Harlequin Historical May 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Sarah Mallory

  With her heart beating hard against her ribs, slowly she raised her eyes to his and, leaning towards him, again boldly touched his mouth with her own. Unable to resist what she was so generously offering, he clamped his mouth on to hers once more, causing the blood to pound in her head and her senses to reel as her mind retreated down an unknown, forbidden path, plunging her into an oblivion that was dark and exquisitely sensual. The kiss went on longer than the first.

  Out of sheer self-preservation, an eternity later Captain Wilding lifted his head.

  ‘Don’t, Lucy,’ he said when she swayed against him. ‘We have to stop now. Someone might come on to the terrace and then where would we be?’

  Bemused, Lucy looked up at him, her eyes large and luminous. As reality began to return and she became aware of her surroundings, with the sound of the music and laughter in her ears, she was shocked by the explosion of passion between them, shocked by what she had done. She stepped back, her knees weak.

  ‘This—this is madness. We should not be doing this. We—we must go back inside.’

  Captain Wilding stopped her, putting his hand on her arm as she was about to pass him, seeing her lovely eyes were apprehensive and deceptively innocent. ‘Wait,’ he said gently. ‘Take a moment to calm down. Don’t let anyone see you like this.’

  ‘Why? What do I look like?’

  ‘Your eyes are aglow with passion and your cheeks flushed.’ He smiled down at her and touched her cheek.

  ‘Everyone will think I’ve been dancing.’

  ‘If dancing makes you look like this, then you should dance more often.’

  ‘Then it is your fault. You should not have kissed me. Do you enjoy inducing feelings in me that make me so confused that I can’t think straight, feelings that can come to nothing?’ Glancing around, she saw that other couples had ventured out on to the terrace and were curiously glancing in their direction. Feeling terribly self-conscious, she stepped away from her companion. ‘See, we have drawn attention. Now I must insist on returning to the dancing. Sofia will be looking for me.’

  They returned to the ballroom as the dance was about to end, but their appearance from the terrace had not gone unobserved. Unaware of the attention, Christopher took Lucy in his arms and danced her to the edge of the floor where he stopped and looked down at her. When he spoke, his voice was serious once more.

  ‘No matter what happens, I will help you get away. I know Barrington. He’s a dangerous individual—and I believe you to be in grave danger. Do you still wish to leave?’

  Hope shone in her eyes. ‘More than ever. You will take me to France?’

  ‘No—not to France. But I will take you to a place where you will be safe until your godmother returns to London. Can you get away?’

  ‘I—I don’t know,’ she said, seeing Sofia bearing down on them, her face like thunder. ‘They tend to watch me all the time. I suppose I could tell them I would like to visit Emma—but she lives in Kent. She should be home now and it would not be an unreasonable request.’

  ‘If you leave London, send a note to me at my address if it’s possible. If not, I’ll find a way of contacting you.’ Taking a step back when Sofia reached them, he bowed and smiled, showing a flash of white teeth.

  ‘You are enjoying the dancing, Lucy?’ she said, her eyes snapping to her partner. Her fan shut with a click and her fingers tightened on it so viciously that the fragile ivory sticks were in danger of snapping.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Sofia. This is Captain Wilding—Captain Wilding, my stepmother, Sofia Walsh.’

  ‘I am charmed to meet you, Mrs Walsh, but I must correct you, Miss Walsh,’ he said, addressing Lucy. ‘I am here tonight under my official title, that of Viscount Rockley of Rockwood Park in Surrey.’

  Lucy stared at him in astonishment. ‘Oh—I—I had no idea...’

  He grinned down at her. ‘Of course you hadn’t. Now please excuse me,’ he said, inclining his head to them both. ‘Mrs Walsh, Miss Walsh.’

  Sofia drew her aside. ‘Where have you been? When I didn’t see you I thought you’d gone to the ladies’ rest room, then I see you coming in from the terrace with Captain Wilding—or perhaps I should say Viscount Rockley.’

  Lucy was totally confused by Captain Wilding’s disclosure that he was a peer of the realm. ‘He—he asked me to dance—so I did. It was very warm so we stepped outside. We cannot have been gone longer that a few minutes.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you should not have done that. People see these things—they talk. A young lady’s reputation can be ruined by such thoughtlessness. Now come along. We’ll get some refreshment from the buffet and then we’ll go and find Mark.’

  * * *

  As the night wore on and there was no sign of Mr Barrington, after eating a light meal from the buffet with an agitated Sofia, they went in search of him. Sofia seemed to know exactly where he would be. The rooms set aside for those who favoured a game of cards or dice were well attended. Lucy tried not to appear shocked at finding herself among gamblers. But while the moralist in her disapproved of this kind of behaviour, her rebellious Bohemian instinct was inquisitive.

  The room was hot, crowded and noisy. Ignoring the admiring glances of some of the gentlemen, she followed Sofia further into the room and into another where the noise was curiously muted so as not to detract the more hardened players. Green baize tables for dice, whist, French Hazard and other games that took the guests’ fancy had been set up. Lucy’s eyes scanned the groups of people clustered around them, where several games were in progress. The players were obscured from view.

  Sofia went to speak to a gentleman Lucy had seen Mr Barrington with earlier. The two had seemed to know each other well.

  ‘Where is he?’ Sofia asked. ‘Where is Mark? I know he’s in here.’

  The gentleman, Sir Simon Bucklow, turned and looked at her. ‘He will not be pleased to see you here. You know what he’s like when he’s in the thick of a game.’

  ‘All too well. I will speak to him. He will listen to me.’

  ‘He is determined. He will not listen to you.’ Sir Simon placed a restraining hand on her arm. ‘Leave him. It might surprise you to know that he is winning. He will not thank you for interfering.’

  Sofia worked her fan vigorously. ‘Very well, but if he wins the game then he must leave the table.’

  ‘He won’t do that and you know it, Sofia. We’ve both seen him in this mood before when he thinks everything is going his way—and I have to tell you that the liquor he’s consumed has increased his habitual readiness to take risks to a point of madness.’

  Through a gap around the card table where Sir Simon’s attention was focused, Lucy pushed her way through to see Mr Barrington engaged in a serious game. His full face was flushed and his cravat drooping. Anger flared in his eyes when he saw Lucy and his lips curled with disapproval, but he did not allow himself to become sidetracked from the game in hand. He looked disappointed when his partner got up from the table, having lost the game and reluctant to play on. Another man came and sat opposite, shuffling and cutting one of the two packs of cards on the green cloth with slender, flexible fingers as they prepared to begin a game of piquet. It was a game for two people which offered excellent scope for both intelligence and judgement, something Mr Barrington would have risen to had his brain not been fogged with the fumes of alcohol.

  Suddenly Mr Barrington looked across at his opponent and his gaze was arrested. Lucy saw a tightening to his features as his eyes narrowed and swept Christopher Wilding, a man who had suddenly taken on a whole new persona for Lucy. The look that passed between them crackled with hidden fire and, for just a moment, she saw something savage and raw stir in the depths of Viscount Rockley’s eyes, before they became icy with contempt.

  ‘You know why I’m here, Barrington,’ said Viscount Rockley in a cold voice, seeing Barrington’s shoulders stiffen.

>   Lucy could almost feel the effort Mr Barrington was exerting to keep his rage under control and he smiled thinly, looking at his opponent with cool mockery.

  ‘I applaud your detective work, Rockley.’

  Viscount Rockley’s face was like granite. ‘It wasn’t difficult. Your habits are well known,’ he said with biting scorn. ‘After what you have done, I have every reason in the world to kill you. However, I will reserve that ultimate pleasure until I have ruined you.’

  Mr Barrington snorted with contempt. ‘That’s extremely generous of you, Rockley. Play on.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lucy was puzzled by the incident, curious as to what had induced this unconcealed animosity between the two of them.

  The game began in earnest. It followed the classic pattern with Mr Barrington winning a little, then losing more and more, until he ceased to win anything at all as his partner, who, unlike Mr Barrington, was completely unaffected by alcohol, raised the stakes higher and higher. With a mixture of languor and self-assurance, his eyes on the cards did not stir.

  ‘His partner is Christopher Wilding—Viscount Rockley,’ Sofia said quietly to Sir Simon Bucklow, distraught that the game was not going Mark’s way. ‘The man looks set to ruin him.’

  ‘It’s more than likely that he will,’ Sir Simon murmured. ‘Rockley is extremely proficient at the game—all that time he spends at sea, I suppose. A man has to have something to help him pass the time.’

  Fascinated by the scene being played out before her eyes, Lucy looked at the man now known to her as Viscount Rockley. He looked so different to the man she knew. There was a strong, arrogant set to his jaw and his face was as hard and forbidding as a granite sculpture, his fingers, long and slender, handling the cards with expert ease. He was the kind of man who was capable of silencing a room full of people just by appearing in the doorway.

  She didn’t realise she was staring at him until his instinct made him look up, as if sensing her gaze, and Lucy felt her breath catch in her throat when his eyes locked on to hers, compelling and piercing. His dark brows lifted a fraction and a slight smile twitched his lips at the corners.

  * * *

  For the next half-hour she watched every move of the game. The air was heavy with tension. It became clear early on that Viscount Rockley’s mastery of the game surpassed Mr Barrington’s—he had the amazing ability to reject the right cards from the original hand and an equal ability to enter into all the complicated moves which influenced the game. There was also a feeling that something else was going on between these two men, something that no one present was party to.

  Beside her, the tension was becoming unbearable for Sofia as Mr Barrington lost more and more of his winnings to his partner, who presided over the game like a predatory hawk. The light from the chandeliers played on his chiselled features as he watched his opponent closely, quietly confident, and inside the room the air was charged with expectant excitement.

  He was experienced and the more Mr Barrington lost, the more Viscount Rockley incited him to go on playing, to bid higher and higher. He must have been able to see Mr Barrington was inebriated and not in possession of his right senses. He would have had to be blind not to, but he lounged indifferently across from him, his expression bland as he coolly regarded his opponent, whose flushed face and shaking hands clearly betrayed his emotions. The wagers were high and Mr Barrington seemed oblivious to the muted murmurs of the spectators as he watched Viscount Rockley’s flexible fingers shuffle again and again, flicking over card after card, producing from his hand an ace, another ace, a king, a queen.

  When Mr Barrington had lost his former winnings, pushing a pile of banknotes into the centre of the table, Viscount Rockley raised the stake yet again to three thousand guineas.

  No longer able to stand by and watch his friend lose what he suspected was every penny to his name, Sir Simon Bucklow stepped forward.

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Mark,’ he told him. ‘You cannot cover the bet if you lose. After losing what you have won tonight, you no longer have three thousand guineas to your name.

  Impatient at being interrupted, Mr Barrington shot him a look which told him not to interfere as he put his signature to a chit and placed it with his opponent’s money in the centre of the table. ‘There you are mistaken. I can afford it. I will take the bet and I aim to win it back on the next hand.

  The game had attracted attention. People came in from the ballroom to watch. There was a ripple of excitement from the spectators as Mr Barrington, in an agitated state and perspiration gathering on his brow, accepted the bet as Viscount Rockley piled on the agony. A pulse beat at the side of his face, his play becoming erratic and desperate as the play went on and he was reduced to signing one IOU after another.

  * * *

  One hour later the game was over. Lucy didn’t realise she had been holding her breath, until she released it in a long sigh. Viscount Rockley rose from his chair, pocketed the IOUs and looked down at his defeated opponent coldly. A thin smile curled his lips, his eyes showing contempt for his victim, utterly unconcerned for the pain he must be feeling and knowing that in situations such as this it was not uncommon for a man who had staked his entire fortune on a game of cards to go out and shoot himself.

  ‘Rotten luck, Barrington,’ he said calmly, ‘but that’s how it goes. It was a fair contest. If you wish to try to recoup your losses and exact your revenge, I will be happy to give you the opportunity of doing so.’

  ‘Oh, I will, Rockley, you can count on it. This is not the end.’

  Leaning forward so his next words were heard by no one but Barrington, Rockley said, ‘You robbed me of something that was priceless to me—my family. I swore then that when I found you, you would answer to me. This is just the beginning.’

  With everyone talking about Mr Barrington’s rotten luck, Lucy was shocked to the very core of her being by what she had just witnessed. Retreating to the back of the room, away from the players who continued to hold everyone’s attention, she left the room and moved towards the top of the stairs where it was quiet, gripping the balustrade with trembling hands.

  While the two men had been playing she had not really had the chance to take in the significance of what was happening. Now she thought of Viscount Rockley and wondered what Mr Barrington had done to make him hate him so much. She was at a loss to know what to say or how to deal with the situation. Suddenly Viscount Rockley came striding out of the room. Seeing her standing there, he fixed his gaze on her and walked towards her.

  ‘Miss Walsh. I’m sorry you had to witness that. I doubt Barrington will be able to settle the IOUs.’

  ‘What will you do? Have him thrown into a debtors’ prison if he can’t pay? You know what my feelings are where he is concerned, but I would take no pleasure in seeing him brought so low. He has a ranch to sell, but would you really do that to a man?’

  ‘Your defence of Barrington is touching, but he does not own a ranch.’

  ‘He doesn’t?’

  ‘No. I know him—have done for years. He is a gambler like his father before him.’ With a slight lift to his sleek eyebrows and drenching her in his most charming smile, he studied her for a moment, his silver-grey eyes levelled on hers, penetrating and disturbing. Taking her hand, he turned it over and kissed her palm, then closed her fingers over it. ‘I am all too aware of the danger Barrington poses. I will come for you soon. Be sure of it.’ Inclining his head in a bow, he descended the stairs—unaware as he did so of the savage fury that lanced through Mark Barrington who had stepped out of the card room in time to witness the intimacy of their parting.

  Accompanied by Sofia and Sir Simon Bucklow, as Viscount Rockley disappeared through the door into the street Mr Barrington strode to Lucy, furious with her. ‘You,’ he hissed. ‘You know him?’

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  He rounded on Sofia, whose expre
ssion was blank, but in her eyes Lucy saw fear. ‘Did you know of this?’

  ‘No—I swear it, Mark.’

  Lucy had to admire Sofia’s composure under attack, although she saw her swallow before she replied.

  Mr Barrington turned again to Lucy. ‘Have you nothing to say?’

  ‘No, because I have done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Nothing wrong. Look around you and tell me that,’ he said, sweeping his arm wide to indicate the crowd of curious onlookers gathering around the doorway to the cardroom. ‘Everyone here tonight knows you are betrothed to me. It has just been brought to my attention by Sir Simon—who bore witness to the incident himself—that you accompanied Rockley on to the terrace earlier where you were seen in an intimate embrace—hardly the actions of a lady of virtue,’ he hissed. ‘Rockley has just made an excellent job of compromising you.’

  Lucy didn’t deign to reply. Never had she felt so embarrassed or so humiliated in the whole of her life. All she wanted at that moment was to escape all those watching, accusing eyes. Mr Barrington was beyond reasonable argument. Bright colour suffused his face. His pride as well as his pocket was severely dented. Seeing the expressions on the faces of those who stood around, ranging from mockery to contempt, he realised he had become a creature of ridicule. When he spoke there was a world of condemnation in it.

  ‘That man has made me a laughing stock, an object of ridicule. But if he thinks to get the better of me he’s mistaken. And you!’ He glowered at Lucy. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at? How dare you humiliate me in this manner? How dare you do this to me? I did not expect you to be in league with Rockley. It’s plain that the blackguard has an eye for you himself. You should not have been in the card room—nor you, Sofia.’

  Aware that they were attracting a great deal of interest and whispering among those gathered, Lucy had no intention of airing their grievances any further in public. Although she was not deaf—already she heard those gathered questioning her morals and her loyalties were roundly denounced: after all, what else could be expected from an American girl—savages all of them.