So the first evening of the trip was a short one. Christopher was able to retire to his room fairly early.
He lay on the massive canopied bed, which, like the rest of the furnishings, had probably been in Wilton House since before the Restoration. He thought of Joanna, of course.
Would her father tell her he had seen him, if only to upbraid her for being too familiar with the gentry? He might be angry with her. But at least she’d know that I’ve come west in time for this Samhain festival, just as she asked me to do.
As his mind drifted, tired but unable to sleep, he imagined her. Those amazing multicolored eyes under that veil of long, shining black hair. Her shapely legs, that he wished he could stroke. The enticing curves of her breasts and hips, that he imagined petting and fondling. Her lips pressed hard against his, her tongue tasting his mouth….
Once again, he could hear the surreptitious movements in the hall outside his room. Secret assignations under the cover of the dark passageways of the old house. Figures slipping into bedrooms not their own.
He wondered who was pairing with whom. Lord Cullingsley seemed to be pursuing yet another young lady doing the Season. The current target of his amours was lovely to look upon, all fluttering eyelashes and maidenly blushes. But she wore her gowns just a little too tight, her necklines just a little too low, to suggest any real innocence.
Nonetheless, this young lady was Lady Jersey’s particular protégée, and Christopher did not doubt she would give Lord Cullingsley a run for his money.
Also in their party was a young Scottish laird who upon his father’s death would inherit a large piece of Scotland and all the wealth that went with it. This noble youth seemed determined to spend as much of his father’s gold as he could before the old man died. He was a dashing blade, a favorite of the haut ton. It was said he could sit at the gaming tables betting all night and then show up on time for a duel with some other blackguard at sunrise.
The Scotsman appeared to be the current favorite of Lady Cullingsley, a hard-faced, handsome woman of middle years who had no problem with her husband’s philandering, so long as she was free to behave the same.
The Baron and Baroness cordially detested each other, but they understood each other perfectly. They were said to have one of the strongest marriages to be found in high society.
Completing the party were a younger married couple, close to Christopher’s own age, who had been violently in love with each other before marriage—a condition deemed very peculiar by the haut ton. They had made quite a spectacle of themselves, with all their billing and cooing.
Married a year, they were now obviously bored and sickened by each other. The ton lifted its collective eyebrows and smirked. People liked to invite them places, just to observe the change in them.
The thought of all these figures silently embracing in the dark left Christopher somewhat aroused. Not that he was attracted by any of the people present—they disgusted him.
But there was a sexual tension in the air that night, and it was infectious.
Joanna. Joanna. Technically I’m a virgin, but in my mind I’ve taken you so many times that I feel quite experienced. I know by now each thing I want to do with you, each place I want to touch, to kiss….
Suddenly an unexpected sound at his door broke through his lustful imaginings. Someone was quietly rattling the door handle, trying to gain entry. Had he locked the door? Yes, he had. Good.
The door shook again. Someone seemed to be gently trying to force the lock. He held his breath and tried to make no sound. Who could this be?
Lady Jersey, surely. No one else would be so bold and brazen.
The rattling stopped abruptly, and he heard light footsteps retreating from his doorway. Good, she had gone away. But wait—she was mistress here, in the owner’s absence. Was she going somewhere to find a key?
Alarmed, he jumped out of bed and pulled the largest piece of furniture he could manage over to the doorway. It was a heavy chest, meant to hold linens and blankets. He wedged the chest under the doorknob.
That should keep her out. The doorknob won’t even turn with that obstacle in place. He climbed back into bed, trying to summon back his pleasurable thoughts of a few moments before.
But the mood was broken. He just lay there, wide awake.
He did not know how much time had passed—twenty minutes? an hour?—before the footsteps returned. Now he heard a grinding sound—an old key turning in an even older lock.
Damn her. She doesn’t give up.
The key did its work. The lock slid back. The door rattled in its frame as the intruder tried mightily to push it open.
But the big chest did not budge. The door would not open against it. Eventually, the intruder gave up and went away.
Christopher planned to keep that chest against the door every night that he had to sleep here in Wilton House.
* * *
Lady Jersey was in a foul mood over breakfast. She was not used to having her desires thwarted.
Lord Cullingsley read her mood correctly. He chuckled as he brushed by her on his way to the buffet of breakfast delicacies. “You look…shall we say ‘frustrated,’ m’dear! Not enough rest last night? Or maybe more rest than you wanted to have?”
She sniffed in annoyance.
He pursued her back to the table, still whispering at her side. “Did your young bear cub not want any honey last night? Strange! You normally have no trouble in that department!”
She laughed sarcastically. “The door was locked. And something was jammed against it from inside, so that I couldn’t get in.” One of Lady Jersey’s most charming characteristics was that she could laugh even when the joke was at her own expense.
“It seems the young cub is on to your game, m’dear! He may prove difficult.”
“He’ll learn my rules for the game before I’m done with him.”
“Think so, do you? Maybe I’ll make you a little wager—twenty guineas to whichever of us two is able to seduce him by the end of this trip. Maybe a masterful man is more to his taste than you are, love.” Chuckling, Lord Cullingsley took his seat at the table and began a hearty breakfast. There was good sport ahead.
* * *
The party was to go to Bath by carriage that day. Servants packed their formal evening dress for them. After a day of seeing the sights, the plan was to drop in on one or more of the balls their acquaintances would no doubt be having.
Many in the haut ton spent time in Bath during the London Season—they were bound to run into their own kind of people there. After amusing themselves during the day, high society would bring the night to life with their grand balls and assemblies.
Those with an entrée to any of the fine manor houses in the region would usually party till dawn, then impose on their wearily waiting coachmen to drive them home as the sun was rising.
As they strolled through the city, the Baron of Cullingsley walked alongside Christopher, attempting conversation. When the Baron asked if Clydekill had been to Bath before, Christopher said that this was his first time.
“A virgin, then. Charming. We must be the ones to break you in,” Lord Cullingsley simpered.
Christopher noticed that the Baron’s conversation was laced with sexual innuendo. Lord Cullingsley seemed to think that anyone, male or female, would be attracted to him. Christopher thought him a disgusting, overdressed old toad.
The city of Bath was indeed splendid. Fine white neoclassical buildings lined the Royal Crescent, overlooking a spacious green. There were marvelous examples of Roman architecture alongside grand buildings built only recently. People abounded, giving a festive feeling to the town.
As they walked about, Lord Cullingsley pointed out the magnificent Roman Baths from which the city took its name.
“The waters are most salubrious,” the Baron drawled. “They make a woman softer and a man harder—if you take my meaning.”
Lady Jersey sidled up and interjected herself. “You must take the waters with
me, My Lord. It’s something best enjoyed with a companion who has experienced the pleasure of the baths before.”
“M’dear, I have already offered the boy—”
“Enough, Lord Cullingsley. He will go with me, and that’s an end to it.”
“We will all go,” Lady Cullingsley interposed. Her arm was tucked into that of the young Scottish laird, who seemed to be enjoying the assertive older woman’s attentions.
And so they did. The actual baths were underground. Brownish hot water bubbled up through limestone rocks from the mineral springs below. The main bathing area was set in Palladian architecture, dotted here and there with sculpted figures that had survived from ancient times.
The ladies put on the long cotton dresses they were given, and the men a briefer bathing costume. “Mixed bathing,” Lady Jersey’s little protégée giggled, with a glance toward Lord Cullingsley.
He, however, was giving his attention all to Christopher. The young lady sniffed. She obviously did not like to be ignored.
* * *
The Baron was admiring Lord Clydekill. From the look on his face, Lady Jersey could almost read the Baron’s mind. Such a noble profile—the lofty forehead, the sculpted nose, the manly chin. And his chest, on display in the bathing garment—Christopher’s years of bodybuilding and exercise had paid off in an enviable physique.
Truly an Adonis, an Apollo. And he looked right at home here among the classical statues. The rest of the men here, by contrast, looked like what they were: crabbed little creatures from modern times.
Meanwhile, the Scotsman rested himself, up to his neck in water, next to Lady Cullingsley. Suddenly Lady Cullingsley jumped and gave a little yelp, as though something had bit at her beneath the water.
The young Scotsman looked at her blandly. “Something in the water, Lady Cullingsley?” She chuckled and gave him a playful push. He fell backwards into the water.
She chuckled. Lady Jersey, observing the horseplay, told the laird, “Serves you right.”
The time passed, and they all grew restless. The unhappily married couple had already left the waters, caught up in some spiteful argument between themselves. The rest of the party separated, agreeing to meet in the Pump Room later for luncheon. They repaired to their respective changing areas.
* * *
Christopher stayed behind a few extra moments, explaining he wanted to study the Greek and Roman statues. In truth, there was one of a lovely wood nymph, her long hair partly veiling her nubile body. He wanted to look at her. She reminded him of Joanna.
There was a lavish lunch in the Pump Room, served them amid potted palms to the tinkling of harp and piano. Then back to the carriages for a promenade around the Royal Crescent, where Lady Jersey and the Cullingsleys, in particular, waved and bowed to many of the other nobility they encountered.
Lady Jersey had secured an impromptu invitation to a ball to be held at the Bath residence of a Marchioness, who was a prominent figure in setting the fashions of the ton. Taking rooms for a few hours, to be dressed by their servants in their finery, they then set out in their carriages to explore Bath at night.
The Scotsman invited Lady Cullingsley to sit up front with him as he drove his smart little phaeton. That left Lord Cullingsley to Lady Jersey, who obviously preferred the company of Lord Clydekill. The Marquess found himself sandwiched between the Baron and Lady Jersey in her landau.
Each was trying hard to capture his sole attention. It was a tedious trip to the Marchioness’s fine townhouse.
Along the way, they caused a small sensation when they dropped in on the Assembly Rooms. A large ball was being held there, open to the public. The presence of the notorious Lady Jersey and her companions made many a head turn to catch a glimpse.
Her confidence buoyed by the public’s admiration of her, Lady Jersey led them on to the Marchioness’s house.
The scene there was very different from the crush of the Assembly Rooms. All was lovely and decorous. Well-bred gentlemen led even better-bred ladies onto the ballroom floor.
From seats along the gilded walls, proper mamas and grandmamas scrutinized every move of the young people. From those who danced too often with just one partner, to those who tried to slip away to the conservatory for a brief romantic moment, nothing was missed by these noble duennas. Reputations were made and unmade by a few words, or even by just an arched eyebrow raised behind a fluttering fan.
Many of the older women noted the Marquess of Clydekill’s presence, and that of the young Scottish laird. Their respective reputations had preceded them from London.
Clydekill was known to be pursued by the fabulously wealthy Miss Coleman. But no announcement had yet been made, so he was still fair game for their daughters and granddaughters.
The fawning attentions of the loose-living Lady Jersey to Lord Clydekill were duly noted. That was a mark against him—Lady Jersey kept bad company. But the Marquess’s apparent indifference to the older woman was a mark in his favor.
Most of the elderly dames were too straitlaced and naïve to note the equally fawning attentions of the Baron of Cullingsley to the young man, or to ascribe any meaning to them.
The young Scotsman was obviously a flirt, and thus an unreliable prospective husband, despite the likelihood of his inheriting a significant piece of the Highlands. He would be better off paying court to that lovely girl Lady Jersey was introducing all about than to Lady Cullingsley. But the young lady was clearly preoccupied with gaining the attentions of the Baron of Cullingsley—a black mark against her.
Christopher did his duty as an unmarried male guest, giving a dance to as many of the young ladies as possible, deliberately including a fair number of the wallflowers who had no other dance partners.
His sister Lady Daphne had been one such girl during her coming out, and he remembered her crying bitterly because all the men ignored her.
Christopher gave one duty dance each to his hostess the Marchioness, and to Lady Jersey, and Lady Cullingsley. Lady Jersey boldly attempted to get him to dance more with her, once going so far as to cut in on a dance as a man would do.
Christopher didn’t give a damn for what the old ladies along the wall might think of Lady Jersey’s behavior. But it happened he was already engaged for the next dance. His partner had a bad complexion, spotted and muddy. But she had fine eyes, which sparkled in amazed gratitude for his attentions.
“Forgive me, Lady Jersey,” he said firmly. “Might I claim one of your later dances, if you have any available? Just now, I am promised to this young lady.”
Lady Jersey pulled back in shock. It seemed no one had ever refused her invitation to dance before.
“You’re promised to—to this ugly little child, and you dare to refuse me?” Her voice carried. People around them went silent and craned their necks better to hear the scandalous exchange.
Lady Jersey scanned the poor girl from head to toe, as she might inspect an errant housemaid with a stained uniform. She turned and walked away in disgust.
Christopher could feel his dance partner’s shoulders begin to shake, and he feared she would embarrass herself by weeping openly. He put his arm around her and led her to the very center of the dance floor. “It’s not your fault,” he whispered. “She is obviously jealous of you.”
To his satisfaction, he saw the plain young lady straighten up with pride. Obviously, in her wildest dreams, she could never have imagined that a beautiful woman like Lady Jersey could ever be jealous of her!
Christopher noticed that she seemed to pull herself together and dance much better than she had done before. And he observed that for the rest of the evening, she had an invitation for each and every dance. Apparently, the ton had suddenly decided his little dance partner was interesting.
* * *
The evening dragged on, but it ended at last, as all things do. The sky was streaked with pink and gold by the time Lady Jersey’s party headed back to Wilton House. All Christopher could think of was sleep. He wouldn’t lie
awake tonight, that was certain.
Christopher said his good nights quickly and headed upstairs to his bedroom. Lady Jersey was obviously still angry—she was barely speaking to him. Well, that’s probably a good thing. One less thing I have to worry about.
As he reached the upstairs hall, he saw the Baron was following him. “A word with you, Clydekill? About Lady Jersey. Let’s talk man to man, as it were.”
Christopher paused outside his bedroom door to hear Lord Cullingsley out. But the Baron gestured they should go inside. “Not for public discussion, m’boy. You never know if servants might be listening.”
Tamed By The Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 8
