Before Laurence could respond to her harsh words, Clara appeared at the entrance to the alcove and re-attached herself possessively to his arm. Victoria was watching her hand, the long tapered fingers against the dark cloth of Laurence’s coat. Laurence saw the direction of Victoria’s eyes and tried tactfully to disengage himself, but Clara held on. He appeared irritated— almost sorry she was there—yet obligated to put a good face on the situation.
‘You remember Miss Lewis, Clara?’
‘Of course,’ Clara replied with a frosty smile. ‘How could I possibly forget? Are you staying long in London, Miss Lewis?’
‘No longer than necessary, Miss Ellingham.’ Something was dreadfully wrong. The world was rushing at her too fast, surrounding her in a confusing welter beyond comprehension. Her head spun giddily and she felt faint, but she had to make the effort. ‘I find it far too busy, with people rushing about all over the place.’
‘Don’t tell me you prefer Yorkshire, with little to do save grow another day older. I always find it rather tiresome.’
‘I feel I must disagree with you, Miss Ellingham,’ Victoria said, looking pointedly at Laurence. ‘I always found lots of stimulating things to do. I was certainly never bored. One manages to amuse oneself if one tries hard enough—is that not so, Laurence?’
Clara’s face, bright and with a slight sheen of perspiration, was smiling in a hideous parody of courtesy and friendliness. ‘Since Laurence spends most of his time here in London, I think that speaks for itself,’ she said tightly.
‘I think what you mean,’ Victoria said smoothly, functioning on instinct, ‘is that he prefers business to pleasure. Am I not right, Laurence?’
‘Not always,’ he replied.
Victoria would have gone on but found she couldn’t. Suddenly the entire exercise seemed petty and paltry, unimportant in the extreme. But why were his eyes so blue? To mimic the cool sweet depths of a hidden pool where lovers were want to meet?
‘I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me,’ she managed to say in a breaking voice. She turned and walked away, skirts swirling in a flurry of green and gold, with a slight show of a lace petticoat. The garden lay only yards away through the French doors. There she would find much-needed fresh air, air she could breathe without choking, without crying out in rage.
Laurence watched her disappear among the guests filling the entire downstairs and spilling out on to the terrace and the garden, where liveried footmen offered confections and flutes of champagne on silver trays. As the conversation between Clara and Victoria had flowed around him he had understood little, so intent had he been on watching Victoria. That the two women had been hurling barbs at each other he had no doubt. But neither did he really care. He was more concerned with what he felt.
Clara led him into the ballroom just as the orchestra broke into a waltz. Several couples took to the floor. Clara was immediately approached by a couple of young dandies and Sir John Gibson who vied for her attention. She smiled flirtatiously and countered their ribald remarks with more of her own. Laurence backed off a few paces and watched Sir John sweep her on to the floor, before dodging a number of swaying, spinning dancers, crossing the dance floor and stepping out onto the terrace in search of Victoria, only to see her being led into the dance by young Lord Falconbridge.
Frustration had him heading for the garden, where he remained for the next half an hour, so he did not see Nathan leave Diana’s side and head for Victoria.
* * *
When Victoria saw Nathan making his way towards her, she paused on her way to find Amelia, wondering if he would acknowledge her. What he did was totally unexpected.
When he was close and she averted her face from him, thinking there must be some mistake and he had come upon her accidentally, he said, ‘Will you dance with me?’ When she made a small movement with her head, he said quietly, ‘How can I convince you that I mean you no harm?’ He held out his hand. ‘Please, Victoria. Is it so unusual for a brother to ask his sister to dance with him?’
Victoria’s head was slow in turning. Her lips were apart, her eyes wide. ‘I’m sorry. I—I thought... Forgive me if I appear surprised,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice welcoming rather than ironic.
He smiled. ‘We haven’t treated you kindly, have we?’
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Isn’t that obvious? I wish to make reparation to you for behaving so badly towards you.’
Victoria stared at him and she saw him for the first time, not as an angry stranger, but as a young man of pleasing appearance, with an expression that was serious. His eyes were soft and kindly, and she couldn’t associate him with the other being.
Placing her hand in his, she smiled. ‘In that case, I would be happy to dance with you.’
He waltzed her to a quiet part of the dance floor before he spoke. ‘I know you’ve had a horrible time of it lately—Diana put me in the picture,’ he explained when she looked at him warily. ‘I thought you might like to talk about it?’
‘What? Here?’
‘No. You can come to the hotel if you like, and I promise you the reception will be more welcoming than the last.’
‘You mean you—you want to talk about our mother?’
‘I’m going to have to—some time. It isn’t going to go away. Ever since I was told that the woman I believed was my mother wasn’t, I’ve expended a lot of effort on putting it out of my mind. My real mother was dead to me and that was the end of it as far as I was concerned.’
‘Only it wasn’t, was it, because then you found out about me.’ Her eyes were suddenly dark and brilliant with tears. ‘It was quite horrible for me, too. You’ve had years to get used to it. I didn’t find out who you were until I was about to leave for the church to marry Laurence.’
‘I know and, for what it’s worth, I curse Clara for doing that to you.’
‘I don’t. At least she told me the truth. It explained why you were so hostile and resentful towards me when we first met. It should not have been kept from me.’
‘I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. Your mother should have told you.’ The look he gave her was one of regret. ‘It’s a nightmare, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Victoria, ‘yes, I’m afraid it is. For both of us, in different ways. But it is beginning to get better.’ Suddenly she smiled at him when he twirled her round and their steps matched perfectly. ‘I’m glad you asked me to dance.’
‘Me, too,’ he said, returning her smile.
* * *
Laurence entered the ballroom through the French doors and then he saw her. She was with Amelia, both of them very much the centre of attention with a group of young fops clad in an absurd array of bright colours. It would appear that the fact that she had jilted him had given her a certain notoriety. Laurence did not acknowledge her presence. He stepped into the shadows, his cold eyes sweeping over her. The mere sight of her talking and laughing as though she had not a care in the world was crucifying him. How could he behave as if nothing had happened between them and pretend that she was merely a pretty girl who had once caught his eye? How could he do that when he was rigid with shock?
He wanted her. In fact, he had never stopped wanting her, he thought with bitter disgust. He had begun wanting her the moment he had seen her on the moor and he wanted her no less badly now. Clad in her beautiful gown and with her hair curled high and threaded through with a gold ribbon, she made his body harden with lust.
He wanted to stride across to young Falconbridge, who was leaning close to her ear and had his hand on her arm, and fling him away from her. How dared he put his hand on what was—what should be—his. Dear Lord, what was wrong with him? How could he let a woman affect him as this one did?
Looking beyond the circle of admirers, Victoria saw him. Excusing herself, she paused a moment to steady her
rioting nerves. Laurence was leaning against the balustrade, staring at the dancers through the open French doors. His profile was so bitter and desolate that her chest filled with remorse. She gazed at the dark, austere beauty of his face, the power and virility stamped in every line of his long body, and her pulse raced with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.
She took several steps toward him, throwing a shadow in front of him. He stared through her, his stark blue eyes piercing through her as though he wasn’t really seeing her at all.
‘Laurence,’ she whispered.
At the sound of her voice, his eyes found hers.
His granite features were an impenetrable mask and Victoria was too nervous to notice anything about his mood except that he was tense.
It was the way she was looking at him that melted him—the softness in her liquid amber eyes, imploring him to soften, to smile at her—which obliterated the dehumanising effects of her rejection. He wanted to crush her in his arms, to lose himself in her sweetness, to wrap her around him like a blanket and bury himself in her.
‘Shall we dance?’ he asked as the orchestra began playing a waltz.
‘I’d love to, although I hope Lord Falconbridge doesn’t see us.’
‘And why not?’
‘Because he picked an argument with the last gentleman I danced with. When the gentleman refused to leave the floor, Lord Falconbridge asked him to go outside where they would settle the matter.’
Despite the absurdity of it, something vaguely vexing roiled within Laurence. It was a feeling he had never experienced before, but this time he recognised it for what it was. It was the first sharp twinge of jealousy he had experienced in his adult life.
‘Do you find yourself attracted to Lord Falconbridge, Victoria?’
She chuckled at his dark scowl. ‘No. He’s the jealous type, that’s all.’
‘Witch!’ he chided her, taking her hand and drawing her close. ‘It’s apparent Falconbridge has incredibly good taste, especially in women, and at this present time I know exactly how the wretched fellow must feel.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t really expect me to believe that you are jealous?’
Laurence’s eyes fixed greedily on her lips. ‘Half an hour ago,’ he murmured, ‘I would have said I was incapable of such a lowering emotion.’
‘And now?’
‘I’m not certain.’
‘What do you mean, you aren’t certain?’
‘Where you are concerned, I haven’t been certain of anything since you ran away, and the uncertainty is getting worse by the moment.’
‘Oh? But why should you be jealous? I was under the impression that for a man to experience jealousy he must consider himself in danger of losing a cherished love to a rival. After what happened between us it is understandable that you don’t care a whit about me, so why would you be envious of another man?’
‘You could be mistaken.’ A meagre smile was the best he could manage. ‘In fact, I think we’d better reach some sort of clear understanding about what is going on between us and what we want to go on between us.’ At the back of his mind, Laurence knew he was being completely irrational, but the emotional roundabout she’d had him on for the past weeks all combined to play havoc with his temper, his emotions, and his judgement. ‘Do you agree?’
‘Yes—I think so.’
‘Then come and dance with me and we’ll see where it takes us.’
Victoria let herself be drawn up the steps to the terrace and hesitated. ‘This is a mistake. Everyone will be watching us and think that we’re back together—’
‘Let them. They can gossip and speculate all they like. It won’t make one iota of difference to what happens in the end.’
‘But you don’t understand. Their contempt and condemnation is no better than I deserve.’
In a teasing voice he said, ‘I think you’re underrating my gift for strategy and subtlety. When they see us dancing together, they’ll be so confused they won’t know what to think.’
Victoria allowed him to guide her through the French doors.
Despite his confidence, moments after they entered the ballroom Laurence cast a surreptitious glance about and realised that what Victoria had said was true. A rippling wave of excitement was making its way through the elderly matrons. Glancing at Victoria, he slid an arm behind her waist and captured her slender hand within his. In a low voice he said, ‘Raise your head in the air and either cut me dead or flirt with me, but don’t you dare look humble and meek, because all these people watching us will interpret it as guilt.’
Victoria, who’d been gazing at his chest, tipped her head back and looked at him in bewilderment, then his warning about looking meek and humble hit home, and she began to understand what he wanted her to do.
‘Young Falconbridge is in fine fettle tonight, but where on earth did he obtain those yellow pantaloons?’
‘Why,’ she said, drawing a shaky breath and managing to smile up at him, ‘do you like them? If so, you will have to ask him the name of his tailor.’
‘I doubt he’d oblige,’ Laurence replied on a teasing note in an attempt to put her at her ease. ‘If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man. He’s clearly resentful of me partnering you. I’m glad I asked you to dance with me just to frustrate the young whelp.’
‘Oh dear,’ Victoria said, glancing at the irate Lord Falconbridge scowling at them from the perimeter of the dance floor, ‘he does look rather angry.’
‘Indeed. I swear, as piercing as his glare is, I’m sure it’s going to bore a hole right through us. He looks like an adder waiting to strike.’
Victoria chanced a glance toward Lord Falconbridge and shivered. ‘Dear me. What did we do to deserve those icy daggers? I think he’s about to demand the ballroom to be cleared so he can have the requisite twenty paces.’ She laughed, capturing Laurence’s eyes. ‘Would you like me to be your second?’
Laurence’s heart turned over when the chandeliers overhead revealed softness in her beautiful amber eyes. ‘Believe me, Victoria, you’ll never be that—not even when you abandoned me at the altar on our wedding day.’
‘Thank you. I do not deserve your consideration,’ she responded, exaggerating her gratitude.
His eyes gleamed into hers as she chanced another glance. In spite of her humble reply, his smile remained undiminished, his hand on her back unrelenting as they danced. He hardly led her—they seemed instinctively to do the same thing. ‘You’re welcome, but it took no mean mental feat on my part to relent towards you.’
‘You mean you forgive me?’ she asked, the hope that he would shining from her eyes.
His smiled lessened. ‘I didn’t say that. You have a lot of making up to do—but I would be satisfied if you would smile merely for my pleasure.’
‘What can you expect from me?’ she murmured. ‘After our meeting at the hotel, you made it quite plain that you wanted nothing more to do with me. Tonight, not knowing why you are being so nice to me, I find myself in a bit of a quandary. I can only wonder why you’re even talking to me. When I didn’t turn up for our wedding, I gave you the chance to dispense with the whole thing—not only the marriage bit, but the courtship as well. I know how much you must value your freedom after what happened between us.’
For a lengthy moment, his dark-blue eyes probed the amber depths of hers. Did he indeed want his freedom more than he wanted her? That had been the question haunting him in recent weeks, yet even now he was reluctant to dismiss his enthralment with Victoria. But as far as he was concerned, like she said, he had dispensed with the courtship and the marriage bit.
He had once told her that love had no place in marriage, that in his world marriages were arranged for profit and gain. He admitted that where she was concerned he had weakened and thrown caution to the wind, but on reflection, r
emembering how she had left him to wait for her like a besotted, gullible idiot with a vicar standing by, he realised how true his words had been. And now he could see no reason why he shouldn’t have both Victoria and his freedom.
‘Perhaps if you were to let me explain why I acted as I did that day...’
‘Later,’ he said, spinning her in a heady circle. ‘Diana told me you and your party are to stay the night.’
‘Yes...’ She bit her lip, averting her eyes as the music slowed, desperately wanting the night to never end. The light shifted, its beam seeming to single out Laurence, like the light through a stained-glass window in a dark chapel. It was as if her world had changed in that moment, giving Victoria the view she had longed for.
Laurence bent his head so that his mouth was close to her ear and said, ‘Would you like to see me later, Victoria?’
Victoria knew that, in that moment, a thousand handsome men could not compare to Laurence. He was the one who owned her heart and he had not deserved to be treated so badly. She swallowed, her eyes drawn back to his by some magnetic force. The powerful volley of sensual persuasiveness that Laurence Rockford was capable of launching against her womanly being could reap devastating results. When his eyes delved into the depths of hers, he all but turned her heart inside out and nibbled at its tender core. Were he to continue such delectable assaults on her senses, it might well mean the collapse of her resistance and her ultimate doom.
Without thinking, she whispered, ‘Yes’, as the last strains of the waltz were dying away. ‘I would like that.’
As Laurence guided Victoria off the dance floor, he turned and slanted the polished fop a meaningful look, staking his claim. Perhaps Falconbridge sensed the murderous anger behind his stare, for he turned on his heel. Sending Laurence one last scornful glance over his shoulder, he strode off.
The Master of Stonegrave Hall Page 20
