The Earl Plays With Fire

by Isabelle Goddard

  Richard ignored the noisy pair and hurried on. He found Christabel in minutes, standing motionless by the waters of the storm-tossed lake. She was drenched, her skin translucent and gleaming beneath the downpour, and the curves of her lithe figure apparent through the sodden muslin of the once-beautiful dress. She turned at that moment and her face wore such a look of unhappiness that he wanted to take her into his arms there and then and put a stop to the nonsense he had started. But he knew well that beyond the fragility lay pure steel. The deep-green eyes flashed anger at him and bade him keep his distance just as surely as if she had spoken.

  Mutely he offered the shelter of the umbrella. Even she had to smile at that ineffectual gesture. She could not become any wetter.

  ‘Thank you for the thought, Lord Veryan. I fear, though, that you are a little late in coming to my rescue.’

  There was more meaning to her words than the social nicety she expressed. He looked at the rain-soaked figure before him, his gaze lingering unwillingly on her form. The long shapely legs and the soft swell of her breasts were clearly visible through the transparent muslin and he knew desperate desire. He moved towards her as though in a dream.

  She remained where she stood, unflinching. She saw his arms slowly reaching out towards her and then her long, cold fingers were held tightly within his, sending a warmth coursing through her body until she was tingling from head to toe, from her saturated slippers to the riot of wet curls framing her face. They stood, body to body, for what seemed an age. She felt her pulse beating tumultuously and her limbs tremble as the hard planes of his body pressed against soft flesh. Wave after wave of flaming heat swirled through every small part of her, melting resistance, dissolving protest. His hands were on her waist, pulling her urgently towards him, his body even closer, even harder against hers. Now his hands were sliding upwards and over her breasts, cradling them, brushing at their fullness and sending swirls of shocked pleasure spiralling through her. Onwards and his hands were cupping her cheeks, tipping her face to meet his. She looked into his eyes and drowned, drowned in pools of molten grey.

  ‘Christabel,’ he began, the soft whisper of his voice flowing through her and reaching to her heart. ‘Christabel, I—’

  ‘Christabel! Come quickly.’ It was her mother’s urgent tones. ‘We must get you home immediately or you will become ill.’

  Lady Tallis was hurrying towards them, waving yet another umbrella. The moment of intimacy was at an end, diffusing itself amid the misty rain.

  Christabel’s hands slipped from his and she walked away, leaving him to curse her power and his weakness. This was not what he intended, to be caught in the web of his own spinning. He must subdue this wretched, uncontrollable desire that once more threatened to tear him apart. He must stay aloof even while he continued to entice her into betraying herself. There were only a few days left to accomplish his plan and every one of those must count.

  By now Lady Tallis had reached his side and was observing him with disapproval.

  ‘Miss de Silva is ready to leave, Richard. I understand that you are her escort?’

  ‘You are right to remind me of my duties, Lady Harriet,’ he replied stiffly and began to make his way back to the pagoda.

  Christabel caught his words on the air and was deeply puzzled. Could he really be speaking of his future wife when he talked of ‘duties’? And if he were promised to Domino de Silva, why had he allowed himself just now to hold her so long, to touch her so intimately? During their scandalous dance at Almack’s she’d imagined for a moment that he felt the same attraction as she. But only for a moment. His hurtful rejection had soon disabused her. This time, though, she could not be mistaken. There had been a charge so powerful between them that she was left dazed. Naked desire—that’s what she’d felt. Not even the errant Joshua, in her days as a green girl, had aroused such fervour in her. And it was Richard, a man she’d once dismissed as worthy only to be a friend, who’d provoked it. Nothing made sense. Richard today must be a very different man to the one she’d once known—or maybe she’d never really known him. Perhaps she’d been too young, too inexperienced, to recognise what might have been. The irony of the situation hit her hard. It seemed that she could feel passion for this man, a passion that shook her to the very core, but only now that he was promised to another woman.

  She thought back to the moment when she’d first seen Richard on his return from the university. He had grown into a dashing young man, a figure far superior to any of her local suitors and she was no longer the skinny, freckled tomboy he’d known from the past. She’d watched with amusement his stupefied expression when he’d first caught sight of her and knew instantly that she had captivated him. His jealousy of the gaggle of admirers who daily haunted Lamorna was evident and she thought guiltily of how she’d enjoyed playing one man off against another. In her defence she was hardly more than a child and the game was a heady one. The distant cousin who was to present her had fallen seriously ill and her planned come-out had not materialised. The excitement of having young men vie for her favours was a pleasing compensation. Richard’s courtship had been swift. He’d capitalised on their long childhood friendship to infiltrate her life with ease, and in no time he’d succeeded in banishing his rivals and filling the centre of her world. Suddenly she was engaged and unsure of quite how it had happened. It seemed natural to be promising to spend the rest of her life with him, but also something of an anticlimax. She’d been exhilarated by the excitements of the chase and revelled in the handsome and vigorous man he’d become, yet she knew him almost too well. There were no secrets, or so it seemed, no concealed feelings, no hidden fire.

  Until, that is, that one evening in the cove. In her memory she retraced their steps that night. They’d walked out together after an early dinner, escaping the last frenetic preparations for the morrow when they would travel to London in company with Lady Veryan. Christabel was to stay at the Veryans’ town house and Richard’s mother was to supervise her purchase of bride clothes, her own mother being unable to leave her younger siblings for any protracted period.

  It had been a beautiful evening in early summer and they’d sauntered at dusk towards the sea along a lane already heavy with hawthorn. Very soon the granite rocks and soft white sand of their beloved cove came into view. The sea was flat calm and Richard had begun to skim stones along the surface of the water. She had joined in, trying to make her stones bounce further. It was an old game of their childhood. The competition between them grew fierce and he shouted with delight when he finally made an unbeatable shot. Beneath the newly polished surface, he was still not much more than a boy. With mischief in her eyes, she’d challenged him to another contest from their childhood: who could swim out the furthest without pausing for breath. He’d demurred; they were not dressed for the water and in any case it hardly seemed proper. In answer, she’d stripped off her clothes down to her chemise, leaving Richard staring in wonderment at the lithe, willowy figure standing so close to him. Then he had been seized by the same madness and was stripped and plunging into the cool water before she had time to reach the sea’s edge. They had swum out until they were both exhausted and then drifted lazily back towards the shore, the waters around them silvered by the moon newly risen in a clear sky. She was floating beside him and on impulse it seemed he’d caught hold of her, encircling her waist with his arms and tangling his face in her salt-soaked curls. The feel of his hard, male body against hers took her breath away and she knew a frantic desire to hold him close to her, to meld her body to his. Her legs looped around him and their flesh met in a mutual caress. Even now she grew hot thinking of it.

  But the moment was over almost as soon as it arrived, the spark extinguished, and they were scrambling up the beach and into their clothes as though pursued by the Furies, ashamed it seemed of that instant of burning connection. The next day they had left for London and a round of parties, routs, ridottos, balls, such as she’d never before encountered: a kaleidoscope of ple
asure which took over her life. As an affianced woman she’d enjoyed the freedom it conferred, freedom to talk unchaperoned with other men, freedom to dance and even to flirt with them, and freedom to meet a Joshua.

  A magnificent rout was to be held that evening at the Seftons’ London mansion, a short distance from Mount Street. Sophia, insatiable as always for ton society, was greatly excited at attending such a prestigious event. It was sure to afford her a splendid hunting ground for potential partners. The torrential rain had done Christabel little harm other than a ruined dress, but she was grateful that it served as an excuse for staying home that night. She was more than happy to spend a quiet evening by herself when the alternative was the painful spectacle of Richard and Domino together. She was lying curled on her bed, flicking through back numbers of Lady’s Magazine, when her mother slid quietly into the room.

  ‘Have you seen these extraordinary models, Mama? They must be at least ten feet tall,’ she said with an attempt at gaiety. The emaciated females depicted were so long and thin as almost to disappear off the page.

  Her mother smiled slightly. ‘Extraordinary indeed! They would be quite terrifying to meet in the flesh.’

  She sat down on the bed and took her daughter’s hand. ‘I came to say, Bel, that I won’t be going to the Seftons’ rout tonight. There is little need for my presence: their house is within easy walking distance and Benedict can act as escort to his sister for the evening. It won’t do him any harm to take on a little responsibility while he’s enjoying his holiday. And it will give us the chance to have a comfortable coze.’

  Christabel’s heart sank; an evening spent alone with her mother was the last thing she wanted. Pressing her hand to her forehead in a gesture of pain, she hoped that she looked convincing.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re staying home, Mama, I’m not feeling at all the thing. I must have caught a chill in that downpour.’

  Her mother looked suspicious and glanced pointedly at the magazines her daughter had been devouring. Christabel redoubled her efforts.

  ‘I’ve been trying to distract myself with these,’ she murmured, leafing through them with a weary motion, ‘but without much success. I feel so hot—I think I may be developing a fever. It’s best if I retire to bed early and try to sleep it off.’

  Her mother’s expression remained sceptical, but without another word she turned to go, quietly shutting the door behind her. It was unlikely that Lady Harriet would believe in her illness, but Christabel was beyond caring. After the day’s events, her mother’s gentle enquiries would be the last straw. Until Richard arrived in London, her future path had been clear, if uninviting. The time had come for her to step out of her sister’s way and there had been a simple choice: wed a good man who loved her or remain a spinster without consequence or respect.

  For years she’d kept at bay even the most determined of suitors. A glacial reserve had served her well, but now it had been ruptured. She had begun to feel again. The dance at Almack’s, the encounter by the lake, had begun an unstoppable thaw which threatened to trigger an avalanche of feelings she must not entertain. Today by the lakeside she had known no reserve. She had responded ardently to her body’s impulses, she had throbbed with desire for Richard to possess her. How truly shocking! But his conduct was even more shocking. He was not hers to be possessed and yet he’d sought her out, danced with her as though he could have danced her into bed—she blushed deeply at the thought—embraced her, caressed her, imprinted her with his passion. And at the very same time he’d used every possible opportunity to taunt her with his new-found love, the girl it appeared he was ready to make his wife. It had to be part of his plan to pay her back for betraying him—there was no other explanation. No matter how softly he spoke or how enamoured he appeared, he was intent on exacting a penance from her. The thought overwhelmed her. She felt as though a giant hand had descended out of nowhere and squeezed every vestige of life from her heart and her body. She was no longer the woman who had bid Sir Julian farewell just a few days ago and she dreaded meeting him again.

  Sir Julian, meanwhile, was looking in vain for his beloved at the Seftons’ rout. He had despatched his business at Rosings as swiftly as he could and returned to London in time to attend the evening event. He knew that Christabel had been invited and was hoping that he would have the chance to talk privately with her.

  He had unfinished business and was anxious to settle it as soon as possible. He had no doubt of her answer—she had made it plain that he was her preferred suitor—and had not her sister called him Christabel’s fiance, making it clear that the Tallis family expected an imminent betrothal. But he wanted their relationship to be made firm and public. He was a man who liked an ordered life and was looking forward to planning their future together.

  ‘How good to see you back so soon, Sir Julian!’ It was Sophia, looking a little less exotic this evening in rose-pink lustring.

  Sir Julian searched his memory, for he was sure he should know this young woman.

  ‘Sophia Tallis, Christabel’s sister,’ she helped him out.

  ‘Why, of course. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance again, Miss Sophia.’ Sir Julian sounded genuinely glad to see her. If she were here, then Christabel would not be far away.

  ‘And how was your visit to Rosings?’

  ‘Busy, very busy,’ Sir Julian mused, ‘but nevertheless restful. I find the house has an aura of great tranquillity about it.’

  ‘Indeed, yes,’ she said encouragingly. ‘I understand that its atmosphere is most mellow. I read in Ackermann’s Repository that it is one of the oldest houses in England.’

  Sir Julian’s interest increased. ‘I knew that certainly but I had not realised that Rosings had been featured in such a well-known journal.’

  ‘You are too modest, Sir Julian. You must know that you own a most famous property,’ Sophia cooed.

  Feeling that the subject had now been exhausted, Sir Julian was eager to discover his beloved’s whereabouts.

  ‘Christabel?’ Sophia responded carelessly. ‘She’s not here this evening.’

  ‘How is this? Surely she was invited?’

  ‘Naturally she was invited, but she didn’t care to come.’

  Sir Julian’s well-bred eyebrows rose slightly and Sophia saw her chance.

  ‘You must know that Christabel is invited everywhere, Sir Julian. She is the toast of the ton, I believe. She picks and chooses as she wishes.’

  ‘I must admit I am a little disappointed. I returned from Rosings today on purpose to see her and was sure she would attend the rout.’ He breathed a small sigh and looked slightly wounded.

  ‘She probably didn’t give a thought to your being here tonight. She isn’t the most reliable of people.’

  ‘Miss Tallis has always been most scrupulous about keeping appointments,’ Sir Julian said a trifle sharply.

  Sensing that she might have gone a little too far, Sophia carefully backtracked. ‘Ah, now I recall—she was not feeling too well earlier this evening. She must have thought it best to stay at home.’

  ‘Not well? How is this? She was perfectly well when I last saw her.’

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about, I assure you. The family attended a picnic today in Richmond Park and we were all caught in the rain. It meant nothing to me, of course, I’m built of stronger stuff, but Christabel is a little fragile.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, almost ethereal, I sometimes think.’

  This was not the effect that Sophia had hoped for, but she recovered quickly. ‘I’m sure her decision to stay home was right. She would not have wanted to attend with blotched cheeks and a red nose.’

  Sir Julian looked aghast at this unimaginable picture of his loved one and sought reassurance. ‘I trust that Miss Tallis is not seriously unwell.’

  ‘She will be greatly improved in the morning, I’m sure. She is some years older than me, you know, and needs a little time to recover her spirits. And if she had come tonight, I doubt she would ha
ve had the energy to dance,’ Sophia finished pointedly as the orchestra struck up for a country dance.

  The Seftons had decided that though refreshments and conversation were normally deemed sufficient for a rout, their guests would be treated to a little informal dancing if they so wished. Sir Julian, mindful of his duties as a gentleman, immediately begged Sophia to grant him the favour of a dance. She accepted primly and only spoilt the effect by scowling at her brother who was leading Domino de Silva down the opposite line of country dancers.

  ‘Is that not your brother I see, Miss Sophia?’

  ‘Yes’, she admitted in a bored voice, ‘he’s supposed to be my escort though he chooses rather to dance attendance on some foreigner.’

  The foreigner was putting on a good show of enjoying herself despite an aching heart. Ever since the evening at Almack’s, when Richard’s lack of interest had been made so brutally clear, her happy spirits had been slowly and surely evaporating. The dance came to an end and Benedict, tired of having his feet crushed by an inattentive partner, said hopefully, ‘You don’t want to dance any more, do you?’

  She shook her head and looked around the room in search of her aunt. Even her chaperon appeared to have deserted her.

  Sensing her dejection, Benedict tried a diversion. ‘Have you ever gambled?’

  She opened her eyes wide. ‘My father used to gamble sometimes in Buenos Aires, but he said the clubs were not fit for young girls.’

  ‘There are clubs like that in London too—’ Benedict grinned ‘—but you don’t have to go to them to gamble. There’s usually the chance at most parties.’

  ‘Really? You can gamble here?’ She was genuinely taken aback. To be offered gambling in what seemed the wealthiest and noblest of settings was curious.