"You duelled with Beckingham!” Alex was surprised out of his habitual coolness, for once.
"Yes, who else? No reason to shoot anyone else, have I?" Peter asked doubtfully.
"So . . . you killed Beckingham!”
"Yes, that's what I've been trying to tell you. He said some pretty. inflammatory things to me—in private—and I thought it my duty to deal with him. You know, I think he actually wanted me to challenge him. I couldn't very well not, after what he had told me. He wanted me dead for some reason," Peter said in puzzlement "Never bore him any ill will, you know, so I don't know why he should have had it in for me."
"He hated me, Peter, and he probably hoped to kill you. Knowing how close we are, he would have known it would hurt me deeply. Unfortunately for him, he failed," Alex explained, seeing for the first time the hatred Sir Jason must have felt towards him.
"Well, he very nearly didn't—he cheated, and shot first. Just luck, and a suspicion he might be up to something kept him from putting a shot through my heart. I owe my life to Charles. If he hadn't warned me, I'd be beyond the grave right now," Peter expostulated grimly.
Alex looked at his brother fondly, knowing how close he had come to losing him. “Well, you've managed to settle the score for me with Beckingham, Peter. I'm grateful, however I regret that it was at the expense of your shoulder."
"Glad to have been of service to you, Alex," Peter replied proudly, some of the throbbing pain in his shoulder lessening under his brother's praise. 'When do I meet the new Lady Trevegne?"
"Soon enough. You must rest now, or Dany will have my skin," Alex said as he heard her skirts rustling behind him. She entered the room with a tray upon which sat a bowl of steaming broth.
"But I have a thousand questions to ask you, Alex! Please don't go," Peter beseeched as Alex walked towards the door.
"'Ye just sit back now, Master Peter, and ye be getting yesel' out of here, Lord Alex. Ye've already been too long–now get along," she commanded him in a strict voice, reminding him of the schoolroom.
"I can't argue with that disciplinary voice, Peter," he said, making his retreat, leaving Peter struggling ineffectively against Dany's ministrations.
Alex walked slowly down the stairs thinking of Peter's pale face. His fist clenched as he thought of Beckingham's double treachery. He almost wished him from the grave so he could have the pleasure of killing him and sending him back to it again.
He shook his head in disbelief. He'd had no idea that Beckingham had hated him so vehemently. The man must have been insane. He shrugged his shoulders, mentally shaking himself free from the thoughts of Beckingham. .
Alex entered the salon where he heard voices. He stood unnoticed just inside the door, silently watching his wife who was avidly listening to young Lackton excitedly retell his tale of adventure. He smiled crookedly as he saw her shocked expressions of disbelief and horror at Charles' vivid recollections. He raised an eyebrow in amusement as he watched a look of rapture finally settle on the young man's face as he continued to stare in ill-disguised admiration at Elysia who was sitting attractively across from him. She gave the impression of being completely untouchable–securely wrapped in her own cocoon of thoughts, and letting none enter—however close they might have gotten to her physically.
He moved forward into the room, startling the two of them from their conversation. "It would seem that Peter owes you his life, and l owe you a debt of gratitude Charles," Alex said sincerely 'shaking the young man's hand firmly.
"It was nothing, really," Charles confessed grimly, feeling a head taller from the unaccustomed warmth from Lord Trevegne. "Just doing what's right and proper for a friend."
"We are proud, and fortunate, to have you as a friend, Charles, and I am confident that I speak for all of us. We are indeed grateful for what you have done. Are we not, Elysia?" He sent a look of innocent inquiry to Elysia, who returned it calmly, without a flicker of emotion on her face.
"Indeed we are, Alex, but tell me of Peter. How is he?"
Alex poured himself a brandy and walked over to the fireplace and leant negligently against it, his arm upon the mantelpiece.
"He will survive," he answered grimly, "but he will need plenty of rest, and this will be the best place for his recuperation, If that madcap journey from London didn't finish him off, then I seriously doubt whether anything could." He shook his head, as if contemplating that painful journey in the coach for Peter, and the frightening journey for Lackton at the reins of the curricle. .
Elysia stood-up as if to leave the room. Excusing herself she said, "I shall send our regrets to the Blackmores for this evening, and–"
"No, we might as well attend, since there is little we can do for Peter here. Dany will handle all of his needs. She practically ran me out of his room and he must already be sleeping like a baby. For Dany prepared her special recuperative broth, which she was spooning into his mouth as I left, so I doubt whether we shall hear a sigh from him." He looked at Charles, who was beginning to show the strain from his journey. "Charles, you will stay with us for awhile," Alex said, making it a statement rather than a question.
"Thank you, Your Lordship, it will be a pleasure, but if you will excuse me I must change, for I fear I am indeed offensive, as I am covered with mud," he apologized. He quickly left the room, anxious to clean himself up and rest, and especially to try his hand at tying the intricate folds of the new design of Lord Trevegne's cravat.
Elysia hesitated uncertainly. This was the first time she'd been alone with him since last night. She decided she would make a dignified retreat, and began to walk towards the door.
"M'Lady," he said quietly, moving from his posttion in front of the fire.
Elysia turned as he approached. "Yes, M'Lord," she replied softly, uncertain of herself,
"I should like a good morning kiss," Alex said taking Elysia into his arms, and placing his firm mouth against her trembling lips. He kissed her deeply and the fires re-kindled instantly as she responded to his caresses. "You see, you need not have feared me. I'm not quite the ogre you would believe of me, M'Lady." He smiled down into her green eyes.
"No, M'Lord. I think perhaps you aren't," Elysia agreed as she gave herself up to his hungry kisses, until a knock on the door and a footman announcing luncheon broke them apart.
"I do not hunger for the tender meat of a pheasant, M'Lady," Alex said softly as he escorted Elysia to the door, his meaning very clear in his passion darkened golden eyes.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
Coleridge
Chapter I0
The carriage conveying Elysia, Lord Trevegne and Charles Lackton, rolled up the tree-bordered drive to the home of Squire Blackmore. Blackmore Hall sat in all its glory and ostentatiousness at the head of the gravelled drive. A combination of all architectural styles of the day was represented in its design. Gothic towers loomed over Chinese-styled cupolas copied from the Prince of Wales Pavilion in Bnghton, and fought with Indian facades and Greek columns. The hall was lighted by what seemed to be thousands of torches placed in front of the entrance illuminating it like a noonday sun.
Elysia gasped aloud in utter disbelief.
"Yes, it's rather overpowering," Alex commented drily. “It really is quite distressing—even worse by day. The original structure was a small manor house which the Squire bought a few years ago and built onto. As you can see, he gave little thought to cost–or apparently to taste. But wait for the coupe de grâce, M'Lady."
Charles Lackton was craning his head out the window. He turned and stared at them, his mouth gaping. “I can't believe it! This is fantastic. I've seen the Prince's place in Brighton, but this—this is just like being in China!” Charles exclaimed with excitement.
Alex looked at Elysia in despair. "Spa
re us the impulsiveness of youth, that any more of these . . ." he paused as if searching for an appropriate word to describe Blackmore Hall, ". . . atrocities may not be perpetrated on this sacred land of England." .
Elysia laughed in agreement. "In fact, M'Lord, it should be against the law, and carry a strict penalty. You will of course, mention it in the House of Lords next time you attend?" Elysia asked innocently, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.
"Most definitely, M'Lady, for how can I, a peer of the realm, allow such a thing to exist on my very own doorstep?" he mocked, as Charles stared on in confusion at this by-play.
As their carriage halted, the Squire's footmen descended upon them like a swarm of bees, and escorted them into the noisy hall. Dominating the center of it was an elaborately-decorated, bubbling fountain with dolphins spurting water, and mermaids reclining gracefully about the basin, and seats fashioned out of stone into giant shells and lily pads. The whole fountain seemed gilded in gold, and Elysia glanced at Alex's amused expression as he watched her reaction.
"Quite a tour de force, M'Lord," she said.
"Quite, M'Lady. Would you like me to build one for you?" the Marquis asked innocently with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
"How did you guess, M'Lord? I quite see it in your study," Elysia retorted with a straight face.
"You wound me deeply, M'Lady," he murmured as they greeted their host.
Squire Blackmore welcomed them with a beaming smile, effusively thanking them for joining the party. He was a jovial host, eager to see to all of his guests' needs, feeling personally responsible for entertaining each and every one. His yellow breeches, red satin coat, and bright-green vest could be spotted everywhere among the crowd-outshining even the elaborate dressings of the Squire's dandified London guests.
What Mrs. Blackmore, the Squire's self-effacing little wife thought, one could not tell, for she said little, and was seen even less. She was small and plain, dressed in mauve with a small, pearl brooch her only adornment. She was a startling contrast to her peacock husband who strutted about in. all his finery, diamonds and rubies glittering among his pudgy fingers.
Elysia caught a glimpse of herself and Alex in one of the many floor-to-ceiling mirrors. They looked an attractive couple, she could not help but think, as her eyes wandered proudly over Alex's dark-red coat and white, satin breeches, and silver, brocade vest. A large, blood-red ruby glowed darkly among the folds of his snowy-white cravat.
Elysia's green eyes stared back at her from the glass and seemed to rival the sea-green dress that floated about her with each step. Its interwoven golden threads looked like sprinkled stardust casually thrown by the hand of a playful fairy. Gold ribbons were tied beneath her breasts and threaded behind to disappear beneath the gauzy train falling off her shoulders and down her back. Her hand strayed to the shining green stones encircling her throat.
The Trevegne emeralds-magnificent jewels that hung like a ring of green fire around her neck, adorning her arms like entwining snakes, and winking like cat's eyes in her ears and scattered through her hair.
Alex had brought the jewels, enshrined in a goldencrusted case, into her bedchamber as she dressed–placing the case carefully in her hands. Her look of astonishment and pleasure when she opened the latched lid and stared speechlessly down at the glowing gems on a bed of white velvet had pleased Alex. Particularly when she admired their settings and disclaiming the idea he suggested of changing them to a modem design–preferring the original design; that had been in his family for generations.
The Marquis had given her an odd look–smiling to himself over her words as if at some private joke. She was unaware of the Trevegne legend, handed down from generation to generation of Trevegne men, predicting a fertile and blissful union for the master and his bride, should the emeralds remain unaltered–retaining their original appearance, as seen in the portrait of the first Lady Trevegne.
Elysia could now see Charles Lackton's bright blue coat among a group of people reflected in the mirror. She glanced about the crowded room full of chattering people, looking for Louisa Blackmore. But Elysia couldn't see her among the colorful throng of people crowding close to offer their congratulations to the Marquis, and to get a glance of the woman who had finally captured the elusive Lord Trevegne.
She suffered the inquisitive glances; sly and knowing, tinged with a hint of jealousy and malice from the women, and admiring and friendly from the gentlemen. They flirted outrageously with her when Alex was out of hearing. Their glances lingered on her bright hair, magnolia-soft shoulders, and swell of breasts revealed by the décolletage of her gown. Elysia felt half-naked by the cut of bodice and the fragile semi-transparency of. the material, until she saw some of the dresses the other ladies were wearing. The transparency of their gowns revealed every curve and line and movement of their perfumed bodies.
Elysia searched around the room for Alex. Finally she saw him in conversation across the room with several gentlemen and a beautiful woman in a glittering gold dress. Diamonds dripped from her neck and arms, while a tiara of diamonds nestled in her dark hair. She was unbelievably alluring and Elysia wondered who she was as she watched her husband laugh at some remark of hers, inclining his head to hear what she was whispering into his ear, her fingers caressing his sleeve intimately.
Elysia abruptly turned away, accepting a goblet of iced champagne from a footman, feeling an unsettling emotion inside of her at seeing Alex with another woman. She took a sip of the bubbly liquid and smiled at the attentive young bucks trying to engage her in conversation, half-listening to them as her eyes constantly strayed to the two people conversing in the comer.
The whole room seemed to be gilded; in fact, it was a mansion of gold glittering against gold, illuminated by the enormous, crystal chandeliers that nearly blinded one with their brightness. Blackmore Hall had none of the aged mellowness and charm of Westerly, with its weathered walls, warmly aged wood, and remem-brances of past generations stamped upon it. There the past was a part of the present.
Elysia glanced about her at the garishly-printed wallpaper. Every available space was occupied by tables with vases and busts and priceless objets d’art, sofas, cabinets, and chairs of the most outlandish design. Everything bespoke newness, the vivid colors clashing with each other. Blackmore Hall was gaudy in its flamboyance and extravagance-like an overdressed kept-woman, wearing all her trinkets in her insecurity.
Elysia felt a hand on her arm and turned to see Louisa Blackmore standing beside her. She was wearing a demure, white, muslin gown, with a single string of pearls clasped about her neck. She looked frail and angelic-like a dove that did not belong among this menagerie of colorful and exotic creatures.
"Im so glad you've come," Louisa said breathlessly, taking Elysia's arm and guiding her away from the group of surrounding people.
"And I am glad to see you. Yours is the first familiar face I've met," Elysia replied. "I shall commit a faux pas soon, for I've been introduced to so many Lord so-and-so's and Sir this-and that, that my' head is a swirl with names and faces that do not match."
"I never do know with whom I am conversing, but then they very seldom know who I am either," Louisa said, shrugging without resentment .
“Ah, Lady Trevegne," Squire Blackmore interrupted, "you are indeed looking exquisite, if I may compliment you. Louisa," he said directing a stem look at his daughter, "you must not monopolize our guest of honor. I have warned you repeatedly of this. She is not interested in you–now go see to your duties."
"Yes, Papa,” Louisa answered apologetically, drifting off before Elysia could stop her retreat.
"Your daughter had been graciously entertaining me, Squire Blackmore," Elysia defended her friend, resenting the Squire's bullying attitude.
"Yes, yes, but she is a tiresome child at times," he explained, his eyes riveted to Elysia's emeralds. "Those are the Trevegne emeralds are they not?" he said as he gazed covetously at the jew
els.
"Darling, aren't you going to introduce me to the new Lady Trevegne?" a drawling, feminine voice spoke from behind them.
Elysia turned to face the dark-haired, golden-clad figure she had watched earlier amusing Alex.
"Of course, I had not realized that you had not been introduced. Lady Trevegne, allow me to introduce Lady Mariana Woodley, the toast of London," he said ingratiatingly, in honey-tongued tones.
"Only in London?" Lady Mariana teased the Squire, but her smile was slightly forced as she stared at Elysia's beauty—and the emeralds that she felt should rightfully have belonged to her.
Elysia smiled at the beautiful Lady Woodley, and received. a slight smile in return. Then she felt her own smile freeze upon her lips, as she read the blatant hatred and jealousy in the flashing brown eyes–their murderous message obvious. Elysia glanced about–feeling desperate to find Alex. She felt a shiver run up her spine as Lady Woodley flicked her fan in agitation.
“We were all quite surprised to hear that Alex had gotten himself a wife," Lady Mariana said, making it sound like something distasteful. "Alex is—or was—such a roué. I wonder if he will change his ways, or have you successfully chained him to your bed?" she demanded brazeningly.
Elysia raised her chin higher as she felt a slow anger begin to burn inside her at the other woman's crudeness.
"Alex is quite a man. There will be quite a few cold beds in London now that he is out of circulation," Lady Woodley added maliciously, a sly look in her eyes.
"And will yours be one of the empty ones. Lady Woodley?" Elysia asked sweetly, unable to control her smouldering temper any longer.
Lady Woodley gasped as Elysia's barb scored a hit and she slightly raised her fan as if to strike, when Alex appeared and stepped between them nonchalantly.
Devil's Desire Page 19
