Lord and Master

by Rosemary Stevens

  “You amaze me, Miss Kendall. I have always believed Anthony despised cats.”

  Lord Ravenswood looked pointedly at Isabella. “Only a select few.”

  Isabella correctly interpreted, but chose to ignore, the deeper meaning of this wry statement. She turned a mocking face to Anthony. “My poor dear Brutus never did earn your favor.”

  “No, neither of you did,” Anthony said quietly.

  Anthony heard Daphne’s intake of breath, and felt a qualm for subjecting her to this purposeful display of bad manners.

  Isabella’s beautiful eyes narrowed. There was a short silence, during which the polite mask slipped from Isabella’s face, and the animosity she felt for Anthony was plain to see.

  Within a minute, though, she had herself under control. She waved her fan languidly. “La,’tis a pity I shall not be in Town longer. Lamberton and I are only passing through on our way to Lamberton Castle. You cannot conceive of the many improvements I must make before my first house party at the end of the Season. I daresay I shall not have a minute’s peace. Heavens, I see Lady Jersey signaling to me.”

  She closed her fan with a snap and walked away.

  Nothing had changed, Anthony thought. He could quite clearly imagine the costly refurbishing Isabella would wish to make to Lamberton Castle. An older man and his money had once again fallen victim to Isabella’s charms. Lamberton was extremely wealthy, however, and Anthony doubted even Isabella could go through his entire blunt. He told himself it was nothing to do with him.

  “My lord,” Daphne said, placing a hand on his arm. Her gentle touch made him realize how tense every muscle in his body was. “Should you like to go into the refreshment room? We could have something to drink and perhaps talk.”

  Anthony looked down at the concern in her light green eyes. The compassion he saw there overwhelmed him. Though she knew nothing of the situation, Miss Kendall, he was sure, was ready to stand his friend, offer her sympathy, and listen to him pour out his regrets and his pain into her willing ears. He could not bear it.

  “I must return you to Miss Shelby.” He took Daphne’s arm and escorted her through the room to the area where the chaperons sat. Eugene stood near by, but Anthony looked past him. He bowed briefly to Miss Shelby, who smiled a welcome at him, which he knew invited a conversation. But he murmured an excuse, turned on his heel, and strode away.

  “Goodness, Lord Ravenswood looked to be in a taking. Whatever is amiss?” Miss Shelby asked. Eugene stared after his master for a moment, then drew closer to hear the answer.

  Daphne hesitated before she responded, torn by conflicting emotions. Her brain was in a tumult. Hardly had she caught her breath after that soul-shaking kiss when propriety had demanded Lord Ravenswood take her back to the ballroom. Then there had been that confrontation—she could not put another name to it—between his lordship and the woman who had once been his stepmother. Daphne’s thoughts scampered around in her head, and she found it difficult to focus on any particular one. She was more upset than she cared to admit in front of Miss Shelby and Eugene.

  “Lord Ravenswood introduced me to the woman who used to be married to his father, Isabella, the Marchioness of Lamberton. Apparently the lady and her husband have been traveling and are on their way home to Lamberton Castle. The earl and Lady Lamberton did not seem, well, happy to see one another.” Daphne spoke this last rather reluctantly.

  Miss Shelby gasped. “Oh, dear.”

  Eugene became instantly alert. “Where? Where is this female?”

  Daphne looked around until she spied Lady Lamberton in conversation with Lord Quinton. He did not look pleased to be in her company either, Daphne noted. “She is the tall, blond lady dressed in red, Eugene.”

  Both the Egyptian manservant and Miss Shelby studied Isabella. Eugene said, “She is what I expected. It is very bad for my master that she has returned at this time.”

  “What makes you say so?” Daphne asked him, puzzled.

  But she had no time to hear a reply as Sir Tredair chose this moment to bow before her. “You assured me of a second dance, Miss Kendall, and I will not let you break your promise.”

  Daphne forced a smile to her face and took his arm. Sir Tredair did not deserve to be treated shabbily merely because her heart fell as if it had been tossed into a churning sea.

  After watching the two join the dancers on the floor, Miss Shelby turned anxiously to Eugene. “How terrible for Isabella to have returned.”

  Eugene shook his head. “I should have known. Last night the cards showed the Queen of Swords reversed. A sly and deceitful woman.”

  “What effect do you think her reappearance will have on dear Lord Ravenswood?”

  Eugene’s face was grim. “Isabella’s return is a bad omen. It will bring everything back to my master’s mind, I am afraid. He may resolve not to marry or to marry where he should not. We must hope that Isabella will leave Town before they have a chance to meet again and more damage is done.” He paused. “It seems likely she will do so from what Miss Kendall said.”

  Miss Shelby pursed her lips. “I wonder what transpired earlier when the earl took her away from the ballroom?”

  “Perhaps you can find out later, wise lady.”

  Miss Shelby twisted her hands together in her lap. “I shall try. Oh, Eugene, I am uneasy. I am having the most dreadful premonition that Lord Ravenswood will do something hasty. The moon is full tonight, and under its effect people can succumb to the queerest starts, you know.”

  Eugene stood motionless and watched his master walk alone through the ballroom and out the door that led to the balcony. “You are correct regarding the moon, but let us hope your feeling about Lord Ravenswood is wrong. He is meant for Miss Kendall and must marry her. Everything depends upon it.”

  “Yes,” Miss Shelby said sadly, as if to herself. “I believe it does.”

  Outside on the balcony, Anthony closed the door to the ballroom behind him and inhaled the night air. The night’s darkness was lit by the glow of a full moon.

  He gripped the balcony railing tightly and stared down at his gloved hands. How he would like to wrap them around Isabella’s white throat!

  He released his grip on the railing abruptly, only to slam a fist on the iron. Damn! The woman probably had not spared a thought to the havoc she had left in her wake when she abandoned his father. She had never bothered to look back, certainly had never expressed her condolences or her sorrow at his death. She was a user of people, beneath his notice, and worthy only of his contempt.

  He should not even have acknowledged her. He should have cut her right there in the Pelhams’ ballroom, right in front of the cream of Society. She deserved no less. But he had not wanted to subject Miss Kendall to such a scene. She had seen enough as it was.

  Anthony passed a hand across his eyes and groaned. Miss Kendall. Good God, he should not have permitted himself to kiss her. There was a capital blunder. It was not the act of a gentleman. A true gentleman did not kiss a lady of good breeding the way he had kissed Miss Kendall in the moonlit anteroom, not unless he was prepared to marry her.

  He closed his eyes and let the memory of the kiss wash over him. He had kissed her mouth like he would devour it, and her. He had stripped off his glove and with his bare hand had caressed her hair, her face. She had responded so passionately, had felt so warm, and had tasted so very sweet. It had seemed right and natural holding her in his arms. He had not wanted to ever let her go.

  When had his feelings for her escalated to these proportions? When had she eased her way into his heart? Devil take it! Was he unable to control himself where she was concerned?

  Anthony’s eyes snapped open. Hell and damnation! He had vowed never to make himself vulnerable to a pretty face, especially when underneath the beauty lay an intelligent mind. And had he not committed this very transgression? Made himself vulnerable to Miss Kendall?

  Raven’s Hall needed a mistress to produce heirs for its safekeeping. He needed a compliant countess
, one who could be trusted to obey his wishes and not interfere with the running of the estate. He could not, and would not, be distracted from his purpose by romantic notions.

  In the grip of strong emotions, he straightened and turned around to face the ballroom windows. As if drawn by some evil force, his gaze immediately found Isabella. Carefree and flirtatious, she conversed with old friends.

  Then Elfleta Blenkinsop danced by the windows in front of the earl on the arm of Lord Guy.

  Anthony strode purposefully toward the door to the ballroom. He entered, closed the door behind him, and followed Miss Blenkinsop to where Lord Guy was returning her to her mother. That Tulip, tonight all in leaf-green, must have sensed his presence was no longer required as he bowed before the ladies and sauntered away with only a quick look of censure at the plainness of Lord Ravenswood’s coat. Anthony ignored him.

  “My lord,” Mrs. Blenkinsop exclaimed, her face wreathed in smiles. “We began to despair of seeing you again this night.”

  Anthony nodded to Mrs. Blenkinsop and raised Elfleta’s gloved hand to his lips. He barely brushed the cloth, but the action was enough to cause Elfleta to titter and a predatory gleam to enter Mrs. Blenkinsop’s sharp eyes.

  “May I have the honor of this dance, Miss Blenkinsop?”

  Elfleta looked doubtful, but Mrs. Blenkinsop glared down a young cavalry officer on his way to claim his promised dance.

  Anthony led Elfleta to the floor, his mind working. He recalled that earlier Miss Blenkinsop had declared a preference for country life. She had seemed enthralled when he spoke of Raven’s Hall. Miss Blenkinsop was quiet, agreeable, modest, and well-bred. If she possessed only the barest degree of intelligence, well, that was exactly what he required in a bride.

  Was it not further proof of her suitability that with the dance nearing an end, and although he had not spoken a word to her, not one protest had issued from her lips?

  His gaze traveled to her lips. They were rather thin. The treacherous thought occurred to him that he might not enjoy kissing Miss Blenkinsop as much as he had Miss Daphne Kendall. He dismissed this unwanted conjecture.

  Thoroughly convinced that Miss Elfleta Blenkinsop should be the next Countess of Ravenswood, there was only one thing left for him to do. While escorting her back to her mama, he turned his head and looked down at her. “I shall call on your father tomorrow, Miss Blenkinsop.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Elfleta breathed.

  They reached her mama, and Lord Ravenswood bowed once again over Miss Blenkinsop’s hand. An urgent desire for strong drink led him away in search of the refreshment room.

  At the other side of the room, Daphne’s dance with Sir Tredair ended, and she congratulated herself on successfully covering her topsy-turvy emotions. She saw the earl enter the adjoining room and nervously bit her lip. A mental battle ensued within her, but then she threw caution to the winds and followed him.

  A footman held a silver tray containing a glass of brandy for his lordship. Daphne watched the earl accept the glass, before making her presence known. She admired the strength and width of Lord Ravenswood’s shoulders, shown to advantage in his beautifully cut gray coat. His dark hair gleamed in the candlelight. It looked tousled, though, like he had been running his hands through it.

  Daphne approached him, the skirts of her sea-green gown rustling. “My lord,” she said advancing to stand at his side.

  He turned to her. She was caught off guard by the coldness in his dark eyes. Where was the magnetic intensity that usually made her feel intimately drawn to him?

  Daphne swallowed hard. She hoped he would not think her presumptuous, but surely after that kiss it would be all right to express her concern. “I can sense you are dismayed by Lady Lamberton’s—”

  “Dismayed?” He interrupted her and took a swallow of brandy. “Miss Kendall, I am out of patience with myself. My behavior this evening has been uncouth; indeed it has bordered on the unforgivable.”

  When Daphne would have protested, he raised a forestalling hand. “Please. Allow me to extend to you my most heartfelt apologies.”

  “Apologies?” Her voice rose in surprise, and she began to shake. Desperately she tried to ward off what she feared he was about to say. “There is no need. We all have things in our past we had rather not have brought to our attention. Obviously the relationship between you and Lady Lamberton—”

  Again he stopped her flow of words. “I have no relationship with Isabella any longer, thank God.” His voice dripped ice. “I am sorry you were witness to our first meeting since my return to England from Egypt. I can only explain my ungentlemanly behavior by saying it was somewhat of a shock to see the woman I hold responsible for the destruction of my family and my estate.”

  Daphne watched with acute and loving anxiety as the coldness left his eyes for a moment to be replaced by pain.

  Lord Ravenswood drained his glass and placed it on a nearby table. When he turned to her, she saw the wintry look had come back and apprehension coursed through her. She fixed her gaze on the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

  “Miss Kendall, the regret I feel at your being a party to the unpleasant spectacle with Isabella cannot compare with the self-disgust I am experiencing for taking advantage of your earlier illness to press my attentions on you. The only excuse I have for embracing you is hardly credible. I found myself alone with a charming woman in the moonlight. It was a mistake. I most sincerely beg your pardon.”

  It was a mistake. Thunderstruck and mortified to the greatest degree, the four words seemed to ring in Daphne’s ears. She felt as if she had been dealt a physical blow.

  Daphne fought hard against tears she refused to let flow. Pride came to her rescue. She resolved not to let him see how he had hurt her. Instead she let her pain turn into anger. She would show him she did not care a snap of her fingers for his kisses!

  She raised her chin. Her heart pounding, but her voice steady, she said, “Let us forget the matter, my lord. Neither of us has conceived a partiality for the other, so we can chalk up our imprudence to moon madness.”

  Daphne could have sworn she saw him flinch before he bowed low over her hand. “May I escort you back to the ballroom, Miss Kendall?”

  Searching for an escape, a place where she might compose herself, Daphne said, “No, I thank you. I shall retire to the ladies’ withdrawing room to repair my hair.”

  Lord Ravenswood looked skeptically at her perfect coiffure, but, as he was relieved to have his apology over and done with, let her pass without further comment.

  His conscience nagged him, and he sought to silence it by signaling to a footman for another glass of brandy. He told himself Miss Kendall had accepted his justification and apology gracefully. He ignored the voice in his brain that asked what he had expected her to do when spurned.

  An unexpected weariness overcame Anthony, and he concluded he was past tired of dealing with females. He had made up his mind to marry Elfleta Blenkinsop, and it was a wise choice. Accepting a second glass of brandy from the footman, Lord Ravenswood took himself off to the card room.

  He would have been appalled had he returned to the ballroom and observed his soon-to-be fiancé’s behavior.

  Elfleta Blenkinsop had triumphantly told her mother of Lord Ravenswood’s stated intention to call on her father. The girl was doubly happy to impart the news to her parent as Mrs. Blenkinsop had lately chided her daughter about the slow progress she was making in bringing the handsome, wealthy earl up to scratch.

  To say Wilhelmina Blenkinsop had been enthusiastic at what was tantamount to a proposal of marriage for her daughter would indeed be an understatement. She just barely managed to refrain from broadcasting the news throughout the ballroom. Only the certainty that her socially powerful hostess. Lady Pelham, would surely take exception to having Lady Rachel and Lady Stephanie’s ball overshadowed by such a juicy bit of gossip kept her silent.

  Elfleta experienced the heady feeling of superiority. With the earl’s few words,
she convinced herself of what she secretly had believed all along. She was a Toast. One of the Season’s belles. How could it be otherwise when the Earl of Ravenswood intended on making her his countess?

  She swept onto the dance floor with her partners, nothing short of giddy. She flirted as she had never dared in the past, secure in the knowledge she was soon to be the envy of every other girl of the beau monde. Never a thought was spared that Lord Ravenswood, had he witnessed it, would scarcely appreciate such behavior.

  It did not take Lord Guy long to notice Elfleta’s heightened color and shrill laughter. He begged a second dance with her and under his carefully sensitive questioning, she confided the news to him. Lord Guy wished her happy with every appearance of ease, promised to keep her secret, and told her the earl was the luckiest of men.

  After he returned Elfleta to her mother, Lord Guy leaned moodily against a pillar and artfully took a pinch of snuff. Ravenswood had stolen a march on him, he decided. Miss Blenkinsop had been dangling after him, he was certain. Had she not particularly remarked on the fineness of his coat?

  During their dance earlier in the evening, they had gone on quite comfortably about the latest fashions and scandals. Why, Miss Blenkinsop was a taking little thing and had enough sense to recognize he was setting a new fashion with his pom-poms and to compliment him on his savvy.

  Lord Guy felt ill-used. The ball was flat. He pushed himself away from the pillar and wandered outside. A game of cards for higher stakes than what were being offered in the Pelhams’ card room was what he needed. There was a special deck of cards he found exceptionally lucky. He would stop at home and pick them up, then proceed to one of the gaming hells where he was not known.

  Still in a sulk when he reached the Duchess of Welbourne’s town house, Lord Guy meandered up the stairs and threw open the door to his bedchamber. The sight that met his eyes checked him on the threshold.

  Like a rainbow of spring flowers blown across a meadow, Lord Guy’s precious wardrobe of colorful coats lay strewn about the room. The drawers of his desk, bed table, and chest of drawers were pulled open, their contents spilling drunkenly out. A high-back chair by the fireplace was overturned. The open window swung to and fro in the night’s gentle breeze.