Ellen was waiting as they left the dance floor, compliments on their dancing tripping from her tongue.
‘Yes, well, now I have done my duty and it is your turn,’ Phyllida responded, a shade too brightly, Richard thought, before excusing herself and hurrying away.
He led Ellen out to join the next set but he found it difficult to concentrate. His head was still full of Phyllida, how well they danced together, how he had enjoyed having her tall, graceful figure beside him. The way the candlelight glinted on the golden strands in her hair, the elusive, seductive scent of her. For pity’s sake he must stop this sentimental yearning and concentrate upon his partner. After all, Ellen Tatham was the prize he had set himself to win. Never had a dance seemed longer, or less enjoyable, but at last it was over. Richard surrendered Ellen to her new partner and took himself off to the card room, but the games held no allure and after a wasted hour he returned to the ballroom, his eyes immediately seeking and finding Phyllida, who was dancing with Sir Charles Urmston.
Richard frowned. Was that at Ellen’s instigation? If she was playing off her tricks on Urmston she might find herself undone. He stationed himself against one wall and watched until the dancers reorganised themselves for the next set and he was relieved to see Ellen stand up with Adrian Wakefield. Phyllida, he noticed, had detached herself from Urmston and was standing on the far side of the room. She looked composed now. Had she enjoyed dancing with Urmston? More so than standing up with himself? The idea annoyed him.
As if aware of his scrutiny she looked across at him and their eyes met, but she looked away again immediately. That annoyed him, too, as did the temptation to cross the room and join her. What was he thinking? A little dalliance was one thing, sufficient to win the lady over, but anything more would not help him to win Miss Tatham’s hand and that was his objective. Wasn’t it?
He wanted to leave, to clear his head, but Tesford and Cromby were clearly waiting to pounce on Ellen when the dancing ended and he knew he should stay. It was not in his interests to let any of them gain an advantage with the heiress. He glanced at his watch. There would be a break for refreshments next and Richard knew what to do. A quiet word with George Cromby came first, telling him that his wife’s bosom friend was looking for him. That sent the fellow scuttling away to the card room. The music faded and young Wakefield was leading Ellen back to Phyllida. Urmston and Tesford were already closing in, determined to escort the ladies into supper. Richard made his move. A judicious nudge sent a waiter’s tray flying and claret cascaded over Tesford’s white-quilted waistcoat, forcing him to retire. He then intercepted Sir Charles on the pretext of asking him about the mare he was selling. By the time Urmston had shaken him off it was too late for him to do any harm: young Wakefield had carried off Ellen and her stepmother to join his family. Richard sank down on the fast-emptying benches in the ballroom. He needed to think.
* * *
Phyllida listened to Ellen chattering away to the Wakefields but the words did not make sense. Nothing had made sense since she had danced with Richard Arrandale. The moves, the touch of hands, the closeness of their bodies when the dance brought them together—it had stirred emotions within her that she had never felt before. The crowd had disappeared; for a while it had been just her and Richard, alone together. Of course it did not last and she was foolish to wish it could. It was just a dance and however much he might smile into her eyes, however much she might read into his look, he was merely being courteous, as he had been all those years ago.
Even worse, she knew his courtesy had an ulterior motive, to gain her approval for his courtship of Ellen. That was out of the question. Ellen would make her come-out next year and Phyllida would ensure she enjoyed at least one Season in town before she decided on a life partner. Ellen herself had declared that it was not her intention to marry too soon, but Phyllida knew that hearts were fickle. A look, a touch was enough to send all sensible plans flying out of the window. Phyllida watched her stepdaughter as she chatted happily to Julia and Adrian Wakefield. She showed no signs of having lost her heart and Phyllida sent up a silent prayer that she would not do so for a long time yet.
* * *
Phyllida’s head was aching. She longed to go home but the dancing had recommenced and her stepdaughter was once more in great demand. She watched with dismay as Richard Arrandale cut out Henry Fullingham and carried Ellen off for a second time. That was enough. She dared not allow Ellen to stand up with him again. It was not pique or jealousy, she told herself. Tongues would wag if any one admirer became too particular.
‘Lady Phyllida, you are looking very pale, are you unwell?’ Lady Wakefield’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
‘No, ma’am. I am a little tired perhaps.’
‘Why do you not go home? I can easily convey Ellen to Charles Street later.’
‘No, I am her guardian, I must be here to look out for her.’
She shook her head, but that made it ache even more horribly.
Lady Wakefield touched her arm. ‘My dear, you look positively white. Do, at least go into the tea room and sit down quietly for a little while.’ When Phyllida hesitated she said bluntly, ‘You are concerned for Ellen, having seen her stand up again with Mr Arrandale.’
‘I know it is only a second dance,’ said Phyllida. ‘Perhaps I refine upon it too much, but...’
Lady Wakefield patted her hand.
‘I shall make sure he does not dance with her again, nor any of the other gentlemen who have had their two dances. There are several young friends of Adrian’s who have not yet danced with Ellen and I will make sure they get their turn. Off you go and look after yourself.’
‘Ah, you understand,’ murmured Phyllida, with a grateful smile. ‘I will do as you suggest, ma’am, and find somewhere quiet to sit for a while.’
She slipped away through the door to the Octagon, but this was quite as noisy as the ballroom and she moved on to the tea room, where there were fewer people but their jackdaw-like chatter echoed around the lofty space. Quickly she passed on to the antechamber. It was empty for the moment and she sat down on one of the benches there. After a while the pain in her head subsided, but the hard knot of unhappiness in her chest did not. She closed her eyes as regret, deep and bitter, welled up. For a brief moment she wished that at seventeen she had been as beautiful and confident as Ellen. Then perhaps some young and attractive gentleman might have made her an offer, instead of a man old enough to be her father. Perhaps even Richard might have been tempted.
But there her sensible nature fought back. Richard Arrandale was a rake. If she had been pretty enough to attract his attention then the hard truth was that he would have seduced her. Phyllida sighed. The past was gone, it could not be brought back. Sir Evelyn had been a good husband, and even though they had not been in love they had been happy. He had treated her very well and given her the confidence and the means to stand up to her relatives and choose to live alone. She would always be grateful to him for that. And she would always be grateful for Ellen. She had become very fond of her stepdaughter and would do her best to make sure she was happy.
A familiar, amused drawl interrupted her reverie.
‘I wondered where you had gone. Do you consider it safe to let Miss Tatham out of your sight?’
Her eyes flew open. Richard Arrandale was standing before her, looking so devilishly handsome in his close-fitting dark coat that her heart missed a beat and a wave of desire washed over her, so strong she thought she might faint. Afraid he might read her thoughts if she looked into his eyes, Phyllida fixed her gaze upon the single diamond winking from the folds of his snowy neckcloth as she responded.
‘She will come to no harm while she is dancing.’ Her voice at least was under control. ‘Are you leaving?’
‘Yes. That should relieve you of one worry, at least.’
‘I have no idea what you mean.’
‘Do you not?’ To her alarm he sat down beside her on the bench. ‘I have the distinct feeling you do not trust me. Is that why you are always putting yourself in my way, claiming my attention when we meet?’
‘How...how absurd.’
He continued as if he had not heard her faint protest.
‘And is that not why you changed your mind and joined the ride to Farleigh Castle, to save Ellen from falling into my clutches?’
‘Of course not.’
‘No? Then perhaps it was because you have developed a liking for my company.’
‘How arrogant you are. And quite mistaken.’
‘You did not stop me from kissing you, at the picnic. In fact, I think you enjoyed the experience.’
‘Pray do not try to flirt with me, Mr Arrandale. You are wasting your time.’
‘Am I? But you blush so adorably.’
His fingers touched her cheek and she jumped up as if she had been burned.
‘Quite the contrary.’ She took a deep breath. It was time to nip in the bud any pretensions the man might have. ‘I think I should tell you, Mr Arrandale, that your reputation is well known to me. Before you came to Bath Lady Hune delighted in recounting your scandalous intrigues. You may be her nephew, she may be very fond of you, but from what the dowager has told me I do not think you are a fit and proper acquaintance for Ellen.’
He had risen too and was looking down at her, a faint crease in his brow.
‘That is the word with no bark on it.’ He paused a moment, as if weighing his words. ‘Lady Phyllida, I did not come to Bath with the intention of pursuing any...er...scandalous intrigues.’
‘But you had not then seen my beautiful stepdaughter.’
‘Madam, I—’
Phyllida drew herself up as tall as possible, but even so her eyes were only level with his mouth. It was a disadvantage, to have to look up to him, but where Ellen was concerned she must be strong.
‘Mr Arrandale, I am well aware of the temptation Ellen must be to you, and others of your ilk. She is rich and she is pretty, but she is to be presented at Court next year and I have no intention of allowing anything or anyone to interfere with my plans, do you understand me?’
She forced herself to meet and hold his gaze, hoping he would see how determined she was. To her consternation the lines deepened around his eyes and a disturbing glint appeared in their blue depths.
‘I might almost take that as a challenge, Lady Phyllida.’
A tiny spark of anger flared. Her chin lifted a fraction higher.
‘You may take it any way you wish, Mr Arrandale. I am not afraid of you.’
* * *
Richard stared at the slender woman standing before him. Egad, how had he ever thought her mousy? Her honey-brown hair highlighted the creamy perfection of her skin and anger had deepened the colour of her eyes to a rich sea-green. They positively sparkled in the candlelight. With that stubborn tilt to her head she was quite captivating. He admired her spirit, but did she really think she could prevent him, if he wished to seduce Ellen Tatham? A tiny voice in his head urged caution, he should walk away and leave her alone, but for the life of him he could not ignore this woman. When he had seen her sitting alone and forlorn in the antechamber he had stopped to tease her, wanting only to put her sadness to flight. Now she had thrown down the gauntlet and the desire to pick it up proved irresistible. He could not help responding but he grinned to show he was only teasing her.
‘Let battle commence, then, my lady.’
* * *
Phyllida stared at him. Did he think she was funning? Perhaps a young girl’s reputation meant nothing to him, but if he or any other man were to compromise Ellen her life would be ruined. With a final, scorching look and a toss of her head Phyllida turned and walked quickly back to the ballroom. If he wanted battle then she was ready. She would defend Ellen with her life, if necessary!
* * *
Dawn was breaking by the time Richard returned to Royal Crescent, where a sleepy servant let him in. He collected his bedroom candle and made his way slowly and unsteadily up the stairs.
He had just gained the landing when he heard his name.
‘Is that you, Richard?’ His great-aunt stood in her doorway, a shadow against the lighted room behind her. ‘I cannot sleep, my boy. Would you join me for a glass of Madeira?’
He had had a surfeit of the wine already but he could not refuse Sophia’s request. With a murmured assent he followed her back into the room, blinking in the light. It was an antechamber to the dowager’s bedroom and he frowned when he saw the decanter and glasses standing on a side table.
‘Have you been waiting up for me?’
‘Devil a bit,’ she retorted crudely. ‘Can you not see I am in my cap and nightgown? When you get to my age you will realise that sleep does not come so readily. You may pour us both a glass of wine and then sit down. Where have you been tonight?’
‘Oh, here and there.’ He settled back in his chair. ‘I stopped off at Burton’s. Playing hazard.’
‘And did you win?’
He grinned. ‘Of course.’
‘Good. And were you at the Assembly Rooms earlier?’
‘I looked in.’
‘I believe Miss Tatham is attracting a great deal of attention.’
He was on his guard now.
‘Is it any wonder? She is a diamond.’
‘She is also a babe,’ Sophia retorted. ‘Not yet eighteen.’ She held up her empty glass. Richard eased himself out of his chair and went to the side table to collect the decanter. She continued. ‘Rumour has it that there is a wager to see who can be first to seduce the heiress.’
‘Where in blazes did you hear that?’
‘I have my sources,’ she replied darkly. ‘Are you aware of the wager?’
‘I am.’
As he stood over her, refilling her glass, she said sharply, ‘Are you a party to it? Are you making a play for Miss Tatham?’
He did not answer immediately, returning the decanter to its tray and settling down again in his chair before saying lightly, ‘I would be a fool not to do so. She is very beautiful, besides being worth a considerable fortune.’
His great-aunt snorted. ‘A schoolroom miss who would bore you within a month.’
‘She would be better off married to me than to many of the fellows who are chasing her!’ He let his breath go in a long sigh and sat forward, rubbing his temples. ‘I was at Burton’s when the idea was suggested. I went along with it—’
‘Of course. When have you ever refused a wager?’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘You are an Arrandale, after all.’
‘I had intended—that is, I thought I might make a push to secure Ellen Tatham for myself. After all, her fortune would prove very useful. Now...’ His breath hissed out. ‘I have had plenty of affairs, Sophia, you know that, and I’ve enjoyed them, but I have never yet met any woman I wanted to marry.’ He shook his head. ‘Pursuing an heiress, seducing an innocent—I have never been in that line. If you want the truth, I don’t think I have the heart for it.’
‘You relieve my mind.’ He heard the rustle of a silk dressing gown as the dowager sat forward in her chair. ‘Richard, I have known you all your life. I know you were sent down in disgrace from Oxford. I followed your career in town, all the scandals, the affairs, but I have never believed that was the man you were meant to be.’
He laughed. It was a harsh, humourless sound, even to his own ears.
‘I am an Arrandale, madam. Scandal is our destiny. Look at my brother. And your own granddaughter, for that matter!’
‘Perhaps it is too late for Wolfgang, and I admit Cassandra’s elopement was foolish, yet it was her choice and she must live with it. But you—Richard, there is much goodness in you, it is merely tha
t you have not discovered it yet.’ When he lifted his head to look at her she smiled. ‘You think at five-and-twenty you know everything there is to know but trust me, I am older and wiser than you and I say you are not a rake.’
He spread his hands. ‘Then what am I?’
The question hung in the air, answered only by the soft tick of the ormolu clock on the mantelshelf. Richard gave a shrug and passed one hand across his eyes.
He said wearily, ‘I think I am more drunk than I realised. I beg your pardon, Sophia.’
‘No matter. It is not the first time I have seen a man in his cups. Go to bed, Richard, but first help me out of this chair.’
He asked, as he pulled her to her feet, ‘Shall I ring for your maid?’
‘Lord, no, I have only to throw off my wrap and blow out the candle. I am not so infirm that I cannot do that for myself.’
He kissed her cheek. ‘Goodnight, then, Sophia.’
‘Sleep well, my boy.’ She clung to his hands, her fingers thin as claws. ‘In the morning things might seem clearer.’
* * *
Her words came back to him the following morning as he lay in bed, hands clasped behind his head, gazing up at the intricately carved tester above him. The night’s sleep had confirmed his thoughts, that he was damned uncomfortable hunting a schoolgirl, even if she was an heiress.
He shifted restlessly. Why had he made that foolish remark to Lady Phyllida? He should have realised she was serious, and would think that he was, too. Blast it, he had no wish to fight with her, but she roused in him feelings he had never known before. Feelings that confused him. More than that, they frightened him. He was no longer in control when he was with her, he acted in ways he could not explain and he was very much afraid that it was only a matter of time before he did something they would both regret. What that might be his mind shied away from, and he turned his thoughts once more to the wager.
The Chaperon's Seduction Page 12
