by Lara Temple
‘They have tried to kill you at least once already, possibly twice if your friend Mr Beauvoir is right. And now they are trying to force Crown and Country to do their work for them. If I hadn’t provided you with an alibi, you might even now be on your way to the local gaol in Faringdon to await His Majesty’s mercy. You might have eventually succeeded in convincing the law of your innocence, but perhaps not, given your reputation and Jeffries’s testimony. So now tell me if you wish to continue to act as if nothing unusual is happening or whether you are going to start taking this matter seriously! Because sham engagement or not, I give you leave to walk out of this room right now and I will not say another word.’
‘That is very kind of you, no doubt,’ Adam said mockingly, unimpressed by her speech. ‘But since your actions this afternoon make such a course of action impossible, your generosity is a bit empty. You may have a low opinion of me, but if you think I could in conscience walk away after making that announcement at the White Hart, I underestimated your disdain. Let us be very clear about two things. The first is we are now betrothed and will have to figure out the implications of that action, and the second is that whatever fictional account you have concocted regarding recent events, even if you are correct, they have nothing whatsoever to do with you. They are in no way your concern. Is that clear?’
Alyssa raised her chin another notch. She had no intention of letting him treat her as if she was a child.
‘Of course they are my concern! If you think I could in conscience ignore the fact that someone I know is in danger without doing a thing to prevent further tragedy, you have a very poor opinion of me! I wouldn’t even turn my back on my worst enemy in such a situation. And whatever you may think of me, I consider you a friend.’
She was glad to note her voice was calmer than she felt. She was never sure where she stood with him, but now more than ever she felt raw and exposed. He was silent and still for so long she began to feel strangely shaky, as if she hadn’t eaten in a long time. Finally she could stand the silence no longer.
‘I know I am not much of an ally, Adam, but you should either leave Mowbray as soon as possible or make an effort to uncover what is really going on here. And for that you need allies. You need someone who can observe Percy and Rowena and everyone involved in this morass without being remarked. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on one’s perspective, I am for the most part unremarkable here in Mowbray. No one is likely to be natural around you—Francis Bacon did say it was imperative in every scientific enquiry not to contaminate one’s observations by unwonted influence and your presence in any situation here is one big contamination. You will never get a true, unbiased observation yourself.’
His severe expression lightened as her speech progressed. ‘I have been called many things, but not yet, I believe, a contamination. And though you may be able to go about Mowbray society with ease, I don’t think anyone would agree that you are unremarkable. But none of this is the point.’
‘What is the point, then?’
‘That on the off-chance that someone here is up to mischief, I don’t want you or anyone put at risk on my account. I won’t have that on my conscience.’
Alyssa shrugged.
‘I am responsible for myself. Your conscience need not enter into it.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I have already caused enough damage.’
Alyssa waved her hand impatiently. ‘This is all beside the point. I cannot undo what I said, even if I wished to. It would only make both our situations much worse, so I suggest we sit down and think sensibly how we are going to proceed. First, I guess we shall have to make at least some show of this engagement so that it is not too much a strain on credulity…’
Adam rubbed his hand over his jaw and to her stunned amazement she realised he was trying not to smile. Her pent-up fear and tension and confusion transformed in an instant into a surge of searing rage even greater than she had felt against the ravening crowd. All her anger was now directed towards this man who had, unknowingly, been the cause of her youthful misery. It was one thing to be disregarded at seventeen, but to be laughed at now, and after what she had just done for him, was intolerable. She felt a pang of hatred towards him, a clear, sharp need to inflict pain that both scared her and increased her rage.
‘How dare you laugh at me?’ she fumed, stamping her foot in unaccustomed fury. ‘You are the stupidest, most infuriating… That is it. I am done here!’ She stalked towards the door, but he moved to block her path. ‘Get out of my way!’ She tried to push past him, but he grasped her arms.
‘Alyssa! Calm down… I’m not laughing, believe me!’
‘I don’t believe you and I don’t want to be calm! Either you go or I do!’ She tried to break free, but his grip tightened on her.
‘Calm down, you little spitfire! We need to talk…’
‘No, we do not!’ She made another attempt to dislodge him, but to her shock he merely grabbed her by the waist, picked her up and deposited her with a thump on the desk, sending papers flying everywhere.
‘Now listen to me!’ he began angrily, but broke off as she grabbed at a stack of scrawled papers that were now teetering precariously at the edge of the desk. ‘Forget the blasted papers… Give them to me!’ he commanded as she clutched them to her.
‘No! Don’t tell me what to do!’ She held the papers to her and tried to slide off the desk, but with an exasperated growl Adam stepped forward, blocking her descent so that she suddenly found herself pressed against him. She could feel the tense muscles of his legs against hers and the harsh thud of his heart under her hand which was splayed across his chest.
‘Listen to me,’ he said again. She was vaguely aware of the tension in his hands where they held her arms. Just as in the lane the day before, she felt turned inside out, so intensely aware of everything that it was impossible to think of anything else. Her body seemed larger, hotter and stinging and his body was almost an extension of her own.
He released one of her arms slowly, but instead of stepping back he touched her cheek gently, just tracing the line of her cheekbone.
‘Believe me, I’m not laughing,’ he said again, but his voice was muted. He breathed in and took a step back, breaking contact with her body. For a moment neither of them moved. Then he half-raised his hand, dropped it and took another, deliberate, step backwards.
‘All right. Let’s start again. Calmly. This whole day has been insane. I need to think.’
He turned away, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes and she felt a surge of pain and pity drag her back to the moment. She pushed away from her desk, put the stack of papers carefully in the top drawer and went over to sit on the sofa and waited.
After a moment he drew up a chair and sat down opposite her. She raised her chin slightly, but did not speak.
‘Do you want to get married?’ he asked in such a matter-of-fact tone it took her a moment for the question to register. When it did she felt the heat of both shame and anger wash over her again.
‘Do you think I did this to…to entrap you?’ she demanded, outraged.
‘No.’ He laughed briefly. ‘I think the idea never crossed your mind. But the fact remains that saving my unworthy hide has put you in a very uncomfortable position. I may be a rake, as you so delight in reminding me, but I have never yet damaged a young woman’s reputation and I don’t plan to start now and certainly not with you. So, I will play by the rules. If the only way to get you through this unscathed is to go ahead with this engagement, I will do it.’
The silence stretched and after a moment he continued, still in the same even, practical voice.
‘There are certain advantages you might want to consider. It would get you away from your dependency on your father. I never intended to stay here long anyway, which would mean you would mostly have the Hall to yourself, except when I would have to come bac
k and see to whatever business couldn’t be handled any other way. What do you think?’
She held herself rigidly, as if she could physically subdue the maelstrom of emotions his words inspired. No doubt he thought she should be grateful. She wished she was the kind of person who was capable of giving a man a resounding slap.
‘I think,’ she began, weighing each word, ‘that we need not consider such drastic measures. In a month or so I will come up with a good reason to jilt you and frankly we probably won’t have to look too far for something credible. It will be a little embarrassing for me, but everyone will likely be so occupied in feeling sorry for me and saying “I told you so” they won’t even bother ostracising me. I dare say I will even be quite a popular dinner guest until they weary of the game. And since I, too, have no intention of staying in Mowbray for very long after we succeed in getting to the bottom of what is going on here, I won’t worry too much about that. As for you, it will merely be another minor scandal on your list and they will probably even forgive you quite readily, because in the end you are very useful in alleviating the boredom of our little valley.’
She watched him as she spoke, but once again his face had become hard to read. When she finished he leaned back slightly.
‘I see you have it all worked out. You are nothing if not thorough. What do you mean you have no intention of staying in Mowbray?’
She looked down. She felt tired and achy, as if she were becoming ill.
‘I don’t want to stay here any more. I suppose you have done me a favour, in a way. I don’t think I can remain with Father much longer. There is a friend of Mama’s in London who has always offered to have me visit. I might do that while I…explore other options.’
‘I would have thought becoming Lady Delacort would solve that problem rather more simply,’ he said abruptly.
‘Perhaps more dramatically, but not more simply. Not for me. I am done living on sufferance in someone else’s domain.’
‘It would not be on sufferance—’
‘Oh, would you please, please, just leave it!’ she interrupted. ‘Can’t you just accept that I don’t want to? I don’t want to—’ She broke off, aware of the childishness of her words, but she couldn’t seem to help it. She was beginning to crack and any moment now she felt she would start crying. She breathed in and tried for a lighter tone. ‘And one day you will thank me for not taking you up on your very obliging offer when you come across someone you actually wish to marry.’
He did not answer for a moment and his face remained expressionless.
‘The whole point,’ he said at last, ‘is that I don’t wish to marry. I am only willing to consider it with you because I do not wish to see you hurt by your actions on my behalf and because I don’t think you expect anything from me. I have no intention of willingly walking into a relationship where I am to be held accountable to some absurd standards. I am done with that.’
‘You might fall in love,’ she threw out, as if it were something offensive.
He shook his head. ‘Is that what this is about? Why you never married? Are you waiting for your prince? Well, there’s nothing I can do about that, but I think it’s a waste. There’s a certain degree of blindness required to believe yourself in love, my dear, and I’m not convinced you have it. You would be better off giving up on that particular fantasy.’
He was smiling now, but there was also pity and contempt in his eyes and something harder, like the anger she had seen so clearly at the White Hart. As if she, too, was now ranked with the betrayers merely by believing in this emotion. She wondered what he would do if she told him she was not waiting for any prince—that he was the only man she had ever loved. He was hurting her so much she did not know what to do with the pain. She stood up slowly, stiffly. There was no point in talking. He stood up as well.
‘If you change your mind at any point during this whole farce, you have only to let me know,’ he said coolly. ‘As far as I am concerned the offer is open. I would much rather you share in the Delacort spoils than all of them be preserved for the very man that is apparently trying to make away with me. My only hope of revenge is that hopefully I will live long enough so that when he does get his hands on everything he will be too old to enjoy it.’
He paused, mocking amusement obvious in his gaze. Something else was there as well, however—the glinting warmth she was sure served him so well with women. Despite the shaky cold that had filled her she felt its impact immediately. He reached out again, just touching the tips of his fingers to her cheek.
‘And there are other, just as practical, benefits to being married. If you would relax that proper façade for a moment and let go of your fairy-tale fantasy, you might even enjoy life a little. I already told you I would be more than happy to oblige. This way you could have official sanction to do so.’
His fingers slid over her cheek to her temple, gently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, and gliding lower down the side of her neck, softly easing up her chin with his knuckles so she was forced to look up at him. She knew this look of his already, half-smiling, inviting. And beyond it was the intent, banked fire that caught at her, touching something deeply hidden, threatening to drag it to the surface, shattering through defences she had spent her whole life constructing.
She had once seen Dr Hedgeway exhibit the effect of a magnetic lode on a pile of metal shavings, the way they had all turned and lined up, quivering. She felt as if her whole body was doing the same, shattered but aligned and drawn towards this man who was no more aware of what he was doing to her than the doctor’s instrument.
But she knew there had been many women who had seen just that look, perhaps even been convinced of their unique ability to elicit it in him. She might be inexperienced in passion, but she was no fool when it came to the games people played with each other. She could not control her involuntary reaction, but she could control her actions.
This physical passion was almost trivial to him. A practical benefit, in his own words. She wished she could regard it the same way. That she could contemplate the thought of becoming Lady Delacort, of perhaps seeing him once or twice a year when he deigned to come and inspect the estate and supply his ‘practical benefits’. And for the rest of the time she would be left to deal with the inevitable pity and whispering as the tales of his exploits and his mistresses continued to titillate the countryside.
Did he honestly think so little of her that he thought she would welcome such an offer? And the worst, the very worst, was that she desperately wanted to say yes and that was his fault. Because when he touched her like this, with that warmth and promise of pleasure in his beautiful stormy eyes, she was very close to being willing to pay that price.
His thumb brushed lightly just under her mouth and she breathed in involuntarily, her cheeks hot and tingling. She knew he was manipulating her, but she was losing the ability to judge his or her actions rationally. This was worse than the effects of wine. She knew there was a lie here, but she couldn’t seem to care about it any more. Not enough to stop him when he bent to touch his mouth to hers, feather-light, gentle. She felt everything, the warmth of his breath on her sensitised lips, the coolness of his palm against her heated cheek, the way his other hand curved over her hip, to the small of her back, as he stepped closer, pulling her against the hard surface of his body.
‘Alyssa…’ he breathed against her mouth, before capturing her lips again and a scorching, urgent heat welled up through her, erasing parts of her as it went, destroying her control and her boundaries. With each caress of his hands as they moved over her body, with the coaxing slide of his mouth over hers, she was falling away, shedding herself like an unnecessary shell, and what was left was utterly with him. What was left was wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers sliding into his hair, calling out his name on a whispered, agonised breath as he kissed the side of her neck and sent her nerves into a f
urious dance. It was almost so unbearable that if he had asked at that moment if she would do what he asked she would have said yes, wholeheartedly, without a thought to the consequences or whether it really reflected her will.
She was so far gone that even when she heard the vigorous striking of the knocker she tried, as in a dream, to include it in the moment, under the harsh beating of her heart. But the second time the knocking grew louder and longer and it woke her with a start and a rush of shame and anguish. She pushed away from him.
‘I should go…I need to open the door. Betsy is probably still in town.’
He kept his arm around her, his eyes dark and intent.
‘Leave it. Or let your father answer.’
She laughed at the absurdity of that suggestion. The knocker sounded again, more aggressively, and she pushed away resolutely. Adam cursed, shoving his hands through his hair.
‘Get rid of them,’ he said harshly.
She shook her head, not sure whether the interruption was a blessing or a curse. She walked out of the room and went to open the front door. She had no idea who to expect, but it had certainly not been Mr Beauvoir.
‘Is Adam…Lord Delacort here?’ he asked abruptly, taking off his hat, and Alyssa nodded, standing back to let him enter.
‘Has something happened?’ she asked quickly, her mind stumbling ahead towards possible disasters.
‘That’s what I want to find out. I just returned from Berkshire. Jem was going on about the Delacort Curse and told me the most outrageous…’ He glanced up as Adam stepped out of the study. ‘What the devil have you got yourself into now, man? Can’t I leave for two days without you getting yourself accused of murder?’
Adam raised one eyebrow. He looked annoyed, but not at all like a man who had been interrupted mid-seduction, and Alyssa felt herself wake up a little further.
