap and lemons. He wanted to kiss her, to challenge her damned obstinacy, and teach her a lesson for her insults. He wanted to kiss her because—damn it, he’d been wanting to remind himself of the taste of her lips for days. He wanted to kiss her and a whole lot more. He angled his head, to possess her sweet mouth, and he found with a rush of fierce arousal that she was as delicious as he remembered...
He drew back, realising that she was trembling.
‘Why won’t you leave me alone?’ he heard her whisper.
He cupped her face in his hands. ‘I keep trying to,’ he answered softly. ‘I’m finding it rather difficult.’
She was struggling to pull herself away. ‘Don’t do this. Please.’
He answered the only way he knew—with another kiss. A deeper kiss. Her mouth opened sweetly, but he felt her low moan of protest, almost of despair, through every fibre of his body.
He thought he’d lost her. But then her slender arms suddenly encircled his neck, and she pressed herself against him almost with a shudder, the sensual movement sending the blood pounding to his loins. There was an old sofa in the corner and, remembering its position more by luck than judgement, he steadily guided her back towards it, his mouth bestowing gentle kisses all the time to her cheeks, her throat.
I’m sorry, he wanted to say. I’m sorry, for using you... Her warm hands clasped the back of his neck as if she felt that if she let him go she would fall.
Unless she let him go, Beau knew there was only one way this would end.
He lowered her carefully to the sofa, nibbling at her throat, probing at the delicate pulse there with his tongue. Her tiny gasp—was it an expression of denial, or was it encouragement?—drove him wild. That dress drove him wild. He’d never realised till he met Deborah O’Hara that black could be so damned alluring. He acknowledged that those gowns, with their daring necklines, had been filling him with desperate desire for her for weeks now. She had one of her flimsy shawls draped over her shoulders, but that was no protection—already it was slipping aside to expose the exquisite curves of her breasts, and the sight of her creamy rounded flesh made his pulse thud thickly.
Dragging his thumb over the silk that barely covered those rigid peaks, he stroked his other hand down over the flat planes of her stomach, feeling her shiver and tremble—she must feel the power of his arousal, dear God, he was so hard and heavy for her. But he must be steady, he must be gentle, and...
In the distance he heard the sound of the heavy knocker on the front door being banged repeatedly. It was gone eleven. What the hell...? Beau heard servants’ footsteps hurrying; heard the great front door being unlocked and opened. There were voices: the butler Delaney’s hearty greeting, and a girl’s glad reply. Deborah had heard the sound too by now, for she was pulling herself dazedly away from him, her face still warmly flushed, her hair awry. Dear God, thought Beau, she looked delicious. Another few moments and he’d have had trouble exercising any kind of self-control at all.
‘What is it?’ she whispered. ‘That noise—what’s happening?’ She was pushing her hair back from her face, and gazing at him with wide, dazed eyes.
Beau was rising steadily to his feet, smoothing down his coat, straightening his cravat and running his hands over his thick dark hair. ‘It sounds,’ he said heavily, ‘as if my little sister, Laura, has arrived.’
‘Your sister!’ Deb’s hands flew to her shawl to drag it over her breasts.
‘Beau. Where are you?’ The high-pitched voice was coming nearer. ‘Are you hiding in your study as usual?’ There was a merry laugh; the door to the study flew open, and a girl with light blonde curls and a mischievous, pretty face stood there. She was dressed in a cherry-pink pelisse, and her beribboned bonnet dangled from her fingers. ‘Darling Beau!’ she cried. ‘So you are in here! And Paulette— Oh, I heard that you’re back at last!’
* * *
There followed a few moments of frantic activity as the seventeen-year-old Lady Laura Beaumaris hugged her much bigger brother over and over again, then handed her pelisse to a hovering footman and flung herself on the sofa that had been so recently vacated. She patted the place beside her for Deb to sit there, and turned to her supposed sister-in-law with sheer wonder in her blue eyes.
‘Paulette. You look different, somehow!’
Deb’s heart was beating hard. That kiss. His caresses. She had been frighteningly near to surrendering. She was horrified by how near she’d been to surrendering...
‘You may well say that she appears different,’ broke in the Duke steadily. ‘You need to remember that Paulette has endured a great deal since you last saw her in January, Laura.’
‘Of course. Poor, poor Simon—we all miss him, so badly.’ Laura’s eyes misted with tears, but then she dashed them away. ‘Beau, darling, do go and see that Delaney tips the carriage driver handsomely, will you? I made him bring me all the way from Brighton, and he was so kind, even to poor Miss Champion, who was disastrously travel-sick.’
‘I’ll be back in one moment,’ Beau said, after shooting a meaningful glance at Deb. Be careful, that look said. Say as little as possible.
In fact, Deb didn’t get a chance to say anything, for the minute Beau left the room, Laura turned on her again. ‘Miss Champion used to be my governess, but now she’s my companion, even though Beau thinks she’s no use at all,’ she explained in her bubbly way. ‘Though of course, you know that. When I first met you, I wasn’t sure that I liked you awfully. It seems a dreadful thing to say. You see, I worried that poor Simon was perhaps making a dreadful mistake. After that you and I didn’t meet terribly often, did we? But last week, in Brighton—I’ve been staying there with my friend Helen, and we had such a time, what with the theatre, and the shopping, and everything—last week in Brighton, I heard you were back! We met people from London, who said everybody was talking about how sad and how beautiful you were, and so I just had to return to London to see you—’
She broke off as Beau came back in, and Deb watched in a daze as pretty Laura sprang up to hug her older brother again with great affection. He’d told Deb, of course, that he had a sister. But she wasn’t supposed to be here, and this changed everything.
There was a smile on Beau’s face as he touched his little sister’s cheek, but his eyes were sombre. ‘I hope you haven’t been wearying Paulette with your chatter, Laura.’
‘Oh, no, it’s just that I’m so pleased to see her! And I wish to see a great deal more of her, and of you. I can stay here, can’t I, darling Beau? I could be a companion for Paulette!’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’ Beau’s rigid stance told Deb that he thought it a terrible idea. ‘I do hope, Laura,’ he went on, ‘that you’ve not forgotten Paulette is in mourning.’
‘Of course not, and I’m sorry.’ Laura sat on the sofa beside Deb and pressed her hand, then looked up at her brother once more. ‘But it must be so lonely for Paulette in this great big house, just with you. You can be such a cantankerous bore, Beau darling. Please let me stay!’
Deb didn’t have time to see Beau’s reaction, because Laura had turned to take her hand and say, ‘Dear Paulette. We are g
oing to be such friends!’
And then Laura was on her feet again, almost dancing towards her brother and saying, ‘I’ll have my usual rooms, I suppose! And now I’d better see that poor Miss Champion has recovered from the journey. Mr Delaney has promised to send me up some supper, then I shall go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow, dearest brother!’
Chapter Sixteen
After Laura had gone, Deb said very quietly to Beau, ‘I thought you told me that your sister was staying with a friend in Brighton for the whole summer. And that I was unlikely to meet her.’
She also remembered him adding, At least, I hope you don’t meet her.
‘She wasn’t meant to come to London.’ Beau looked agitated. ‘Not yet. I just wanted to keep Laura out of this damned mess...’
This damned mess being her, presumably. Deb felt very tired suddenly.
‘I do not want her to stay,’ he emphasised. He’d started pacing the room in that way he had when he was sorely troubled.
She planted herself in front of him and said, ‘I think there is every reason for your sister to stay.’
He stared at her in astonishment.
‘Don’t you see?’ Deb went on urgently. ‘You’ve already told me that I have to remain here with you until the memorial service. If your sister stays as well, it will look as if we are living here as a family, and that will put an end to any gossip about you and me...’
Her voice trailed away, because the Duke’s eyes had become shards of blue ice. ‘You’ve heard gossip?’
She hadn’t been going to tell him. ‘I—I heard someone whispering, at that party, that I was a very pretty widow for you to have under your protection.’
Beau uttered a quiet oath. He’d loosened his coat, because it was warm in here, and had gone to fling open the French windows that led out to the garden, with its cascading roses and trickling fountain. The rain had stopped, and the fresh scents of flowers invaded the room. He turned round, his eyes shadowed—and she knew then what was coming. ‘I can send you away,’ he said.
