‘You certainly are no friend of hers.’
‘You think I don’t speak the truth?’ She laughed softly. ‘Helena hasn’t got this far in life without being a gifted liar, a consummate actress. After living such a limited social existence as we did in the West Indies her exploits are known and, to an extent, tolerated, but now she has a new audience. A multitude of new admirers.’ After a long pause, she added in a whisper, ‘Poor Charles.’
‘Poor Charles, indeed,’ he echoed, straightening and indicating the double doors that opened in to the rooms behind the balcony. ‘Not only does he have the exploits of his wife to contend with, but his sister seems happy enough to excite the gossips also. It’s time to leave, Miss Chesterfield.’ Gripping her elbow, he steered her into Lady Barbery’s boudoir, which was in darkness. ‘Alone.’
Anger quickly replaced her surprise as she jerked her head up. For a minute he almost thought she was going to stamp her foot.
‘It’s been a pleasure, Miss Chesterfield.’ He bowed, and was relieved, when he straightened, to find she had gone.
He turned back to the railings, thoughts of Lady Chesterfield churning in his mind. Lady Chesterfield … masterminding the theft of Catherine’s diamond necklace so that he would champion her? He rolled his shoulders as if his perfectly cut coat were too tight, and balled his fists.
She certainly knew how to tantalize a man, upping the ante with each innocent visit. Had he misread the signs? Each time she’d seemed to be holding him at bay, but was she really trying to convey to him that she was tired of waiting; that it was time for him to be more masterful?
Rampton was not a man who liked to be kept waiting too long, either. He exhaled into the crisp air, making a noise that was part sigh, part growl of anticipation. If the exquisite Lady Chesterfield was so bold that she’d go to the extremes Miss Chesterfield suggested, it was time Rampton took matters even more boldly into his own hands.
He shifted position, unable – nor wanting - to shed the heady desire he felt at the thought. What sweet relief it would be to finally tear off her clothes and tumble her on his expansive carved four-poster designed for such nefarious activities and located in his tower room.
Lady Chesterfield was clearly panting for his tender – or not so tender – ministrations.
Lady Chesterfield had been kept waiting long enough.
***
When Rose saw Helena emerge from the passageway into the ballroom she found the courage to launch into the throng of revellers and accost her sister-in-law, pulling her into a secluded corner.
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ she accused, fingering the hated jewellery at her throat which Lord Rampton had advised her to wear in order to save face. ‘I don’t know how you did it but you found a way to spirit this out of Lady Barbery’s possession and around my neck in order to damn me in everyone’s eyes.’ She was nearly in tears and Helena’s superciliously raised eyebrows did nothing to soothe her disordered nerves.
‘Pray, calm yourself, my dear Rose … or should I say, Helena, and do not accuse me of underhand dealings.’ With a self righteous smoothing of her power blue sash, she went on, ‘Do you think I came to London to be dressed as an innocent while you parade around in the clothes Charles bought for me? Yet have I even once stamped my foot and told you I will no longer countenance the charade you forced me into?’
Rose drew in a shuddering breath. ‘I’m forced to concede I acted rashly, and I’m sorry for it, but your actions tonight could have had me facing the hangman’s noose. Do you not realise that?’
Helena clicked her tongue. ‘Lord Rampton championed you, Rose. That’s all that is important. I had no idea that such nefarious activities accounted for the fact your lovely necklace graces your neck – albeit temporarily - but now we know who it really belongs to you can return it while you redouble your efforts to ensnare the delectable Lord Rampton and leg-shackle him to the altar. I’d say this was a very happy state of affairs and you should be thanking me for insisting you wear it, not accusing me of – what? Stealing a necklace? The idea is preposterous.’
Rose glared at her. ‘I’m not accusing you of stealing it but I am certain you know more than you’re admitting. Furthermore,’ she added, lowering her voice, ‘as a supposedly married woman Lord Rampton is hardly about to offer for me. Oh, yes, I know you think I should play my hand – after all, a rich husband would benefit us all - and you say I should thank you for achieving tonight’s outcome whereby he’s championed me, but’ – she drew herself up proudly – ‘what joy would there be in a union with a man I’d tricked into marriage? You should know that as well as I, Helena-’
She’d struck a nerve. Tossing back the last of her champagne Helena looked at her with loathing. ‘I did not trick Charles into marriage,’ she hissed. ‘He’d been panting for me since long before I was out of short skirts. If you want the truth, I was forced into marriage with him when the man I loved left me. But that’s a long-ago story. Let me just warn you now, my dear Rose, that I intend that you redress all the past ills you’ve visited upon the family – namely me. You will marry Lord Rampton and it won’t be hard to achieve. I’ve seen the way his eyes follow you … the lust that consumes him.’ She paused, snatching up another coupe of champagne from a passing waiter before continuing with studied sweetness, ‘Arabella will receive an offer from Lord Yarrowby within the next six weeks, and you will ensnare your handsome Lord Rampton.’ Raising one eyebrow she contoured the tip of Rose’s breast with her fan and leant into her. ‘You’ve kissed him, haven’t you?’ Her voice was low, sending fear and excited longing up Rose’s spine. It mingled with the disquiet Rose felt at Helena’s reference to the untested Lord Yarrowby and was swept away by shame when Helena whispered, ‘And it made you want more, didn’t it?’
Fiercely, Rose shook her head while she reined in her temper. In clipped tones she said, ‘Honour dictates that I repay what is owed him, as promised, and Aunt Gwendolyn has all but promised-’
‘Aunt Gwendolyn likes to play games and the only assurance you have that we will not all be forced to live like paupers is to play on the feelings of your handsome viscount.’ Helena twirled the stem of her glass as she contemplated Rose over its rim. ‘It is your duty. My hands are tied for I am already married to a man who has not the funds to pay the lease on our shabby little London abode for more than two months but you, Rose, have a duty to ensure that you and your pretty little sister make the matches that will liberate us all.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘I am limited by the narrow sphere to which you relegated me, Rose, but you can be sure I’ll be doing all I can to achieve the happy outcome we all deserve.’
Chapter Eight
RAMPTON PACED THE tower room and watched the road, his agitation fuelled by frustrated desire.
In the days since Catherine’s ball-assembly his enquiries had given vastly different perceptions of Lady Chesterfield. Of course, she had been in England for just a few weeks, but a member of his club who had spent time in the West Indies had some interesting on-dits about the enigmatic beauty. While these had made Rampton feel a dupe, they’d fuelled the fires of his desire.
Lady Chesterfield, from most accounts, had a decided penchant for money, mischief … and men.
His frustration had reached monumental proportions when, two days ago, she had come for her second sitting to Felix with her maid in tow. Yet surely the gleam in her eye hinted that she was as eager as Rampton to graduate to the next stage of their relationship. Was there not a wicked, colluding glint when she asked him how investigations into the theft of Lady Barbery’s necklace were proceeding? Dammit, what was the woman playing at? Did she want him to tie up the maid and bundle her in the antechamber so he could ravish the object of his lustful desires upon the hearthrug?
Actually, the thought had crossed his mind but the maid looked like she’d be a force to reckon with.
Now, though, he had reasonable grounds for thinking that his waiting was at an end. There was only so much cat
and mouse a man could take and the surprised look the confounded woman had levelled at him when he’d told her so under his breath as he’d farewelled her during her last visit had been followed up by a colluding squeeze of his fingertips.
In the meantime Rampton had appeased his former mistress with the sop that hers was one of a curious spate of jewel thefts being investigated at higher levels. It was entirely possible, he’d suggested, that sensitive documents in the possession of Catherine’s husband, who held an important government position, were the real target and the theft of jewels merely a ruse to deflect attention. It was fortuitous that another theft of a diamond necklace had come to his ears since Lady Barbery’s ball.
Waiting for Lady Chesterfield now, Rampton realized how tense he was when the ribbon of dust in the distance which heralded an approaching carriage made him literally sag with relief.
At last. So she hadn’t reneged and made a fool of him.
Felix was in the opposite tower, now, mixing his paints, and would soon usher Lady Chesterfield to her seat for her final sitting. Casting his eye over the masculine appointments of his bedchamber Rampton focused his attention upon the panel behind the large, baronial four-poster in which he and his forebears had been born. The panel hid a secret staircase that connected each floor with the courtyard outside as well as a passageway to the opposite tower. It had been constructed during the time of the dissolution of the monasteries several centuries earlier, when the family had been devoutly Catholic. Many Catholic priests had sought refuge in the darkness before making their escape but now, in safer times, its use was limited to pursuits of a far more frivolous kind. He gave a low laugh. Lady Chesterfield, he felt sure, would be keen to view such a curiosity.
Running his hand across his freshly shaven jaw in anticipation of the preliminaries to their love-making, he felt himself harden as the blood surged to his extremities. No woman had ever affected him like this one. She was fascinating. Intriguing. He loved her strange combination of coquetry and innocence. She was…
…quite unlike any woman he’d ever wanted.
And he wanted her like he’d never wanted anything in his life.
***
With difficulty, Rose had succeeded in dispensing with Edith’s services, slipping out of the house when Helena and Charles had taken Arabella to the Bullock’s Museum. To avoid the outing, she had pleaded a headache and although Helena had looked at her with scepticism, her sister-in-law said nothing. No, Helena must have no idea that Rose intended seeing Lord Rampton alone for although Helena might feel Rose owed them all a glittering marriage to a moneyed peer, Rose knew the repercussions would not be worth it. She wanted his love, not his angry scorn, which is what would be inevitable should he find himself tricked.
But if nothing else, she was desperate enough to take a chance and at least enjoy being the object of his lust – to a degree.
Felix would be wielding his paintbrush, acting as chaperone, but she felt sure Lord Rampton would somehow engineer a few stolen moments where she could melt in his embrace and revel in the kisses he rained upon her, just as he had when he’d come to see her in her drawing what seemed an age ago. Since Helena had spoken of ‘wanting more’ the phrase had assumed monumental proportions. The truth was, Rose wasn’t entirely sure what that entailed. She was keenly aware of the extraordinary sensations his body whipped up in her own. They made her feel breathless and out of control. But surely a bout of passionate kissing would alleviate that? She knew she was risking her reputation in calling upon an unmarried gentleman but he had as much desire of ruining her reputation as she did. Marriage was definitely not on his agenda, she acknowledged. And besides, Master Felix would be nearby and possibly even his lordship’s mother. All in all, she and her reputation would be safe.
Rose had no idea quite how much she was anticipating her rendezvous with his lordship until Felix, after greeting her warmly, said, ‘Can’t imagine where Rampton’s got to.’ He led Rose to her chair where he began to arrange the folds of her gown. Although his actions were intimate, moving an arm here, tucking in a lock of hair there, his manner was business-like.
Returning to the easel and picking up his paintbrush, he continued, unaware of the pain his words caused, ‘There was some business with the overseer. They’re out on the estate but I think Rampton was unsure whether he’d be back in time to see you.’
‘Oh,’ was all Rose could manage, thinking of the lengths to which she had gone to orchestrate this clandestine meeting with Rampton. She had an hour, at best, before Helena would demand that Charles must send out a search party. If she did, it would seem that Charles’s anger would be over nothing.
Felix’s tone was conversational. ‘I hear you set sail in a little under four weeks.’
‘A great loss, I’m sure you’ll agree,’ came a familiar drawl and Lord Rampton strode in, sending Rose’s heart plummeting to her stomach.
As usual, he dominated the room, his broad shoulders filling out his perfectly cut riding-coat, his buckskin breeches tucked into highly polished hessians. He bowed deeply to Rose, taking her hand in his, caressing the sensitive skin with his lips. It was a blatantly provocative gesture and, embarrassed, Rose darted a look at Felix who was pretending great interest in mixing the burnt umber on his palette.
Lord Rampton stepped back and took up position at his brother’s shoulder. ‘A rose,’ he murmured, transferring his gaze from the almost completed portrait to Rose who reclined on the velvet-draped chair.
She jerked forward, as if stung, then looked up to see him gazing into her face with an expression of deep concern. Embarrassed, she gabbled the first words that came to mind. ‘You have the most fascinating home, my lord. I’ve heard tales it was used to hide Catholic priests in fear of their lives.’
His eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘I’ll show you the secret passageway, if you like.’
‘Very much.’
This seemed to please the viscount who, after peering over his brother’s shoulder, remarked, ‘Fine work, Felix, but do not take it amiss when I say that no painting could do justice to Lady Chesterfield.’
‘The inevitable passing of time will ensure that it is a constant reminder to Sir Charles of his good fortune,’ Felix murmured, which only added to Rose’s discomposure.
‘Where do you suppose it will hang, Lady Chesterfield?’ asked Rampton.
‘In the breakfast parlour, I daresay.’ In truth, it would be consigned to the attic, she thought sadly.
‘An ocean away,’ Felix commiserated, ‘and a terrible loss, though perhaps you’ll be a more frequent visitor to our shores, now that you have tasted its delights.’
‘I shall have to make the most of those delights while I am here,’ replied Rose. ‘I cannot see myself returning.’
She glanced at Rampton and was surprised at the warmth of his smile. He did not appear to have taken account of what she had just said, or else she’d misunderstood the depth of his admiration, she thought with sudden dismay. Perhaps he was satisfied with a little flirtation for a few weeks and would feel no regret at saying goodbye.
She shifted in her seat, impatient for Felix to finish so that she and Rampton could be alone. Five minutes. No, fifteen. That was all she craved. The fifteen minutes during which she’d enjoyed Lord Rampton’s passionate kisses when he’d found her at home alone had stoked the fires of a desire she had no idea she possessed and banished her natural caution in her need to experience those sensations just once more. Surely it was not such a great sin to want a handsome man to make her feel beautiful and desired? After all, it was not as if either were otherwise attached, she thought sadly, aware of how divisive her charade would be were he to discover it.
But he would not. If Aunt Alice’s predictions came true, Rose would be able to raise the funds to pay Rampton’s debt honourably, meaning that it would be her choice to be in Lord Rampton’s arms through her own desire alone. He could never accuse her of inveigling her way into his affections as an underhan
d means of absolving her of their debt. The knowledge was liberating.
After what seemed an eternity Felix, with a great show of deliberation, put down his paintbrush and stepped back from his work, pronouncing his labours to be at an end.
Rampton seized Rose’s hand to whisk her out of her chair and they crowded behind the portrait to admire his brother’s work. Felix was grinning with well-deserved pride, for the portrait did Rose justice, highlighting her fragile paleness, imbuing her with a shining innocence that was far from wifely but strangely true to life.
Rampton pulled the velvet bell-rope and a footman entered with a silver tray bearing a bottle of vintage champagne and three crystal coupes.
‘We must celebrate!’ Pouring out the frothing liquid, he handed Felix and Rose a glass each.
Rose felt deliriously happy. She knew her brother would not be pleased, and that the portrait would never grace the walls of the public rooms of their house. However, when she was old and grey she would look at it and remember a fine and handsome gentleman had once thought her a great beauty.
Another bottle was poured to general light-heartedness during which Rampton caught her round the waist and declared her the beauty of the day, then Felix made his excuses and left. At long last Rose and Rampton were alone.
‘I am honoured, Lord Rampton,’ Rose said, only aware as she spoke that she was feeling as lightheaded as light-hearted. She nodded towards the painting. ‘And you have been patience itself.’
He took her glass and set it down on a little table beside the window. ‘I have been patient, haven’t I?’
The deep timbre and intent of his words resonated through her and she felt herself trembling as he pulled her closer against him within the circle of his arm while with his free hand he cupped her chin. Tilting up her face, he kissed her gently on the lips.
She felt the heat rise up through her body and stirred slightly. ‘I don’t mean about that,’ she said, hearing the uncertainty in her laugh but loving the intensity in his look. She’d never felt this way; so deeply connected. ‘I meant in my ability to repay the debt we owe you.’
A Little Deception Page 10
