Scandal at the Midsummer Ball

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘Katerina.’ His voice was hoarse. He was breathing as if he had completed fifty rotations of the vaulting horse. His eyes were dark, the passion she felt gleaming and reflected in his eyes.

  ‘No.’ She tightened her legs around his waist, digging her heels into his clenched buttocks. ‘No. Don’t stop.’ She pulled his face towards her, claiming his mouth again. His kiss was desperate. She had no doubt he wanted her as much as she wanted him. All she had to do was to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and...

  ‘Katerina, we are in a public place, someone might see us.’

  She dragged her mouth away. She uncurled her legs and slithered down from the vaulting horse. Remembering too late, much too late, where they were, she retied her robe, casting an anxious eye up to the overlooking windows. The sun made them opaque, the interiors dark with shadows. The walled garden was empty, though she doubted either of them would have noticed if someone had inadvertently stumbled upon them. This morning’s strawberry-picking outing was taking place in the fields of one of the village farms. Most likely they had not been observed. They had been incredibly lucky. She could not believe they had taken such a chance.

  But her body still thrummed, making its own unreasonable demands. Katerina tightened the sash of her robe. Fergus had tucked his shirt back into his breeches. He bent down to pick up his waistcoat and his breeches stretched tight across his buttocks. She dragged her eyes away, but her gaze drifted down to linger on his muscled calves, on the slender length of his bare feet. She wanted him so much.

  He pulled on his stockings and boots, picked up his coat. The air was thick with suppressed passion, with stifled desire. ‘You’ve got me turning somersaults in more ways than one.’ Fergus’s smile faded. ‘What you told me yesterday about men pursuing you...’

  ‘I know you are different.’

  ‘Am I? The first time I saw you was here on the tightrope. And later that night, that performance, you were like a star flying through the night sky. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.’

  ‘But yesterday, it was the same, and I was wearing a riding habit.’

  ‘I don’t want you to think that I’m like that man who hurt you. I do want you, you can be in no doubt of that.’

  ‘Any more than you can doubt that I want you.’ Heat flushed her cheeks, but she knew that if she wanted this, the initiative must be hers. ‘From the moment I saw you, it was the same for me, Fergus. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. We have so little time. I would like us to—to make the most of it.’

  He caught her hands between his. ‘You feel it too, this—this pull between us? I am not imagining it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Katerina! My God, Katerina, if you knew how much—’ He broke off. ‘I do want you, but I want you to be sure. What you told me yesterday, it was obvious how painful it was for you. You can trust me, I promise you can. But I want you to be sure. I know we have so little time, but I can wait. I have never met a woman like you before, Katerina. You have no idea how extraordinary you are.’

  The flowery, superficial compliments other men paid her meant nothing. Fergus’s compliments meant too much. ‘I think you underestimate yourself, Colonel Kennedy,’ Katerina said. ‘I think you have no idea of how extraordinary you could be.’

  * * *

  With silent accord, they left the potent atmosphere of the walled garden and returned to the house to change. When Katerina rejoined him on the South Lawn, wearing one of her simple summer gowns, she seemed pensive. They headed for the relative privacy of the lake, sitting together on the end of the jetty. ‘The duke celebrates the anniversary of Waterloo tonight,’ she said.

  Fergus winced. ‘Celebrate is not a word I’d choose. In all my career, I’ve never seen more carnage.’

  She rested her hand gently on his shoulder, where the gouge left by the musket ball was. ‘You have a constant reminder of that day, right here.’

  ‘It’s a small price to pay, for lasting peace. There are others who paid a much higher one.’

  She brushed a kiss to the location of his scar. He could feel the heat of her mouth through the linen sleeve of his shirt. ‘You don’t like to talk of it, do you? You are not one of those men who likes to play out every move on the battlefield, or tell tales of death and glory.’

  He smiled at her use of his own words, though her choice troubled him. ‘That is because death is not glorious.’

  ‘And you were only doing your duty, no?’

  ‘Don’t start imagining I am some sort of hero, Katerina. I’m just a soldier.’

  ‘Who has made his way up the ranks without the purchase of a commission. Who has not one but two dukes so eager to have him allied with them that they have actually come up with a joint strategy.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s not like that. Wellington needs a man in Egypt he can trust. I happen to be waiting on a posting and conveniently available, that’s all.’

  ‘No, Fergus, it’s not all! There must have been any number of postings which would have suited you in the last two years, but the point is they have not suited Wellington.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that Wellington has kept you tethered to that desk you hate, because Wellington knows how very valuable you could be to him. He has been keeping you waiting until the right opportunity presented itself. An opportunity for him, not you. He has not been concerned about your best interests. The only interests he serves are his own.’

  Her anger confused him. Her questions troubled him. ‘Wellington is my commander-in-chief,’ Fergus said.

  ‘And you have been following his orders for sixteen years.’ Katerina jumped to her feet. ‘For goodness’ sake, how can you be so blind? You are an extraordinary man, Fergus, and Wellington knows it. He needs you a great deal more than you need him.’

  The idea was ridiculous, Fergus thought. Preposterous. ‘Without him behind me, I won’t have a career.’

  ‘What do you have at the moment? I’m sorry,’ Katerina said when he flinched, ‘but it is because I think you deserve so much more than to serve others. What do you want, Fergus?’

  ‘To serve others,’ he replied glibly, but it did not ring true. ‘You’re saying I’d be better off serving my own interests, is that it?’

  Katerina took his hand, pressing a kiss to his scarred knuckles. ‘I’m saying that I would like you to feel what I feel when I’m on the tightrope. Flying free.’

  Flying free. Was he really so fettered? Two years ago, the answer would have been an unequivocal no. Two years ago, he was fighting a battle for lasting peace. ‘You don’t know what you’re asking,’ Fergus said. ‘I’m a soldier. It’s all I’ve ever been.’

  ‘And all you’ve ever wanted?’

  ‘Yes.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted.’ It had always been true. Until now, that was.

  * * *

  The Duke of Brockmore had requested that all his guests gather in the drawing room at seven sharp, where they would have the honour of mingling with several of the heroes of Waterloo, including their own Colonel Kennedy. Said Colonel Kennedy straightened his scarlet coat and threw back his shoulders before entering the fray. After he had left Katerina, he had put the many, deeply uncomfortable questions she had raised to the back of his mind, and spent time in the chapel, in silent communion with his lost comrades. Recalling the horrific reality of those frenetic and hugely significant few days, he was now prepared to regale the duke’s guests with the sanitised, glorified version crafted for public consumption.

  One of his closest friends, Wellington’s code-breaker Jack Trestain might have been in attendance, had he not chosen a path which set him on a collision course with the Establishment, but Fergus was pleased to recognise several other of his fellow officers among the milling throng. None of Wellington’s hated artillery, he noted without surpri
se, and naturally representatives from the ranks of enlisted men who were the true architects of the victory were conspicuous by their absence.

  The nature of the commemorations tonight was as yet unspecified. A dinner, some toasts, perhaps the dishing out of some medals, was the usual form. Brockmore had not yet made his appearance and nor, Fergus noted, had his niece. Despite their agreement to put up a front, Lady Verity had by and large been avoiding his company, and Fergus had been happy to comply.

  ‘Oh, my! Not only a red coat but a kilt. Colonel Kennedy, you spoil us. I hope you do not object to my saying that you have a very fine pair of legs.’

  ‘Miss Kilmun, I would be most disappointed if you did not.’

  Cynthia Kilmun tapped him playfully on the arm with her fan. Sir Timothy Farthingale appeared at his elbow, and raised his quizzing glass. ‘Scarlet suits you exceeding well, Colonel Kennedy. Indeed I can think of only one other person in the room who carries it off to better effect.’

  Fergus followed Sir Timothy’s gaze.

  ‘They do not call her the Lovely, Luscious Lillias Lamont for nothing, Colonel. Now then, what do you think Brockmore has in store for us? Why are the drawing-room windows wide open, do you think?’

  Fergus had assumed it was due to the heat, but as he opened his mouth to say so, from outside, in the rose garden, there came a drum roll and a sudden blaze of torchlight.

  The assembled company all rushed towards the windows and on to the adjoining veranda for a better view. The group standing in a halo of light consisted of four people, two on the left, and two to the right of a shrouded plinth. The Duchess of Brockmore wore a silver gown, heavily trimmed with silver and black lace. Beside her, the Duke of Brockmore’s black evening dress was relieved only by a silver waistcoat. On the other side of the plinth, Lady Verity was magnificent in gold. And next to her, slightly in the shadows, stood a tall man in a tightly fitting scarlet coat emblazoned with gold braid. An ornately jewelled order lay across his chest.

  Brockmore’s guests peered closer, jostling for a prime spot. They began to mutter and murmur. Surely it could not be. It was not possible. Not even Brockmore could... Then the man stepped forward into the light and a gasp of amazement emanated from the crowd.

  ‘What the devil?’ hissed Sir Timothy. ‘He was opening the new Strand Bridge with Prinny today. It can’t be.’

  Fergus eyed the haughty face and the distinctly hooked nose, feeling distinctly sick. ‘I am very much afraid that it can,’ he said, as the Duke of Wellington, victor of Waterloo, took out his ceremonial sword and cut the ties which held the swathes of silk in place over the plinth, to reveal a bronze bust of himself.

  * * *

  Alerted by the applause and cheers coming from the garden, Katerina and Alexandr abandoned their dinner and went outside to investigate. The rose garden was lit up by a circle of braziers. A crowd of people stood around a huge plinth which Katerina did not recall having been there before. There was a bust on the plinth and a man in scarlet with a hooked nose standing beside it. ‘Surely that cannot be the Duke of Wellington himself?’ she whispered, aghast.

  Alexei shrugged. ‘You would think he had erected enough statues of himself by now to satisfy even his bloated ego.’

  ‘He is a real-life legend,’ Katerina said. She doubted very much that Wellington had come all the way to Brockmore Manor merely to unveil his own statue. What else was important enough to summon him? Of course, Fergus! Brockmore must have tipped Wellington off that the campaign was going badly. He had come to rally his troops. Did Fergus know?

  She looked for him and spotted him easily, as he was the only man wearing a kilt. It hung just above his knee, giving a tantalising glimpse of flesh between the plaid’s edge and the top of his knitted stockings. He stood alone, on the fringes of the crowd, his arms crossed across a chest encrusted with medals. He looked—angry? They had not parted on bad terms this afternoon, but she had crossed a line with her questions. She had not intended to challenge him in that way, but they had so little time, and Fergus was so blind.

  Had he surmised, as she had, that Wellington was here for his own purposes? She wanted desperately to talk to him, but she did not dare. She had, unwittingly, taken several steps towards him, when the Duke of Brockmore appeared at his arm, steering him towards the guest of honour.

  ‘Have a care, Katya.’

  She jumped. She had quite forgotten Alexei’s presence. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That man. The Scottish soldier. You have been spending a great deal of time in his company. Retton, the head groomsman, told me you took horses out together yesterday. No,’ Alexei said, ‘I’ve not been spying. He mentioned it in passing.’

  ‘Fergus is no libertine, Alexei. He would never—he is an honourable man.’

  ‘He is a man destined for great things, according to those twins who follow me around like lap dogs,’ her brother said. ‘Look at him now, Katya, standing there between Wellington and Brockmore, twin pillars of society and two of the most powerful and influential men in Europe. Don’t fool yourself into thinking he’d throw all that away for you.’

  ‘I’m not. I don’t. It’s not the same.’

  Alexei sighed. ‘I grant you, Colonel Kennedy seems like a decent man, but you must see, no good can come of whatever it is you’re doing with him. I don’t want you to get hurt, Katya.’

  ‘I won’t. He can’t hurt me,’ Katerina said, ‘because I won’t let him.’ She fervently hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt.

  Chapter Six

  Thursday June 19th

  Brockmore Manor House Party

  Programme of Events

  The Annual Midsummer Ride

  Lunch and Auction on the Village Green

  When the summons came, Fergus was in the act of finishing his breakfast. Under the ever-watchful eye of Sir Timothy, attired for the first meal of the day in an eye-watering combination of puce and emerald green, he put aside his second cup of coffee and followed in Thompson’s stately wake.

  ‘His Grace awaits you in the library,’ the butler intoned, throwing open the heavy double doors and stepping inside. ‘Colonel Kennedy, your Grace.’

  The room facing out over the south lawn was a pleasant one, the pale walls lined with high glass-fronted bookshelves. A scattering of comfortable chairs and thoughtfully placed tables and lecterns invited the reader to linger. This morning however, it was bereft of bibliophiles, and it was not the Duke of Brockmore, but the Duke of Wellington who arose from behind the massive mahogany desk which formed the centrepiece of the room.

  Having spent most of the night pacing, turning Katerina’s questions over in his mind, adding several of his own, Fergus was as ready for the confrontation as he would ever be. Nevertheless, his stomach was churning as he greeted the duke. He was about to spectacularly burn his boats. Rather fittingly, it was another great general, Alexander the Great, who had ordered his men to do exactly that before fighting the vastly superior Persian forces. Faced with no means of retreat, it was win or die. They were victorious. Fergus pushed back his shoulders. Onwards to victory.

  Clad in morning dress, Wellington greeted him with one of his thin smiles, and ushered him to a chair facing the desk, ranging himself on the opposite side. ‘I must perforce be brief,’ he said, steepling his fingers. ‘My time as ever is precious, and I can see from your dress that you intend to take part in this morning’s race, so I will cut to the chase. I am disappointed to learn from Brockmore that negotiations between yourself and his niece have not yet been satisfactorily concluded. I am sure you don’t need me to remind you how...gratified I would be if you could expedite matters, Kennedy.’

  ‘No, your Grace, I do not.’

  The duke straightened the blotter. ‘And I do not, I assume, have to remind you either, that this posting to Egypt you’re so keen on,
is dependent upon your marriage.’

  Fergus curled his fingers around the arms of his chair. ‘It surprises me that you think my memory so impaired, your Grace, when you previously entrusted the most complex of orders to me without having to take the trouble to write them down.’

  ‘You cannot possibly be thinking of refusing to take advantage of this opportunity, Colonel?’ The duke moved the blotter another precise fraction to the left before fixing Fergus with his steeliest of gazes. ‘Let us, for a moment, consider the consequences of failure. I do not take kindly to being let down, as you know. I would find it difficult—exceedingly difficult—to recommend you to another position, and frankly, Kennedy, languishing in the army in peacetime must, for a man of action such as yourself, be a dreadful prospect. Yet, as a career soldier who knows no other life, languish you must.’

  As he had suspected, his resolve was to be stiffened by fair means or foul, the illusion that he had a say in the matter ripped asunder. Katerina had been right. Wellington was interested only in how Fergus could serve him, not how he could in any way be of service to Fergus. He bit his lip. His blood was beginning to boil but now, more than ever, was the time for a cool head.

  ‘The scenario you paint is a doleful prospect indeed,’ Fergus said carefully, ‘but as you have pointed out, your Grace, I am a man of action and it is long past time that I took control of my own destiny. I do not take kindly to threats and I most certainly will not be blackmailed.’

  It was the merest flicker, but Fergus had the satisfaction of seeing he had taken Wellington utterly aback. Following the duke’s own favoured battle plan, he took advantage of the successful surprise attack and pressed home his advantage. ‘It will pain you, I know, but the time has come to be frank. Irrespective of how good a match Lady Verity or any other of your friends’ daughters may be, I will not make any offer of marriage under orders. Directly and indirectly, I have been obeying your orders as man and boy. I may at times have questioned their validity in private, but in public my loyalty to you, to my fellow officers and to my men has never once been questioned.’