Improper Advances

by Margaret Evans Porter

  “Rushton will pay off the rest of your creditors after the wedding.”

  “No. I won’t be beholden to my father-in-law. When I marry, I want to stand beside my bride without a cloud of dependency hanging over me. Rushton doesn’t know the extent of my indebtedness—unless Liza told him. I hope she didn’t.”

  Oriana picked up his discarded book and brushed off the paper cover. “I’ve got an idea.”

  “Better than your last one?”

  ” I never suggested that you make foolish jokes about debtors’ prison,” she retorted.

  “That’s true. Right, then. What do I do now?”

  “Settle up with your creditors as quickly as possible. I can help. I’ll get my jewels from my attorney, and—”

  “No, Ana. You’re not selling your trinkets to cover my debts.”

  “Of course not. My man-at-law will dispose of them.”

  “What would Corlett say?”

  “He doesn’t know these gems exist. Don’t look so grave. They aren’t heirlooms, and have no sentimental value.”

  “They must have considerable value, if you think they’ll fetch a thousand quid.”

  “I have no doubt of it. They’re Brazilian diamonds.”

  He regarded her with amazement. “The ones Teversal gave you? I never guessed you’d kept them.”

  “It’s a female’s prerogative to keep all gifts she receives from an admirer. When Thomas presented me with the diamond set, he said it came to him from his great-aunt and was intended for his bride. I believed him—just as I believed in his promise of marriage—and gave them to my attorney for safekeeping. He asked a jeweler to give a valuation. Mr. Rundell recognized the stones, because he’d sold them to Thomas the previous month, and one of his goldsmiths made the settings. My attorney advised me to keep them, as it was easier than mounting a breach of promise suit. I was angry enough to toss them down a well, or into the sea. For three years they’ve been shut away in a vault. I’ve long wished to be rid of them, but until today I couldn’t decide how.”

  “I can’t possibly accept your offer.”

  “You must, Matthew. Believe me, the diamonds mean nothing to me. I won’t ever wear them, or exchange them for money. They are relics of a shameful and distressing episode, and you’d be doing me a favor by taking them off my hands. I would be comforted by the knowledge that anything connected to the man who caused me so much unhappiness could ensure the happiness of others.”

  He came over to her, his eyes bright. “For both our sakes, I’ll take them. But what if their worth exceeds a thousand pounds?”

  “You’ll be able to keep at least one of your hunters.”

  “And what do I tell Liza?”

  “Nothing. Rushton, either—he’d be livid if he found out.”

  Gently he taunted, “Your pretty policy of honesty just flew right out the door.”

  That didn’t trouble her much. “If you feel you should inform them, wait till after the knot is tied.”

  “I could kiss you, Ana, but I don’t dare in front of all these windows. Someone might see, and there’d be no end of a fuss. But one day I’ll repay you.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t even try. In effect, I’d be taking money from Thomas. I can’t. For some reason, I need to preserve the illusion that he presented those diamonds to his future wife, not his whore.”

  Dare had attended few country-house parties, and this one reminded him how tedious they could be.

  Their function was as much dynastic as social, an attempt to pair off the sons and daughters of the gentry and aristocracy, although he doubted any matches would arise from this gathering. Rehearsals for The Critic were punctuated by petty squabbles. The participants were too well acquainted for romance to sprout, and the play was too satirical to put its performers in a tender mood.

  An outsider, and the most mature of the bachelors present, he was regarded by the young ladies with flirtatious interest, to which he was immune. Their conversations centered on dances they had attended or would attend, and novels they had read. Nice girls, all of them, extremely decorative in their light-colored summer gowns, but they could not compete with Oriana’s elegance and sparkle and sophisticated conversation.

  “I’ve visited Matlock,” the handsome Miss Haygarth informed him during dinner one evening. “You have a property near that town, I understand.”

  “I do,” he confirmed.

  “I long to see the Peak,” said the lady seated on his other side. “To me, mountains are delightful beyond anything. You must command some magnificent views from your estate, Sir Darius.”

  “Damerham lies some forty miles from the Peak, Miss Mainwaring.” He refrained from stating his preference for the Manx mountains, dreading a fresh set of questions about his island home.

  Lady Liza Kingsley’s physical resemblance to her enigmatic father was striking, and she exhibited a similar reticence. Her influence would calm the erratic Matthew, Dare suspected, just as his liveliness complemented her quietude. He had detected an estrangement between them, but Oriana predicted it would be brief. She seemed quite certain.

  His encounters with her inevitably occurred in full view of the Kingsleys and their guests, at meals or rehearsals. The rest of the time, he was tramping across an endless expanse of moorland with Lord Rushton and Matthew Powell and the other gentlemen, in search of red-legged grouse. His gun, procured in London, was a lighter model than he’d previously used, but it was perfectly balanced. His satisfaction was assured by his companions’ envious glances. Unfortunately, he had to rely on the diminishing skills of his host’s most decrepit setter bitch, who hadn’t yet lost her enthusiasm for her job but was growing too old for it. He bagged as many birds as others in the shooting party but fewer than Lord Rushton, and tried not to let it bother him.

  The men stayed out in the field from eight in the morning till two in the afternoon. On their return to the house, they refreshed themselves with brandy and claret in the earl’s library, then changed into evening attire. After dinner, those participating in the play gathered in the orangery to rehearse.

  As the day of the performance grew closer, the amateurs’ tempers wore thinner and the quarrels over costumes and properties were more frequent. Harriot Mellon acquitted herself nobly, and with great patience. Oriana, busy at the harpsichord, remained aloof from the proceedings, but from his makeshift prompter’s box Dare saw how often she pressed her lips together in mute frustration.

  “Will they be ready, do you think?” he asked after a particularly harrowing session.

  “It hardly matters. Their audience will consist of relations and neighbors, who will dismiss any errors—the ones they notice.”

  They were the last to leave the orangery. A thick evening fog had descended upon the gardens, and the house’s lighted windows seemed farther away than they really were.

  “Are you wishing I hadn’t dragged you into the wilds of Cheshire?” Oriana asked.

  “I was perfectly happy to be lured here, and my sole regret is our lack of privacy. I’m begging off from tomorrow’s shoot. That poor spaniel has worn herself out on my behalf and needs to rest, and I’ve been neglecting my correspondence. I mean to write Melton and a Derbyshire acquaintance. And I’m determined to meet you some where alone, if we can manage it without drawing attention to our absence.

  What about that place where we had the picnic, that stand of trees far beyond the park?”

  “I’m supposed to help the ladies with finishing touches to their costumes. But I could easily steal away for a little while,” she said.

  “Make it a long while. I’ve got a week’s worth of pent-up kisses to bestow.”

  “That sounds heavenly.”

  “Stop smiling at me like that,” he commanded softly. “Or I’ll give you one right now.”

  She paused on the pathway and extended her hand. “Hand me your prompt copy.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.” When he held it out, she took i
t. “Oh, dear,” she said, before deliberately dropping the book. “Where did it fall? Can you help me find it?”

  They both knelt down at the same moment. He placed his hands on her shoulders, she clutched his lapels, and their mouths merged. The furtive contact was brief, and left him wanting much more.

  “Here it is,” she said, retrieving his book and returning it to him. “Pray forgive me, sir.”

  Following her example, he let the volume fall once more. “Clumsiness has its rewards,” he said, and stole another kiss.

  The next day, after writing his letters, Dare visited the earl’s stable to inspect the horses and lingered there until he saw Oriana leave the house. After a circuitous ramble through the park, he found her waiting for him in a coppice offering the seclusion they craved.

  Her face was luminous, her hazel eyes reflected all the colors of the surrounding wood—green and brown and gold. “I’ve never made love alfresco,” she told him, with a shyness that was unique in a mistress, and utterly bewitching. The excited tremor in her voice assured him that she welcomed her new adventure.

  His lips ravished hers, expressing his savage need. Her eyelids fell, her neck arched. The delicious contact could not satisfy him long. He was eager to take her, his refined, royal-blooded singer, in this uncivilized setting. They sank to the bare ground, cool and hard, unlike the beds they’d shared. Their bodies crushed the grass, releasing its fresh scent, and he could imagine himself in Glen Auldyn again.

  Opening her bodice, he discovered that she’d dispensed with her corset—and her petticoat, too.

  Beneath the simple gown, easily removed, she wore only her chemise. He let her keep it but pulled it down her shoulders to gain access to her creamy breasts, warm and smooth.

  Her hands were in his hair, he felt her nails against his scalp. Her ardent pleas delighted him, and he gloried in this proof of her desire. His fists clutched her skirt, bunching the fabric and pushing it out of his way. Between her legs he found heat and slick moisture. He slid his rampant flesh into the gap and was welcomed, as always, with a moan of joy. Her desire fanned his into a flame, and he drove into her.

  Every time was like the first time—the heady sense of exploration, the rewards of discovery. He could endure days of privation, their careful pretense of a platonic relationship, knowing this magnificent creature was his to enjoy and to pleasure.

  “I’ll never stop wanting this,” he declared in the aftermath of climax.

  Oriana should have made a similar admission, and her quietness disturbed him. As she nestled against him, he longed to know the state of her heart. In her lovemaking she lost her inhibitions; when it ended she locked her emotions away. The one plausible reason for such reticence, he mused, was her protective instinct—she hadn’t relinquished her lingering fears of pain and loss.

  This, he reminded himself, was what he’d wanted ever since she’d come to his Ramsey town house.

  He should be thoroughly satisfied with their undemanding arrangement. She willingly bestowed all that he’d sought. Why, then, did he feel a greater hunger gnawing at him?

  Because she’d imposed silence and secrecy upon him, and he yearned to acknowledge their bond—to claim her as his love and to declare himself her lover. This being impossible, he was determined to provide her with a token of his affection. No one, not even Oriana, could refuse a birthday present.

  Turning his head to gaze upon her, the creature who had altered his life in the most marvelous way, he hoped there would not be too lengthy a drought until the next flood of passion.

  Chapter 26

  Anticipation and excitement reigned at Rushton Hall on the day of the theatrical performance.

  Servants bustled about the house readying its reception rooms, while the kitchen staff prepared a grand dinner for the invited guests. The young gentlemen abandoned their sport in order to rehearse once more.

  Only Dare, who had excused himself the previous day, accompanied the earl to the moors. From her window, Oriana had watched the two men set off on foot, with dogs and guns and attendants.

  In her effort to be useful, she was helping Suke with the final embellishments to the ladies’ costumes.

  As they plied their needles, she detected an anxiety in the deft-fingered young woman.

  “Did you find trouble at home, Suke?” she inquired. “You’ve been very quiet since you came back from Chester.”

  The maidservant set a few more stitches before raising her pretty face. “Not for any bad reason. A wonderful thing has happened— might happen. I wanted to mention it, only I wasn’t sure how to begin.

  Mr. Wingate went with me to my parents’ house. He wished to meet them.”

  Oriana’s hands settled in her lap, crushing the satin gown she was trimming. “He’s courting you.”

  “He is, ma’am.”

  The disclosure brought relief and sadness both. “Then you’ll soon be giving your notice.”

  “I should like to continue in service, if Jonathon—Mr. Wingate—and I could work in the same household. But because you’ve already got Mr. Lumley, you don’t need a butler.”

  The Lumleys had served her mother and herself devotedly and would always have a place in her home. But their advancing age made it unlikely that they could continue their duties for more than a few years. Wingate would be a valuable addition, if she could avoid ruffling the sensibilities of her valued retainers.

  Before she could speak her mind, Suke continued, “Jonathon—Mr. Wingate—would be sorry to leave his master. He’s been with Sir Dare twice as long as I’ve been with you.” After a very long pause, she said softly, “The Isle of Man, as he describes it, seems a pleasant place to live.”

  “It is.”

  Her maid was explaining, as delicately as possible, that her marriage would sever this relationship.

  Dare, she realized, had not only suspected this could happen, he’d even tried to prepare her. Fondness for her efficient, discreet handmaiden required her to conceal her distress.

  In a neutral tone, she said, “Sir Dare has a lovely new home and will require a larger staff. Be assured that I shall provide you with a highly favorable recommendation—although he knows your merits well enough by this time.”

  “Mr. Wingate posed a question to me, concerning you and his master, but I didn’t know how to answer. It’s not my place to ask, ma’am, but we’ve both wondered if perhaps you and Sir Dare might become engaged yourselves.”

  “There are a host of reasons why I shall not marry Sir Dare Corlett.” Fearing that she might have given the erroneous impression that he might want her to, she added, “Nor do I expect an offer from him.”

  She returned her attention to the garment, stabbing the shiny fabric with her needle.

  “Mr. Wingate hasn’t yet stated his intentions,” Suke confided. “But he spent half an hour with my father.”

  “Very proper of him to request permission to pay his addresses,” said Oriana. “And though it may be a trifle premature, I wish you both every happiness in your marriage.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’ve been saving up my money, as my mother told me to, for a dowry. But I never imagined meeting anyone who’d want me for his wife.” Ducking her head, the young woman sliced a thread with her scissors.

  “Whyever not, Suke?”

  As soon as she asked the question, the logical answer presented itself. A maidservant’s reputation matched that of her mistress. Suke Barry, therefore, shared her notoriety and had been similarly damaged by it.

  “I’ve always been too busy for a sweetheart. Just like you, ma’am.”

  A diplomatic response, intended to spare Oriana’s feelings—which did absolutely nothing to quell her remorse.

  The earl’s explosive shot broke the silence of the moor, and his shotgun’s double barrels smoked.

  The grouse’s inert body dropped to the ground.

  At her master’s command, the setter darted forward.

  The other birds, lying low
in the covert, suddenly soared above the brushy wasteland.

  Dare fired, bringing down one bird, and his lordship, armed with a second gun, took another. The scent of black powder hung heavy in the damp air.

  “Well done,” Rushton congratulated him. “A worthwhile outing—our numbers must be equal now.”

  “Four birds each, m’lord,” reported one of the servants, slinging a game bag over his shoulder.

  Dare wasn’t enough of a sportsman to care about his numbers, but he would have disliked being bested by this man.

  They handed over their weapons to the attendants and began their walk back to the Hall. The weary dogs padded along after them, tongues lolling.

  Here in his native shire, Rushton was less chilling a personality than he’d been in London. Nineteen years a widower, after his young wife’s death in childbed, he was an attentive parent who had raised his daughter alone and enjoyed a warm relationship with her. His strong sense of responsibility made him seem older than his years—he wasn’t yet forty—but at Rushton Hall he demonstrated a fondness for the company of his friends and neighbors, and his devotion to sport. His hospitality to his guests could not be faulted.

  The camaraderie engendered by their morning on the moors had lulled Dare’s jealousy to some extent, and he was consoled by the knowledge that tomorrow he would remove Oriana from Rushton Hall. But all his dislike came rushing back when the earl asked how much longer he intended to stay in England.

  “There are vessels that make regular sailings to your island from Liverpool—which is no great distance from here.”

  Dare knew he could be home within a day and a half, but wasn’t tempted to go. “I’ve no need to return,” he replied, “for I’ve not yet completed my business in London.”

  “Haven’t you?” asked Rushton. “It seems to me that you’ve done exactly what you intended to. You seduced Oriana.”

  Loyalty to Oriana demanded that Dare keep silent, and he couldn’t defend himself against the accusation. Flashing an angry glance at the nobleman, he said, “You have a very poor opinion of me. And of her.”