Lord Wraybourne's Betrothed

by Jo Beverley

  With mischievous humor, Lord Randal dropped a kiss upon her lips. Jane shook her head.

  “No wonder the ladies are unkind if that is your best kiss.”

  Fire suddenly danced behind the black mask as he grinned at her. “You didn’t say that you wanted my best kiss. . . .”

  His arms enveloped her as his head bent down, and she found her body shaped and curved to his. Off balance and breathless, she would have fallen if he had not supported her and yet she was secure in the strength of his arms. His lips played upon hers with such sureness and pleasure that she gladly responded. It stirred a kind of excitement, and yet she had to accept there was none of the devastation her betrothed could arouse in her. At last Lord Randal withdrew his lips. He said nothing, merely smiled at her.

  “That was a very nice kiss,” she said truthfully.

  He gave an elegant bow to acknowledge the compliment, but his eyes told her he guessed something of her motives. “Do you mind telling me what you are about?” he asked.

  Jane felt unable to confess that she had been using him for revenge and so she summoned up a light manner. “Oh, despite my undeservedly risqué reputation, I have led an unexciting life, my friend,” she said airily. “I decided I should have a few little adventures before I become a dull married lady.” But she forgot her act and spoke seriously as she added, “Once I am wed I am determined to be completely faithful, even if Lord Wraybourne proves not to be.”

  “I am sure he would never be so uncourteous,” he said quietly and with equal sobriety. “Are you still bothered by that letter? I assure you, he is not much given to wickedness.”

  “Then why,” Jane demanded, irritated into honesty, “has he brought another woman to this ball?”

  Lord Randal was surprised. “Has he, begad? He merely said he had some business to take care of. Let us go and investigate.”

  He would have no argument and guided Jane in search of her betrothed. The crush on the dance floor had thinned, as many people had decided to go in to supper. Lord Wraybourne was spotted across the room, talking to his sister.

  “So,” said Lord Randal. “Where is the lady?”

  Jane looked around. Had she imagined the whole? But then she spotted the woman. “There,” she said. “The shepherdess.”

  “My, my,” he said softly. “How intriguing. Let us go and talk to David before your imagination runs away with you.”

  Despite Jane’s demands for elucidation, he would say nothing more until they reached the brother and sister.

  Sophie looked out of temper. “Here is Jane now,” she said crossly. “I suggest you pay attention to her and leave me alone. I don’t consider breeches indecent.”

  She imperiously commanded Lord Randal to take her into the garden and swept away while her brother shrugged and appeared to put her costume out of his mind. Jane could detect only warm appreciation on his face when he turned to her.

  “May I congratulate you on the costume, Jane,” said Lord Wraybourne. “It is very becoming and a cunning disguise.”

  “Yours also becomes you very well, David,” she said, forcing herself to use his given name.

  If some strange woman could use his name, then she could too. He noted it with pleasure but with some degree of curiosity as well. Jane waited for a comment or a voluntary explanation of the strange matters at hand. None was forthcoming.

  Abandoning a number of subtle approaches Jane asked outright, “Who is the shepherdess?”

  He looked at her in puzzlement for a moment and then snapped his fingers. “Of course, you were the lady behind the pillar by the stairs. I didn’t recognize you at the time.”

  “Are you going to tell me?” she persisted, disconcerted by his lack of alarm.

  “There isn’t time,” he said in a preoccupied manner.

  His eyes scanned the dance floor. A couple emerged, giggling, from a nearby bower, and he swept her into it and took her in his arms.

  “Have you any idea how much havoc you have caused in me, Jane Sandiford? I should have insisted on an early wedding. I love you to distraction.”

  Jane knew that she needed to breathe but she seemed to have forgotten how. There was no doubting the sincerity or the need, glowing in his eyes. His mouth met hers, and they seemed to melt together. Although it was not as dramatic a performance as Lord Randal’s, she found it much more stirring. She made free with her hands to feel the long muscles of his back and felt him do the same. Distant lilting music made their embrace seem like a dance.

  Abruptly, he broke away and cradled her face in his hands. His thumbs teased her lips and she turned to kiss one, marveling at herself. With a choking laugh he held her close.

  “Our marriage cannot be a moment too soon for me,” he whispered in her ear. “I doubt I can control myself much longer. Perhaps it is as well that I cannot spend the night in dalliance with you. I have to play a little game out on the dance floor,” he continued. “The shepherdess is involved, but she is not my mistress. In no way does she threaten you. Trust me.”

  “I trust you,” she said, conscious of his body pressed to hers.

  All doubts and questions had been swept away. It was not possible that this feeling they shared could be founded in deceit.

  “You could help me if you wish,” he said.

  “Anything,” she answered.

  “Can you find Crossley Carruthers and persuade him to dance with you?”

  “He will take little persuasion once I reveal my identity,” she replied. “Sophie said he has been seeking me out.”

  “He has better taste than I thought,” he remarked with a warm smile, then dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “Later,” he murmured and propelled her on her way.

  She had spotted Mr. Carruthers earlier in the evening and used the knowledge to avoid him. Now she approached where he stood alone, glowering at the company. She realized with disgust that he was drunk but summoned her resolution and went up to him.

  “Mr. Carruthers,” she said teasingly. “You have been ignoring me.”

  “Who the devil are you?” he asked.

  “Fie on you, Sir,” she gushed, trying to be as silly and coy as possible. “And I thought we were so well acquainted!”

  He studied her for a moment, and she suspected that his eyes did not focus as well as usual.

  “Could it be Miss Sandiford?” he asked at last. “Those yella eyes. Well, well, well. I didn’t think you’d come around.”

  Jane took an involuntary step backwards as he pushed his face towards hers.

  “Not surprising I didn’t see those eyes till you got close up,” he said with geniality. “But I should have known those curves.” He seemed to recollect his role of lover. “You are too beautiful to be wasted on an ungrateful lecher like Wraybourne.”

  Jane felt disgusted, but she summoned a flirtatious smile. “Really, Mr. Carruthers!”

  “He’s deserted you again, eh?” he leered and caught her in his arm. “Let’s find a cozy grotto, and I’ll convince you I’m the better man.”

  “Good heavens, no,” she said sharply. “I have been told most expressly not to go into such places.”

  “Rules were made to be broken,” he whispered.

  A shudder passed through her. Was it the same hoarse voice?

  “Not a soul will know. They are all too engaged with their own pleasure.”

  To her horror he dragged her close and pressed his lips to hers. In public! Fumes of wine, both stale and fresh, almost overpowered her. His lips were soggy and moist against hers. She thrust him away without effect, but then suddenly he was gone.

  Sir Marius had him by the ruff. “I think it is time you left,” he said formidably.

  Pale-faced, Mr. Carruthers seemed ready to agree.

  Jane looked round and saw Lord Wraybourne and the shepherdess close by. She could tell from the conflict on his face that he heartily supported the action Sir Marius had taken and yet was concerned for the ruination of his plan. She summoned a smile and t
urned back to Sir Marius and his captive.

  “Please, do not be cross, Sir Marius. It was merely a little game.”

  She gave him a meaningful look, hoping he would realize that there was more to the business than he first perceived. A look of disgust crossed his face, and too late she saw that he thought she was referring to their earlier encounter. He thought she had asked Crossley Carruthers to kiss her.

  “Nevertheless,” said Sir Marius stonily, “I am sure that Mr. Carruthers would prefer to be on his way.”

  “Quite!” squawked the victim, half strangled by the hand at his neck.

  “Nonsense!” snapped Jane, genuinely angry at the situation in which she found herself. “Mr. Carruthers was just about to lead me out to this set.”

  She stretched forward her hand, and Sir Marius could do nothing but let the gentleman go. He scowled quite dreadfully at Jane as she walked away, and she could not resist giving him a saucy look over her shoulder. He would know soon enough that she was innocent, but, goodness, he looked angry enough to crush rocks! She had best avoid him until David could set the matter straight. Meanwhile, her partner’s arm trembled beneath hers.

  “Do not think me ungrateful for your aid,” he said hoarsely. “But I would not have much minded leaving, and I had lief not be in Sir Marius’s bad books. He could knock me out with one blow!”

  “Be bold,” she said bracingly. “ ‘Faint heart never won fair lady.’ ”

  This and the increasing distance between themselves and the scowling Corinthian enabled him to recover his spirits. Unfortunately, this meant that he once again became amorous, and Jane wondered what he was about. Had he forgotten she was not a rich plum for his picking? Jane took solace from the fact that Lord Wraybourne and the shepherdess were one of the couples in their set. But when Mr. Carruthers realized who the Robin Hood was, he gave Jane a very knowing look and positively smirked with triumph.

  The dances were lively country ones which did not favor long conversation. Unfortunately, the Sir Adrian’s Passage involved the ladies passing from one gentleman’s arms to the next. Mr. Carruthers was inclined to hold closely and managed to intrude his hands into the most unlikely places. To offset this, however, there was the advantage of the passages with her betrothed. During one of these he took the opportunity of their closeness to whisper a thank you and a promise to set matters right with Sir Marius.

  At their last pass together he told her she could dismiss Carruthers as soon as she wished. However, Mr. Carruthers had become bold under her earlier encouragement and tried to hustle her over to the leafy shade, promising a variety of delights that disgusted her.

  “If you do not let me go I will scream,” she hissed.

  “Why so coy now?” he queried hotly. “You showed how much you like my kisses and how much you want more. Bet Wraybourne’s never given you more than a kiss on the cheek.”

  “You’re drunk and disgusting,” she snapped, wondering how she was going to get rid of him without a scene.

  “Bet he’s given more to Stella Hamilton,” he continued. Seeing her bewilderment he went on. “That pretty shepherdess he has. Long-time friends they are. How many mistresses are you willing to allow him before you pay him back in his own coin?”

  Panicked, she looked around and saw Sir Marius watching sardonically. She cast him an appealing look. He either did not see or chose to ignore it. She tugged at the hand which Carruthers held in a surprisingly strong grip. He was turning nasty.

  “Or are you merely using me to get back at your neglectful fiancé? Taking advantage of my devotion? Not nice, Miss Sandiford,” he sneered. “I am nobody’s dupe. You’ll come with me and pay your dues.”

  He broke off because someone had tapped him on the shoulder. It was Lord Wraybourne. The lecherous fortune hunter’s eyes popped.

  “My dear Carruthers,” said his lordship pleasantly. “I fear for your health.”

  Jane found herself released and moved gratefully to stand beside her betrothed.

  “My health is fine, My Lord,” said Mr. Carruthers, with an attempt at boldness.

  Lord Wraybourne smiled at him. “You think so, my dear man, but the atmosphere here is positively poisonous. You must leave immediately.”

  Mr. Carruthers spluttered, but there was something particularly menacing in such bonhomie. Lord Wraybourne was an expert with the sword and the pistols, while Mr. Carruthers was competent with neither.

  “I was leaving anyway,” he said with bravado. “Miss Sandiford, I will see you another day.”

  “But your health!” protested his lordship plaintively.

  “What about my health?” demanded Mr. Carruthers, confused by the whole business.

  “You must travel, my dear man,” said Lord Wraybourne earnestly. “Country air. I hear Cheltenham has much to offer such as you. I assure you it is the only way to avoid disaster.”

  Crossley Carruthers glared, but after a moment he spun around and left the room.

  Lord Wraybourne shared a smile with his betrothed. “I trust that will remove the menace.”

  “I am sure it will. I never thought him such a coward.”

  “I would not exactly call it cowardice,” he remarked pleasantly. “More properly, prudence. He knows I will kill him if he touches you again.”

  Her startled gaze flew to his, and they shared a look as intimate as an embrace.

  “I should not ask it of you,” he said after a pause. “But are you able to face another encounter? I would not expect it to be so uncomfortable for you.”

  “Of course,” she said. “As long as you are near I am safe. I did wonder whether Carruthers was the whisperer.”

  “No. I wondered too but it appears not. I will explain everything very soon,” he said. “To enlist your help was a last-minute inspiration or I surely would have told you everything before. Now, can you get Sir Edwin to dance with you?”

  “I am sure I can if I can find him. At least he will not force himself upon me. He is a bore but a gentleman. I will merely have to endure more of his Shakespearian quotations.”

  Lord Wraybourne laughed. “Hamlet’s soliloquies, I suppose.”

  “Oh no,” she said as she searched the room for the Bard. “Strange stuff. I would have thought that he had made it up except that he is no poet. My introduction to Shakespeare is recent so it is not surprising that I did not recognize his passages. Except, of course, ‘Frailty thy name is woman,’ which I thought rather insulting.”

  “I am surprised you didn’t box his ears!” said Lord Wraybourne, laughing. “Can you remember any more of his gems? Were they all misogynistic?”

  She concentrated for a moment, “I don’t think so,” she said at last. “I know he said something about my ‘snow white dimpled chin,’ which I thought weak for I have no dimples.”

  Lord Wraybourne was thoughtful. “You have coral lips, though,” he remarked.

  “Yes, that was part of it!” she declared. “How clever you are. What is it from?”

  “It will come to me,” he said absently. “Any more?”

  “Something about ‘wanton modesty.’ I was not sure whether he was being insulting.”

  “Not in context, no.”

  “Do you know that passage too?”

  “It comes from the same piece, unless I am mistaken.”

  “And what piece is that?”

  “The Rape of Lucrece.”

  Jane could feel herself grow hot. “It sounds most improper.”

  “In fact it is not,” he said. “But it fascinated us as school-boys because it hinted at all kinds of wickedness. That is why I recognized those passages.”

  “What a strange choice of study for a ball, though,” she remarked.

  “Is it not?” he replied with a rather unpleasant smile. “There he is in that group around Sophie. We could have guessed. But a less likely pair is hard to imagine.”

  “Sophie would never be interested in Sir Edwin,” she said as they began to thread their way around th
e room. “He apparently wants to save her from her folly. She needs a strong and upright man, he told me.”

  Lord Wraybourne hissed a violent oath, and she giggled with nervousness. Everyone was behaving so out of character. She was not sure that she liked costume balls, after all.

  “Oh yes!” she exclaimed. “There was something else he said. I cannot remember the words but it was about women having minds made of wax, ready to receive the impression of their husbands’ stronger intellect.”

  “I don’t recall that, but it is very sound,” Lord Wraybourne said, having recovered his equanimity. “I am sure you are as a blank tablet, ready to take my impression.”

  Jane glanced up and was reassured by the teasing twinkle in his eyes. “I am already impressed by you, My Lord,” she returned with a naughty look and then continued with an air of innocence. “I am sure I will always be happy to learn. Are you confessing, however, that your mind is set in stone, never changing?”

  “You are a wicked wench and my greatest delight,” he murmured as he left her.

  She continued on towards Sir Edwin alone. The group about Sophie was gay and witty, but the beauty herself was out of spirits. Jane suspected that was because Lord Randal had once more disappeared. Sophie’s time with him in the garden must have been very brief. Sir Edwin, who was being pointedly ignored, was easily persuaded away.

  “Something ails Lady Sophie,” he complained. “She hardly heard my words, when I had selected some passages from the Bard especially for her.”

  “There were so many people talking there, Sir Edwin,” said Jane soothingly. “Have you not sought her hand in a dance?”

  “She will not dance,” he replied peevishly. “She says she feels foolish doing so in her costume. She should have thought of that before she chose such an unsuitable garb,” he added sharply. “Women should never expose the outline of their lower limbs.”

  “Why not?” asked Jane directly, irritated even though she agreed with him.

  He spluttered with outrage but was lost for an answer. At last he said sternly, “They tempt men!”

  “Men who have a mind to be tempted seem able to be so by any number of unlikely pieces of anatomy,” Jane replied dryly. “Feet, ankles, legs, hips, waists, bosoms, shoulders, arms, necks, chins, lips, eyes, hair. What are we poor ladies to do? Go covered in a sheet as do the women in the East?”