‘And you do?’ Christabel suddenly understood the drift of her sister’s conversation. It made sense of her earlier conduct. She had evidently been on the look-out for Sir Julian, hoping to meet him alone in the park.
‘More than you at any rate,’ Sophia snapped back. ‘I’m not made of ice!’
And with that she banged the bedroom door behind her, leaving Christabel to wrestle with this new and unwelcome development.
Chapter Six
Sir Julian had made elaborate preparations for an evening’s visit to Vauxhall. It was not a venue he would ordinarily have patronised—the Gardens had a reputation for encouraging wanton behaviour—but the Prince Regent himself was to sponsor a fete there and nothing else had been talked of among the ton for days but the magnificent firework display to be mounted in his honour. So it was that Sir Julian planned with great care every detail of the evening’s entertainment. His carriage was to call at Mount Street at seven o’clock and take up Christabel and her siblings. Lady Harriet had cried off at the last moment, citing the burden of preparations for Sophia’s ball. The party would drive to Westminster Pier and from there take a boat over the Thames, approaching the Gardens by the water entrance. Sir Julian had already hired one of the hundred supper boxes available in the central amphitheatre and looked forward to serving his guests the wafer-thin ham for which Vauxhall was famous, washed down with the very best champagne. A fifty-strong orchestra would entertain them throughout the meal, but their box was sited far enough away for conversation not to be unduly disturbed. Reserved places at the fireworks arena were also secured. Nothing had been left to chance; he was determined to make the evening a fitting celebration of his recent engagement.
To his dismay the expedition got off to an uncomfortable start. Christabel was already waiting in the hall when he arrived at Mount Street, looking voluptuous in a low-cut silk robe of the deepest gold worn over a flimsy underslip of ivory gauze. He had never before seen her dressed so seductively and after his initial surprise, felt himself falling ever deeper under her spell, the perplexities of their last encounter well and truly forgotten. His enchantment, though, was soon fractured by the sounds of a stormy dispute above.
‘You foolish boy, look what you’ve done!’
It was Sophia, thumping down the main staircase in an unladylike fury. Hardly able to speak, she glared at the two of them patiently waiting and pointed a trembling finger at the hem of her dress.
‘Do you see that? It’s torn beyond repair! And all because he can’t keep his clumsy feet to himself. He’s not content to stand all over my dress, oh, no, he has to tear it to shreds.’
‘If you hadn’t got into such a temper and pulled against my foot, it would never have torn.’ Benedict arrived down the stairs two at a time, looking as cross as his sister.
‘I didn’t pull it, idiot. I was trying to free it. Why did you stand on it in the first place?’
‘Why does the sun shine? Why do you wear ridiculous frocks? There’s no answer.’
She was just about to loose another tirade at him when Christabel intervened, ‘You could change into your lilac silk, Sophia. It will be perfect for the Gardens and then tomorrow you can ask your woman to restitch the hem.’
‘How can she mend such a huge tear? And why should I wear the lilac? It’s completely insipid and I hate it. I shan’t go to Vauxhall and it will be your fault.’ She rounded angrily on her brother.
Sir Julian, ever more aware of the advancing hour, thought it time to try his own hand at peacemaking. ‘Miss Sophia, you have a wardrobe of beautiful dresses from which to choose. Please do so and favour us with your company this evening.’
Benedict snorted derisively, but his sister allowed herself a glimmer of a smile in Julian’s direction before she retraced her steps to the bedroom. Sophia’s infatuation was still in place, Christabel noted. Her sister’s passions had a tendency to disappear almost as quickly as they erupted and she hoped that this would prove to be the case with Julian. If she made sure that Sophia knew their engagement to be happy and secure, she was hopeful that her sister would shortly transfer her affections elsewhere.
They had been late for the boat and Sir Julian had had to pay a hefty waiting charge, but was relieved simply to have got all of them to the Gardens. Sophia and Benedict kept up a low-level sniping for most of the journey but Christabel blocked her ears to their wrangling. She was determined to make the evening a success, to make amends for her earlier dudgeon and show Julian that she appreciated the considerable thought he’d expended on the evening. And she was enjoying herself. She had never before visited Vauxhall, even though it was a popular pleasure haunt of the ton between April and June, and when they stepped from the boat and began to make their way along the Grand Walk, she was entranced. Tree-lined promenades and gravelled pathways led off from the main route and everywhere fountains, statues and even artificial ruins dotted the landscape. The evening light had by this time darkened and they walked in a fairyland of thousands of lanterns hanging in festoons from the trees and between the cast-iron pillars of the vaulted colonnade which ran alongside the Grand Walk.
‘What a magical place!’ she breathed, her eyes in the shadowy light deep pools of turquoise, ‘and how good of you to think of this excursion.’
Sir Julian, suffused with happiness, smiled benignly and tucked her arm tightly into his. Benedict had disappeared almost as soon as they’d reached dry land, and although Sophia maintained a forbidding frown, a degree of peace was restored. Lavish praise of a particularly fetching loo mask that she had bought for the occasion mollified her sufficiently to consent to explore the Gardens with her sister and future brother-in-law.
For an hour or so the three of them strolled along the walkways, listening to the bands of Pandean minstrels which played on platforms scattered around the Gardens. Even Sophia was intrigued at some of the innovations that had been placed to interest visitors, marvelling for some time at the mechanical Cascade which played endlessly at the centre of the South Walk, another stately avenue spanned by three triumphal arches. Eventually they made their way to the two central semi-circles around which supper boxes provided places to eat, to listen to the orchestra or simply to watch the strolling crowds.
Sir Julian, all attention, made his two guests comfortable. A shawl here, a cushion there, and a hovering waiter despatched to fetch the supper he had previously ordered. Dozens of waiters ran from box to box, bringing platters of chicken or ham with salads for the guests to mix themselves and bowls for them to brew their own very potent arrack-punch. This was already having some effect in a few of the supper boxes, their inhabitants masked and feeling free to conduct themselves with abandon. The masqueraders were laughing immoderately at their own jokes or cavorting to the music which played nearby. A few of the women were already looking a little dishevelled. Their own box was slightly set back from the majority and Sir Julian felt relieved that the ladies under his charge would not be incommoded by such improper behaviour.
‘What curious murals!’ Christabel pointed to the rear wall, hazily illuminated by the globe of light hanging from the roof and covered with paintings.
‘I believe they were done by a Francis Hayman in the last century,’ Sir Julian intoned, ‘but they have to be constantly repaired because so many people examine them a little too closely!’
‘I do believe you’ve been researching this information for us,’ she teased.
He smiled and admitted as much while Sophia scowled and ostentatiously yawned with boredom. It was fortunate that a distraction soon materialised in the form of supper and with it Benedict, who appeared out of nowhere to eat his share. He didn’t stay long, however. As soon as the chicken and ham had been despatched he excused himself with the words that he thought he might try a little jaunt around the dance floor. At this Sophia scowled even more ferociously and began pointedly to tap her feet. Christabel was by now wholly out of patience with her sister though she knew well the cause of her bad temper
.
But Sir Julian, blissfully ignorant of the tension, offered his arm to the younger girl, saying genially, ‘I think it must be time for us to repeat our efforts of the other evening, Miss Sophia—that is, if your sister has no objection.’
Christabel was only too pleased to be left in peace. There was now quite a crowd of people dancing to the infectious music of the orchestra and she enjoyed watching them twirling and spinning beneath the trees, the lanterns dusting the moving figures with sprinkles of light. A carnival spirit was abroad, many of the dancers dressed in full disguise. She thought she saw Domino and her aunt among the crowd of harlequins, cavaliers, jesters and shepherdesses. She could have been mistaken, but it was possible that Lady Blythe had been persuaded after all to bring her charge to this den of iniquity. If so, it was strange that Richard was not with them. She fell to wondering why she and Richard had never visited Vauxhall when they were a betrothed couple. But those had been awkward weeks in London when her decision to marry had begun to seem hideously wrong. The growing influence of Joshua had seen to that. He, of course, would have leapt at the chance of meeting her at Vauxhall. Masked and disguised, it would have been a perfect opportunity for the kind of underhand lovemaking he was so good at. But Richard would have shrunk from it. He was too upright, too conscious of what was deemed proper conduct. Or had been, she amended. The Richard she’d encountered in the past few weeks was anything but proper. He was unpredictable and passionate and his tirade in the park just a few days ago had gone well beyond the bounds of correctness. Had he really changed so much and Argentina made him literally into a new man? Or had that streak of dissent, of recklessness, of fervour, always been there just waiting to be lit? Six years ago she had chosen not to apply the flame, but instead had turned away to Joshua. It was a sobering thought.
‘All alone, sweetheart?’
She looked up, startled. A man dressed in a scarlet domino had suddenly appeared at her side. She had been so deep in thought that he must have leapt over the wooden barrier without her hearing a thing.
‘We can’t have that, can we, not on a night made for merrymaking?’
The man let out a harsh guffaw and breathed fumes in her face. Repulsed, she rose from her seat, thinking to escape down the staircase at the side of the box, but he was too quick for her. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her close and began to rub his face against her cheek. With a mighty wrench she snatched herself away and desperately made for the stairs, but her flimsy slipper caught in the table leg and he was on her again almost immediately. His arms encircled her waist and dragged her into a clumsy embrace. She shrank back against the wall of the box as his fleshy mouth hovered over her lips. Then a hand alighted on the man’s shoulder and jerked him roughly backwards. He let go in surprise and turned to face the cause of this intrusion. Dark grey eyes gleamed behind a black velvet mask and a steely voice commanded him to leave immediately. Christabel knew the voice and the figure instantly.
‘Who d’you think you are to tell me what to do?’ the man in scarlet protested.
The grim figure stood tensed. ‘You’ll find out soon enough unless you leave now.’
The man put up his arms in readiness for a brawl. Dreading the scene to come, she looked wildly around for Sir Julian and her sister. Even Benedict might be of use in this situation. Then quite suddenly it was over. The intruder had been picked up bodily and tossed over the barrier he had earlier jumped. At the first sounds of the quarrel people had begun to emerge from the neighbouring supper boxes to see what was amiss and now a small crowd gathered around the prostrate man. Those revellers who had imbibed most seemed to think the whole thing a drama put on for their entertainment and were loud in their praise of the acting. But the more sober were plainly concerned with this breach of the peace and began to mutter ominously amongst themselves.
In response the black-masked figure grabbed Christabel’s hand and propelled her swiftly down the stairs and out of the box. He carved a ruthless path for them through the now restive crowd, always holding to her tightly, and a few minutes later she found herself running with him up the Dark Walk. No lanterns hung here and the only light was that of a crescent moon filtered through the rags of lowering clouds. The air was heavy with the scent of lilacs now in full bloom, their abundant foliage casting inky shadows on the gravelled pathway. She could hardly see a foot in front of her, but her rescuer’s firm hand kept her from stumbling. The crowds gradually dwindled and the sounds of music faded into the distance. Breathless, they came to a halt outside a small rustic shelter cleverly hidden within a clearing in the mass of surrounding trees. It was invisible, except to those standing immediately outside. Richard pulled her into its sanctuary, hardly allowing her to catch her breath before he began to berate her.
‘Where the hell is your fiance?’ he uttered explosively.
She bridled immediately. ‘How dare you use such language in my presence?’
He ran his hand through his already dishevelled hair and attempted to gain control of his rage.
‘I apologise for my intemperate speech, but I repeat—where is your supposed fiance?’
‘He is not supposed, he is my fiance,’ she retorted icily.
‘Then why isn’t he taking care of you?’
‘Sir Julian has taken every care of me. He was absent for a short time only while he danced with my sister.’
‘And while he placates that bad-tempered little vixen, he leaves you exposed to the attentions of any rake on the cut.’
‘You exaggerate. The man was a nuisance, no more.’
There was silence while they glared furiously at each other. Then in a challenging voice she said, ‘I thought I’d made it clear that I never wished to speak to you again.’
‘And I’m most happy to concur, but what am I to do when I see a woman, any woman, menaced by a scoundrel?’
‘You make too much of the incident—there was no cause to intervene.’
‘Really? Then why were you cowering in fear?’
‘I was not cowering, nor did I wish to become embroiled in an unseemly wrangle. Did you have to be quite so brutal?’
‘Would you have preferred to be ravished?’
‘That was hardly likely. The man was clearly drunk.’
‘But sober enough to see the prize he was winning.’
She said nothing and again a long, tense silence filled the air between them. The moment of danger had passed and they were both acutely aware of their isolation from the crowd and their proximity to one another. He could not resist looking at her, his gaze growing rapt as the seconds passed. He longed to unpin her curls and bring the burnished curtain cascading down. The sensuality she radiated was engulfing him and the soft contours of her body seemed to cry out for his touch. Exerting all his self-control, he expunged the expression from his face and when he spoke his voice was heavy with irony.
‘Evidently I misjudged the situation. The man was no threat to you and I have done him ill. I’ll leave you to convey my apologies to our unfortunate friend,’ and he gestured back the way they had come. ‘You’ll doubtless make a better job of it than I.’
She followed the direction of his hand and looked quickly behind her. ‘Has he come after us?’
He shook his head. ‘There’s no one there.’ He knew he should leave it at that and walk away, but his frustration impelled him to carry on the fight.
‘You can relax, you’re quite safe,’ he jeered, ‘but then you always have been with me, haven’t you? A little too safe.’
He looked down at her with a cynical smile. ‘For someone who despises the familiar, it’s strange how little you enjoy excitement when it comes knocking!’
The energy drained from her. It wasn’t enough that she’d been forced to brave the unwanted attentions of a stranger; now she must rekindle her strength for yet another battle with Richard. The knowledge caused her to shiver in the warm night air.
He saw and said tauntingly, ‘Perhaps you should have worn just a little
more this evening. Or was this a special treat for Sir Julian?’
She ignored the gibe, but a growing anger rippled through her body.
‘Or perhaps,’ he continued to harass, ‘this is just the old Christabel resurfacing, the one that likes to give everyone a special treat!’
The blood whipped her cheeks pink and she turned savagely towards him, her hand raised. She hardly knew what she was doing. This was more than justified fury; all her suppressed desire fuelled the flight of her hand. He caught her arm mid-air and pulled her towards himself.
‘What happened to the ice maiden?’ he goaded, his eyes dark and brooding.
Then his hands were in her hair, tangling the wild red curls in his fingers and kissing them fervently. Unresisting, she allowed him to liberate her carefully fashioned locks until they tumbled across the smooth swelling of her breasts.
She knew that she was a lost woman. She wrapped her arms around his neck and offered her face to his. Hungrily her lips sought his mouth. She needed his touch with a desperation she had not thought possible. His mouth fastened on hers and she took in the full taste of him. His lips grazed her cheeks, her neck, and glided downwards to the smooth whiteness of her breasts.
Then his fingers were undoing the tight bodice, slowly exposing the yielding flesh of her bosom, slowly but firmly stroking her into ecstasy.
Cupping her breasts in both hands, he brought his mouth to them, one after another. Slowly and expertly he savoured her, until her whole body was swept by a coruscating fire.
She moaned with the intensity of her pleasure and he pushed her against the warm wood of the shelter, fitting himself to her body, moving against her until she felt her legs would collapse beneath her. She tore at his shirt, burying her face in his bare throat. She wanted only to feel his naked skin, to feel the hardness of his body against her. Neither heard the footsteps running up the Dark Walk.
The Earl Plays With Fire Page 12
