by Sandra Heath
‘Yes.’
He sighed unhappily. ‘He’s a grave disappointment to me, my dear. I had such high hopes when he was born, I wanted him to grow up into a man I could be proud of, and to whom I could safely relinquish my vast fortune. Instead, it seems he’s a conniving coxcomb, intent upon furthering his own selfish pleasures and desires at the expense of anyone who stands in his way.’
She didn’t reply, for Ralph merited such a description.
He gazed at the men working on the fountain. ‘Well, my son is about to have the tables turned on him, for I have the ultimate ace up my sleeve, which is rather appropriate since he appears to have been dealing from the bottom of the pack. At the correct moment, I will face him with my knowledge concerning his pressing debts, and I will offer to settle them for him on condition that he return immediately to Jamaica with me. He will not like that one little bit, for he loathes it out there, and if he refuses, as I fancy he will, then I will threaten to disinherit him.’
‘You – you’d go that far?’
‘Oh, yes, my dear, for he needs more than a mere rap over the knuckles. I’ll threaten to disinherit him, and leave him to stew in debtor’s jail. I fancy he’ll come around rather quickly to viewing Jamaica with an almost fond eye. It’s time to crack down on him, and to do it with a vengeance, for he has much to do if he’s ever to redeem himself in my eyes. I shall make immediate plans to leave, and I promise you he’ll be out of your life in a very short time.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ She could hardly believe the complete turnabout. When she’d arrived at the ball she’d been under Ralph’s thumb, but now she was being freed, and instead it was Ralph himself who was going to be under a thumb.
Mr St John smiled a little. ‘Don’t say anything, my dear, for I’m only sorry you’ve been hurt by my son’s gross misconduct. I tell you this, if I hear of anything else he’s done, I’ll disinherit him anyway, for I cannot and will not endure behavior as disgraceful as his. You must realize that it will be a little difficult for me to say anything to him tonight, but the moment we return to the Golden Key I’ll confront him.
‘Now then, enough of my unpleasant offspring; let’s talk of you instead. I may have spent many years in Caribbean oblivion, but I still remember that masked balls serve a very sovereign purpose, for they make possible forbidden meetings right under the noses of those who would forbid them. I cannot believe that you and Lord Drummond do not have such a meeting planned tonight.’
She colored a little. ‘At midnight,’ she admitted.
‘Then I wish you well, my dear, and I trust that only happiness lies ahead for you. I’m sure that if you love him, then he cannot possibly be guilty of misdeed, certainly not of an act that threatened to do such damage to Colonel Bourne.’
She glanced away for a moment, for although she now knew why Ralph had been so set upon a betrothal with her – he’d already told his father of a fictitious betrothal in order to gain sufficient money to ward off the duns – she still didn’t know why he’d turned so vindictively against Adam, or why he’d shown so little consideration for Gregory, who certainly had never harmed him, and who even now remained a loyal, if misguided, friend.
Mr St John took out his fob watch, which was concealed in his wine-red robe. ‘My dear, did you say your assignation with Lord Drummond was at midnight?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘I rather fear it’s already five past midnight.’
‘Oh, no!’ With a gasp, she looked at her watch in her reticule. It said only a quarter to twelve. Dismayed, she rose to her feet, snatching up her domino and putting it on. Her watch, her wretched watch! When it was in need of winding it lost time, twenty minutes to be precise! Maybe Adam had already given up on her!
Mr St John caught her hand for a moment more. ‘No doubt we’ll meet again later, my dear, and when we do, rest assured that not by so much as a flicker of the eye will I reveal what has passed between us. Ralph will never know that I interrogated you, or that you conceded certain snippets of information. Good-bye for the moment, Miss Fairmead, I wish our acquaintance had taken place under more pleasant circumstances.’
‘I do too, sir.’
‘And I wish you every good fortune in your love for Lord Drummond.’
‘I will need every good fortune, sir, for although I love him, and I think he loves me, he doesn’t actually know who I am.’
Mr St John blinked with surprise. ‘Then your problems are far from over, my dear.’
‘I know.’
Gathering her skirts, she hastened back toward the terrace steps, leaving him sitting to reflect sadly on the unpleasant facts he’d unearthed about his son.
She paused on the terrace, glancing back toward the pergola and lily pond. Should she have told Ralph’s father absolutely everything? She lowered her eyes then, remembering the unhappiness in his eyes. No, she couldn’t have told him any more, it would have broken his heart completely.
Wending her way around the ballroom, she emerged at last in the entrance hall. Her heart was pounding, and she hardly dared look toward the clock, for fear he wouldn’t be there. Maybe he’d never kept the tryst, maybe he’d somehow stumbled upon her real identity and decided not to have anything more to do with her! Apprehension and doubt filled her in those few moments, but then she saw him.
He was dressed in a long white robe, with a wide crimson sash around his slender waist. There was a dagger and scimitar thrust into the sash, and on his head there was a crimson turban adorned by a glittering jeweled brooch. His unruly hair was completely concealed, and little of his face was visible because of a golden mask, but she knew him immediately.
A flood of joy washed gladdeningly over her, but the apprehension and doubt lingered on, for what would be the outcome of this fateful meeting?
CHAPTER 17
He wasn’t aware of her, for as she saw him he turned to look up at the clock. There was something restless and almost uneasy in the way he glanced at it and then turned again to search over the sea of people crowding the hall. Then he seemed to suddenly sense her presence, his gaze moving unerringly toward her. His mask didn’t conceal his lips, and she saw him smile as he held out his hands to her.
She hurried to him, her fingers curling around his. He drew her close, holding her for a moment without speaking. She could feel his heart against hers, and she closed her eyes. Dear God, how she loved him.
He pulled back a little. ‘I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.’
‘My watch was wrong,’ she confessed ruefully. ‘I put it in my reticule but forgot to wind it up! I’m always doing it, I just don’t seem able to remember.’
‘I’m afraid I have to leave at half past twelve, I’ve been called urgently to London.’
‘The situation in Europe?’
‘I fear so. Wellington expects to come to grips with Bonaparte any day now.’
Her thoughts turned instinctively toward Gregory. ‘Is – is that why Colonel Bourne has been sent for? I’ve heard everyone commenting on his absence,’ she added quickly.
He smiled a little wryly. ‘And no doubt you’ve also heard comment that he’s been recalled because of Drummond family spite. It’s true that my uncle Llancwm wrote to him; it’s also true – as you already know – that I attended a War Office meeting chaired by my uncle; but it’s not true that vengeance was the motive for Bourne’s recall. He’s been sent for because of his involvement with the Berkshire Militia, and he’s not alone, because every officer in command of militia has been sent for. I’m not party to every War Office decision, and so have no positive knowledge of what’s intended, but I’d be very surprised indeed if Mrs Bourne’s loudly expressed fears concerning her husband’s imminent dispatch to Brussels have any foundation at all. Bourne, and those like him, are of prime importance on the home front should the enemy invade, and it’s my guess that the powers that be merely wish to confirm contingency plans should such an invasion take place.’
S
he took a long, steadying breath. ‘I think you should know that Ralph St John may not be in a position to continue his vendetta for much longer.’
His blue eyes sharpened. ‘Why do you say that?’
She glanced around. ‘It’s too public here. Can’t we go somewhere more quiet? The gardens, maybe? I have so much to tell you, so much I should already have confessed….’
‘Is tonight the right time? I have to leave for London in only a few minutes now.’
‘I must say it all, Adam. I can’t bear things to go on as they are. Please, can we go out to the gardens?’
‘Of course.’ His fingers were warm and firm around hers as he led her back into the ballroom, and then out onto the terrace.
At the foot of the steps, in case Mr St John was still there, she made him take her down the other side of the lily pond to a similar alcove with the same degree of privacy, opposite the former.
The sound of the ball faded behind them, drowned by the rush and splash of the fountain, which had been repaired at last. The satin surface of the water had been broken into countless shining spangles, and the fountain played with such height and vigor that she could feel the spray on her skin as they reached the alcove. She glanced through the dancing water at the alcove on the other side, but it was empty now; Mr St John had gone.
Adam reached up to remove her domino, putting it on the bench, then he took off his own mask before facing her. ‘Don’t say a word, not yet,’ he murmured, drawing her close and bending his head to kiss her on the lips. He took his time, and her senses stirred to move in time with his. She felt the same tempting warmth as before; it stole richly over her, enticing and irresistible. Her body ached with love and desire, and she slipped her arms around his neck, pressing against him. There was a shameless surrender in her response, but she was a victim of her own heart, incapable of denying the passion she felt for this one man.
He drew gently back, his eyes dark as he smiled. ‘I’m in danger of giving in right here to certain base notions where you’re concerned, and that wouldn’t do at all,’ he said softly. ‘I’m afraid you bring out the beastly male in me.’
‘I like the beastly male in you.’
‘That’s a most improper admission,’ he said with a low laugh.
‘I feel very improper when I’m with you, and that’s an even more improper admission,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve broken so many rules in order to be with you that I vow the doors of Almack’s would be slammed in my face if the truth was known.’
He became more serious. ‘Tell me the truth then.’
Tears filled her eyes and she tried desperately to blink them back. ‘I’m so afraid you won’t understand, that you’ll hate me for what I’ve done.’
‘Hate you? I could never hate you.’ He put his hand to her cheek. ‘Please tell me, for I can’t bear to see you so unhappy.’
She tried to meet his eyes, but was so miserable now the moment was upon her that she had to look tearfully away again. She strove for the right words, but they simply wouldn’t come. Suddenly she remembered the letter. Maybe it was better if he read it after all, for at least the written word didn’t break down in helpless tears. She fumbled in her reticule, but as she took the crumpled letter out it somehow slipped from her trembling fingers, floating inexorably on an invisible draft to fall onto the surface of the lily pond, where the splashing of the fountain swiftly dashed it out of sight beneath the lilypads.
Numb with disbelief, Helen could only stare at the water. How could fate continually play such cruel tricks on her? Each time she tried to put things right, something happened to prevent her. It was almost as if she wasn’t meant to be honest with him. More hot tears stung her eyes, her lips quivered, and she turned away, trying desperately to compose herself.
He came closer, resting his hands gently on her shaking shoulders. ‘Don’t cry,’ he said softly, his voice almost inaudible above the splash of the fountain. ‘Whatever was written in that letter, you can tell me to my face.’ Slowly he turned her toward him again.
For a moment she strove to regain her self-possession, then she swallowed and made herself look at him, but even as her lips parted to say it all at last, a tinkle of laughter drifted along the pergola, and with a gasp she turned to see Margaret’s pink shepherdess dress shining beneath the lanterns as she strolled in company with the Cardusays and Huff-and-Puff.
Helen froze. No, not again, please, not again. Not another perverse stroke of fate! But Margaret was coming relentlessly closer and at any moment might glance directly at the alcove. What little was left of Helen’s failing nerve disintegrated into complete confusion, and with a panic-stricken sob she pulled from Adam’s startled arms, snatched up her domino, and fled along the pergola away from Margaret. The ribbons on her gown fluttered wildly, and her hair was shaken loose from its neat pins, but she reached the far end without her sister’s seeing anything, and in a moment had disappeared into the anonymity of the gardens.
Behind her, Adam was riveted by the suddenness of her flight. He glanced in the other direction to see what had frightened her, but Margaret and her companions had turned back again and were ascending the terrace steps again, intent upon raiding the supper room, and Adam didn’t recognize them. Taking up his mask, for a moment he considered pursuing Helen, but the gardens were vast, and his chances of finding her very slender indeed. Time wasn’t on the side of love, it was pressing him hard to set off for London, and affairs of state had to take precedence over affairs of the heart.
With a sigh he glanced in the direction she’d fled, and then slowly walked back toward the house, beckoning to a footman as he reached the top of the terrace steps.
In the welcome darkness of the gardens, Helen’s distress knew few bounds. Casting around for somewhere to hide away from everyone, her glance fell on the line of waiting carriages, drawn up two abreast along the drive. By pure chance she saw the Bourne End landau, its hoods raised now against the cooler night air. The coachman was with some of his fellows, standing around intently watching a game of dice, and no one saw her hurrying toward the vehicle, or heard the door open and close as she crept inside.
She flung herself onto the seat, giving way to a flood of bitter tears. Her whole body shook with wretchedness. What had she done to deserve all this bad luck? It just wasn’t fair. She wanted so much to wipe her foolish slate clean, but each time she tried to do so something happened to stop her. She’d tried to tell him on the terrace at Windsor, but her courage had failed her, and before that she’d been about to tell him by the lake, when Ralph’s approach had interrupted. She’d fretted long and hard over writing an explanatory letter, only to have Lord Swag intervene, and now she’d failed again, suffering the twin blows of watching that same letter sink beneath the surface of the lily pond and then having the confession frozen on her lips by the sound of her sister’s laughter.
The sobs continued to rack her unhappy body, and she lay with her face hidden against the velvet upholstery. Her eyes were redrimmed from the tears, and she felt as if her heart was breaking.
It was a long time before the weeping subsided and she became aware of sounds, from the carriage drawn up alongside, a rather grand coach with gleaming black panels. Kittenish laughter carried into the landau, and Helen sat up slowly, realizing that two lovers were meeting. Taking a handkerchief from her reticule, she wiped her eyes and peeped out. The blinds were down on the other carriage, but the window glass was lowered just a little, and she could hear voices.
The woman was in a teasing mood. ‘Come now, Ferdy, are you going to tell me you don’t like what I’m almost wearing? Perhaps you’d have preferred all the hooks and eyes of the costume I nearly decided to choose tonight? They would certainly have hampered your, er, progress.’
‘And what costume was that?’ The man’s voice was good-humored.
‘Mistress Fuchsia, and you should just see how many wicked hooks and eyes there are on that dress.’
In the darkness of the landau, He
len gasped. Mistress Fuchsia. Of course! That was why Ralph’s miniature had seemed so familiar, it was a likeness of Mrs Tully in her most famous role! He’d claimed to have purchased the miniature that day, and he’d said he had no idea who the lady was, but both claims were patently untrue.
Helen sat back, the realization suddenly so clear it was like being told aloud. She’d felt at the time that he’d been in the habit of gazing at the little portrait, and now it was quite obvious that he had. It was also quite obvious that his feelings for the actress had always run far deeper than he’d revealed. He’d pretended not to mind when Mrs Tully deserted him in order to pursue Adam, but in fact he’d minded very much indeed. Enough to want revenge? Was it as simple as that? Had the whole Prince Agamemnon business been contrived solely in order to punish Adam for wounding Ralph St John’s male vanity?
She exhaled slowly, knowing that she was right, but then her breath caught again as she remembered something Margaret had said. She’d revealed that Ralph had been her first admirer, but that she had fallen for Gregory. If Ralph could turn on Adam because of Mrs Tully, then surely he was equally capable of punishing Gregory because of Margaret, maybe not as much, because he hadn’t felt as much for Margaret, but enough to make Gregory suffer a little.
Helen twisted the strings of her reticule, oblivious now to the sounds from the adjoining coach. The final two pieces of the puzzle had quite suddenly and unexpectedly fallen into place, and now she knew exactly why Ralph St John had done everything. He was governed by injured pride. How a kindly, considerate man like his father had ever produced such a son she couldn’t even begin to know.
There were more sounds from the other carriage, and she looked out in time to see the lovers slipping out and back toward the house. It was time she returned as well, or Margaret might wonder where she was.
Composing herself, she pinned up her hair as best she could, and then put on her domino again, thinking that at least it would serve to hide her tear-stained face. Opening the landau door, she alighted in a rustle of muslin and ribbons, breathing deeply of the cool night air before retracing her steps toward the house.
