“My dear Lady Ranleigh!” And Lady Haverstoke was gone with amazing speed away from them, soon lost to view among a throng of guests.
“Lord Haverstoke must be either a man of great forbearance or deaf,” Kate said, staring after their hostess.
“Lord Haverstoke had the good sense to depart this world some years ago.” Julien wished he could see behind her mask to see what effect Lady Haverstoke’s malicious and quite calculated words had on her.
“Come, sweetheart,” he said then, taking her arm, “I believe I’ve located our lord of the manor, battle-ax and all.”
“Oh, and there is Hugh, Julien. He looks terribly somber, does he not? All that black satin.”
“Don’t I look equally as somber?”
“How ridiculous—of course not. You look rather dignified, perhaps like a very young statesman.”
“High tribute, certainly. If ever I take an active role in the House of Lords, my first act will be to condemn auburn hair.”
“Then you will find that your bills for white powder will grow monstrously.”
“Julien, at least have the decency to tie on your mask,” Percy said, thrusting forward his hand and shaking Julien’s heartily. “You look like some sort of hellfire parson bent on destroying the world.”
“Kate tells me I appear more like a statesman,” Julien said, smiling as he got the full effect of Percy’s grandeur, his noble proportions encased in a jerkin of light-yellow wool. His battle-ax dangled from a large leather belt about his waist.
“How grand you look, Percy, so very impressive.” She laughed in delight when he tried to favor her with a gallant bow. “Ah, good evening to you, Hugh.”
“Katharine. If my memory doesn’t fault me, you have copied Pompadour’s gown. I must commend your originality and the skill of your modiste. An unusual lady the Pompadour was, to say the least.”
Kate sensed more than observed a stiffening in Julien at Hugh’s appraisal. She said quickly, “The portrait took my fancy, Hugh. But you know, the black patch is most bothersome. It itches excessively.”
“Well, I would most willingly exchange your patch for this deucedly cumbersome ax,” Percy said, shooting a look at Hugh. “Never should have let him talk me into wearing it.”
“Me talk you—”
“March,” Percy continued, ignoring Hugh’s astonishment, “you don’t mind if I dance with Kate, do you?”
“If Kate doesn’t fear for her toes, I suppose I can make no argument.”
“Not at all.”
Percy bore her off, and soon they took their places beside other equally colorful couples on the dance floor.
“Well, Hugh, which do you prefer, parsons or statesmen?”
“Considering the Regent’s problems with retaining statesmen of worth, I believe we should choose the latter and offer our services.”
“And would you recommend our good Percy to command the army?”
Hugh tied on his mask. “ ’Twould give me great pleasure to see our dandy mount a horse in that getup.”
Julien’s deep laugh dissolved into a grunt of impatience as he chanced to look up and see Sarah beckoning to him in a most imperious manner. Hugh’s eyes followed Julien’s, and his nostrils quivered in anger. He frowned as he appraised her in her Cleopatra’s costume, trying to remember if it was an asp or a viper that brought about the queen’s demise. He became even more indignant when Lady Sarah blithely detached herself from her knot of admirers and calmly approached them.
“Don’t be so obvious, Hugh, in your condemnation. Percy informs me that Sarah grows tired of Sir Edward, and if she chooses to seek out old quarry, it must be dealt with.”
The two men’s eyes met through the slits in their masks, and though Hugh was uncertain of Julien’s intent, he was obliged to hold his peace.
“Do excuse me, Hugh. I hope this won’t take long.” Julien walked toward Lady Sarah.
“My dear Julien. Such a bore that you didn’t come as Caesar or perhaps Mark Antony. What a very attractive couple we would have made together.” She raised wide, wistful eyes to Julien’s face and sighed with soulful innocence. He thought it was a good act, one she’d perfected over the years, but it was getting a bit frayed now. He wasn’t moved a whit. Indeed, he found it silly, truth be told.
“You have need of no one to further enhance your image, Sarah. Does your barge await you outside?” Though he’d been scandalized by Kate’s costume, he was rather amused by Sarah’s outrageous daring and was unable to prevent his gaze from traveling the length of her flimsy, clinging gown. “And the gold toenails—quite the crowning touch for a queen.”
“Yes, are they not?” She was pleased at his masculine response, but not at all surprised. All men were alike, after all. Julien had just lost his way for a little while, nothing more. She laid her bare hand on his arm and said softly, “Won’t you dance with Cleopatra, my lord March? I vow she’s awaited your coming all this evening.”
“If you wish, Sarah. It’s just as well.” He slipped his arm about her slender waist and whirled her into the throng of dancers.
31
Lady Constance Haverstoke watched with glittering eyes as Lord March led Lady Ponsonby to the dance floor. She turned to her companion, Lady Victoria Manningly, and remarked complacently, “What is the saying about moths flying forever to a flame?”
“Lord March should take care, I daresay,” Lady Victoria said with pursed lips, “else he will find himself quite at odds with his new bride. That is she, is it not, over there?” She pointed to Kate’s gracefully swaying form, rendered less so by Percy’s ungainly costume. “She’s a very proud girl, I’ve heard it said, but of course not unbecomingly so,” she added quickly, remembering suddenly that for some strange reason Mrs. Drummond Burrell—that terrifying officious old goat—had taken an unaccountable liking to the girl.
Lady Victoria judged from Lady Haverstoke’s brazen attempt to draw attention to the earl and Lady Ponsonby that she wasn’t privy to this bit of information. It would serve her right, Victoria thought, if the earl’s bride were to cause a commotion. Certainly that cat Sarah Ponsonby wouldn’t show to advantage in the eyes of society. She wondered if perhaps she should drop a hint in Constance’s ear. She was surprised suddenly from her meanderings by the touch of Lady Haverstoke’s hand on her wrist. “Do but look, Victoria, March and Lady Sarah are leaving the floor.”
Both ladies watched in silence as the earl led Sarah to the large, curtained windows at the end of the ballroom, parted them, and slipped outside behind them.
“Perhaps it’s not moths to a flame after all,” Lady Haverstoke mused, with the superior grin of one who has accomplished her goal, “more like bees to the honey pot.”
“Lord March is unwise,” was all that Lady Victoria Manningly said.
“My dear Julien, how very thoughtful of you. It was growing so terribly close. I was longing for a breath of evening air, but only with you.”
“Did you indeed, Sarah?” He was very much aware for one unwanted moment of her hand stroking his sleeve and the pervading odor of her musk scent. He said coolly, “I understand, Sarah, that Sir Edward has lowered in your estimation. Really, my dear, you are too fickle. He mounts a horse well. Does he not mount you as well?”
It was crude, but it didn’t deter her. “I’ve missed you, Julien.” Her lips were parted in the most provocative way. She felt the strength of him through the black satin of his evening coat and raised her hand to touch his face. “Ah, my dearest, how ever could you have tied yourself to that whey-faced girl?”
“Whey-faced, Sarah? Surely you can’t have looked closely at her.”
She tossed her golden curls. “Very well. Perhaps she is passable-looking in a provincial sort of way, but, Julien, she is but a girl, a green, ignorant, cold girl.”
“A girl, yes. Indeed, my reputation would suffer were it otherwise.”
“Come, you know very well what I mean. Why, it’s common knowledge that—” She ground t
o a halt as Julien’s hand gripped her wrist.
“Just what, I pray, is common knowledge?”
Sarah drew back at the coldness of his voice. “Well, it is not precisely common knowledge. I know, Julien. I know that she’s cold. I know you don’t sleep with your bride, that you don’t even visit her bedchamber.”
He said nothing.
She was emboldened to continue. “It’s a mistake, my dear Julien, to have wed an inexperienced chit. Is she frightened of your passion? That is why, is it not, that you returned so quickly from your wedding trip?”
In the dim moonlight she couldn’t see Julien’s pallor, or the hardening of his mouth. She thought him to be struggling with himself, and she pressed her body against him and slipped her white arms up about his shoulders. “Oh, my dearest, can she give you this?” She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, her hands entwining in his curling hair and pulling him down to her.
Percy swiped his forehead with a fine lawn handkerchief that was oddly at variance with his woolen jerkin, and heaved a sigh.
“Lord, Kate, It will take me a bloody hour to regain my breath. Too deuced fast, that damned German music. Enough to send a fellow toppling early into his grave, or at least toppling onto his battle-ax.”
“You were magnificent, Percy.” As she spoke she was searching for Julien and Hugh. “Drat, how vexatious this patch is.” She lightly rubbed her cheek around the offending black satin.
“Ah, there you are, my dear.”
Kate and Percy turned at the commanding voice of Lady Haverstoke.
“How terribly feudal you are, Lord Blairstock.” She looked around her complacently. “It’s such a sad crush, isn’t it? I daresay we will have some ladies swooning if the space becomes too tight.”
“Yes, indeed, ma’am,” Kate said without a moment’s hesitation. It was an expected compliment, surely.
Lady Haverstoke lowered her voice and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “How charming Lord March looked, dancing with Lady Sarah. Several of the ladies were disappointed when they left the floor.”
“They left the floor, ma’am?” Kate asked, suddenly feeling nausea rise in her throat.
“For a breath of fresh air, no doubt,” Lady Haverstoke said in a pitying way that made Percy want to slap her fat face.
“Well, it is deuced hot in here, Lady Constance, deuced hot.” What the devil was the smug old tabby up to? It came as a bit of a shock to him that Julien would commit such a folly.
“Come, Kate, let us try some of that excellent champagne.” Percy took Kate firmly by the arm, nodded briefly to Lady Haverstoke, and propelled her toward the punch bowl. “Don’t listen to her. The old biddy’s just trying to stir up some mischief, that’s all.”
“Is she, Percy?” Kate asked, stopping and gazing up at his perspiring face.
“Good Lord, Kate, don’t be a fool. Julien is your husband, not some old roué to sport around with every pretty face.”
“You’re right, Percy, it is overly warm. If you will excuse me—” She felt the words choke in her throat as she sped away from him before he could form a protest.
“Damnation!” Percy accidentally bumped his battle-ax against a lady’s elbow. “Apologies, ma’am.”
When Kate broke away from Percy, she thought perhaps to seek out some quiet room where she could be alone. But somehow she found that her legs were quite at odds with her mind and moved her resolutely the length of the ballroom toward the long windows. She was beginning to feel quite ill, her stomach churning uncomfortably and a steady pounding growing in her head. She silently cursed her own physical weakness and stopped to press her fingers against her forehead. Her lacings were too tight, that was it. Eliza had tugged and tugged until Kate had gasped for breath. She smoothed the tight brocade about her waist, drew a deep breath, and wondered as she pulled aside the heavy curtains what was happening to her, what was so overwhelmingly compelling her to search out her husband. She found that she was quietly pleading to some divine power that she would find Julien alone. As she slipped through the narrow opening, she felt as though someone’s fist had struck her hard in the stomach, for she saw Julien and Lady Sarah, standing very close, the lady’s hand possessively holding her husband’s arm. She heard Lady Sarah say with devastating clarity, “Is she frightened of your passion? That is why, is it not, that you returned so quickly from your wedding trip?”
Oh, dear God, Julien, she cried silently to herself, please, please . . . She couldn’t see her husband’s face, but his continued silence dinned in her ears.
“Oh, my dearest, Julien, can she give you this?”
Kate pressed her face against the windowpane to blot out the picture of Lady Sarah locked tightly against Julien’s chest, her mouth upon his. She was filled with sudden fury, and without thought she stepped forward, her hands balled into fists. Her long gown caught itself on the hinge of the window and pulled her up short. She bent down and gave the skirt a vicious tug and found that her anger was dissolving into a dim haze of misery. She looked down at her dress, a whore’s gown, was it not? Nothing but a whore’s dress. Good God, what right had she to rain down curses on Lady Sarah’s head?
She pressed her hand against her mouth and turned about quickly. Hurrying back into the ballroom, she made her way to a more distant row of windows and slipped out quietly. She ran along the flagstone balcony, until, unable to help herself, she leaned miserably over the railing and lost her dinner.
She sat huddled against the railing until she was brought to her senses by voices quite near her. She panicked, thinking that it was perhaps Julien. He mustn’t find her like this. Remnants of pride patched themselves together.
She rose slowly to her feet, pressing her lace handkerchief to her mouth and gritting her teeth against a new wave of nausea. With automatic motions she smoothed her gown and forced her face into an impassive mask as she sought out an antechamber to bathe her face and mouth. She felt strangely empty, as if nothing now mattered to her. She was grateful for the numbness, the feeling of detachment, for when Julien later approached her, as she chatted with the utmost unconcern with a young matron dressed in the acceptable shepherdess costume, she was able to greet him with a semblance of calm.
“Lady Ridgelow,” Julien said with a slight bow before turning to his wife. “My dear, Percy is in quite a taking, claiming that you abandoned him at the punch bowl. Come, you must make reparations before we take our leave. A pleasure to see you again, Lady Ridgelow.”
As Julien guided her through the now-thinning company, he said quietly, “Actually, Percy was in quite a taking over my behavior, not yours.”
“Your behavior, my lord?” She looked up at him, striving for calm, for a show of indifference that he would believe. He saw too much always, and now she simply couldn’t bear it if he saw her misery.
“Yes, and undoubtedly I owe you an explanation. By taking Lady Sarah to the balcony, I evidently gave the gossips a delectable topic of conversation. You, I am persuaded, must know my reason for doing so.”
“Indeed, my lord, it isn’t for me to question your actions.” She wouldn’t look at him, she couldn’t. She kept her eyes straight ahead.
“Come, Kate,” he said sharply, frowning down at her profile, “you’ve taken me to task on practically every one of my actions since the day I met you. That I perhaps chose an awkward place and time to set Lady Sarah straight is very much your affair. I am sorry for it, but at least it’s now at an end.”
Kate felt a deep bitterness invade the comforting numbness that surrounded her. Yes, she thought sadly, I saw just how well you handled the lady.
“I see I’m to judge by your continued silence that you either understand my motives or you are jealous. Which is it?” He grasped her arm and pulled her up to face him.
“As you say, my lord,” she said finally, her voice wintry and far away, “I understand your motives perfectly. I assure you, there’s no need to explain further. You’re a man, after all.”
“Are you not a man?”
“Damnation. No, this is quite ridiculous.” He regarded her steadily and said at last, “It will be as you wish, at least for the moment. We haven’t yet danced. Would you like to?”
“No. That is, I’m very tired. It’s been a long evening, and so many people and all of them talking and talking. If you wouldn’t mind, I would just as soon leave.”
He studied her pale face. She did look exhausted and unhappy. Damnation, what was he to do?
Gray flecks of dawn penetrated the darkness of the room when Julien awoke at the sound of a piercing scream. He bounded from his bed, threw his dressing gown about him, and rushed through the adjoining door into Kate’s room. She screamed again, tangling herself among the heavy bedclothes.
He leaned over her and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her none too gently. “Kate, come on now, wake up, that’s it, you must wake up. It’s a nightmare. Nothing more, just that damned nightmare. Come, sweetheart.”
A long shudder passed the length of her body, and she forced her eyes open. Julien was balanced over her, his face pale in the dim light, his hair tousled, beard stubble on his chin. She cried out in protest as he shook her again.
“It was the nightmare again. Oh, God, I hate it. It’s so frightening because I can’t see what’s there, can’t see anything, but the evil is there, I know it.” She struggled up and pulled her hands from beneath the covers to push damp masses of hair from her forehead. She threw out her arms to clasp him to her, to burrow against him, but as she did so, Lady Sarah’s face rose in her eyes. She fell back against the pillows and turned her face away.
Julien drew back, baffled. Always before, she’d wanted him to comfort her, to hold her. Slowly he straightened and automatically began to smooth out the tangled covers. He saw that she was trembling uncontrollably. “Sweetheart,” he said quietly. She made no response, and he eased himself down beside her. Above all things, he didn’t want to frighten her, and thus he contented himself with gazing at her averted face, satisfied, for the moment at least, that he was close to her. Gradually the trembling lessened and her breathing became more regular.
The Rebel Bride Page 29
