‘Domino, answer me,’ he said a little less gently. ‘Why has Leo Moncaster been hawking you to the Prince as a likely lady-bird?’
She still said nothing.
‘He was also behind the Keere Street race,’ he continued inexorably. ‘He seems to be trying to ruin you. Why?’
She supposed he deserved to know the truth since he had rescued her more than once from Moncaster’s evil. But it was still painful to talk.
‘I crossed him in the past and he is seeking revenge.’
‘In what way did you cross him?’
‘I met Lord Moncaster three years ago,’ she began falteringly. ‘It was when I came to England to stay with my aunt, Lady Blythe.’
‘Yes,’ he encouraged.
‘I stupidly lost money to him at faro, money I couldn’t repay. He took my handkerchief as a token of payment. I didn’t realise that it was a scandalous thing to do and when I tried to get it back, he blackmailed me.’
‘That sounds like the man. But could you not have confessed your troubles to your aunt and asked her to pay the debt?’
‘He would not take money,’ she said without elaborating further.
Joshua looked grim. She imagined that he must know Moncaster well enough to guess the depths of his villainy.
Aloud he said, ‘Would it be indelicate to enquire how you resolved your difficulties?’
‘I eloped.’
‘What!’
‘Not exactly eloped,’ she clarified. ‘A friend helped me escape from England. The plan was to go to my father’s friends in Paris and then on to Spain, but we only got as far as Dover.’
He seemed to smile at the innocence of this recital. ‘What happened at Dover?’ he prompted.
‘Benedict’s sister arrived and made us return to London.’
‘Benedict?’ A frown passed swiftly across his face.
‘Yes, Benedict Tallis. Do you know him?’
‘I have heard of him,’ he said shortly.
‘He got into immense trouble because of me and was sent back to Cornwall. But at least there was no scandal. And it turned out that as I was under age, Lord Moncaster could not insist on the debt and had no hold over me. My aunt paid him anyway.’
‘You seem to have a lively ability to get into scrapes, Señorita de Silva.’
‘I do, don’t I?’ And she looked so comically concerned that he burst out laughing.
‘A girl after my own heart! Come, let us forget Prinny and his dastardly ways. Will you let me show you around my workroom or would you prefer to remain alone?’
‘I would enjoy seeing your workroom,’ she said a little shyly.
Though small by palace standards, the room was bright and airy. The last rays of the evening sun flooded through open doors, which led to the gardens beyond, and a breeze gently lifted delicate voile curtains hanging either side of the long windows. She breathed in the fresh air with relief, then walked slowly around the room, looking with interest at the pictures hung four deep on the walls and the several piles of canvases stacked against a large chest. A battered paint-splashed smock was thrown carelessly over an easel and to one side a tray held paint tubes of every conceivable hue.
‘What do you think?’
‘It is a genuine artist’s studio,’ she responded warmly.
‘A studio at least—and I keep plenty of “genuine” art as a reminder of what I should be aiming for.’
She saw at a glance that the walls were hung with a plentiful display of works by the painter she had admired at the Grove Gallery. He was certainly a fine artist. She felt Joshua watching her as she wandered the room, every now and then pausing to look at a particular painting, viewing it from different angles until she was satisfied. He made no attempt to follow, but when she began to browse the canvases stacked against the corner chest, he moved swiftly towards her and placed a restraining hand on her wrist. In the companionable silence, she had regained much of her composure and his sudden prohibition jarred.
‘They are mere daubings,’ he explained smoothly, ‘without interest and not good enough to frame.’
‘This looks a little more than daubing…’ she gestured to the canvas that fronted the stack ‘…it catches the light and the Sussex coast perfectly.’
‘You are generous, but the rest are much the same and hardly worth your attention.’ His tone admitted no disagreement. ‘Can I get you some refreshment before we return to the Gallery?’
‘A glass of wine would be welcome.’
She sounded politely neutral, but felt irritated that he had changed the subject so determinedly. It was strange that he was opposed to her viewing the remaining works. It was probably just vanity; no doubt the pictures deteriorated in quality the further you explored. But when he left her for a moment to pour the wine, she was sufficiently intrigued to defy his wishes and surreptitiously began to flick through them. He had been right about the similarity of the paintings; they were virtually all seascapes, the light clear, the atmosphere still and the meeting of sea and sky a hardly perceptible line. As she skimmed each canvas it seemed that their horizons grew more and more distant, attempting almost to span infinity. Something about them called to her, their sense of freedom perhaps, their suggestion of escape.
More and more seascapes, but then in the middle of the stack, a lone portrait. It was the image of a young girl. Dark eyes looked searchingly out at her, glossy raven curls tumbled on to soft shoulders and the creamy skin of arms and breast gleamed translucent in the dying light of the day. She gasped: she was looking at herself.
He turned at the sound, a glass in his hand, and stood motionless as her eyes travelled from the painting to his face.
‘This is me!’
‘I am glad that it is recognisable, at least.’ The joke felt a little flat.
‘But why have you painted me?’
‘I take my inspiration where I find it.’ His tone was negligent. ‘Your face intrigued me—it’s not an English face and I wanted to try to capture it.’
‘It’s very good,’ she said slowly and looked back at the portrait.
The face was a study in radiance, the eyes sparkling with vitality, the curls glistening and tumbling with hidden life. Every line of the painting spoke feeling and she felt dazed at the thoughts that came unbidden to her mind. Was it possible that she stirred such emotions in him?
He cut her reverie short with a brusque enquiry. ‘Your father mentioned that you would shortly be travelling to Spain. How long exactly are you fixed in Brighton?’
She ceased dreaming immediately. The return to her aunts had been temporarily forgotten, lost in more pressing concerns, but recurred now with unwelcome clarity.
‘I’m not sure. For as long as my father thinks it worthwhile. I imagine that Papa will return to London when the Regent travels back to Carlton House.’
‘And you will leave for Spain?’ She found his questioning unsettling, but nodded a silent assent.
‘Then be on your guard during the weeks you remain here. You have attracted the enmity of people in high places, the Duchess of Severn as well as Moncaster.’
‘I cannot understand why I should have done so. Until I came to Brighton, I had never met the lady.’
‘Charlotte Severn is a jealous woman,’ he said obliquely.
She sipped at her wine, unsure of his meaning. Joshua enlightened her.
‘It seems that Her Grace feels my interest in you is too great, hence her rather clumsy attempts at your social humiliation.’
A ready blush flew to her cheeks and she dared not look at him.
‘She is mistaken, however. You are a piece of perfection, but I’m not in the market for ingénues. I leave that to the connoisseurs of Spain.’
H
is words were unexpectedly biting; he appeared to blame her for a future over which she had little control.
‘I am sure the duchess will be delighted to hear the news,’ she said witheringly. ‘Perhaps you should tell her yourself and quickly. Then I might be spared any further “unpleasantness”.’
Her indignation found vent in a swift walk up and down the room, her skirts swishing in noisy displeasure as she passed close to him.
‘What the duchess knows or doesn’t know is of no concern to me,’ he said, equally withering. ‘I am insulted that you believe me willing to consort with a woman capable of such base trickery.’
‘Your friendship is at an end?’ She could hardly believe her ears.
‘It has been at an end for some time.’
‘I did not know that.’
‘Of course you did not,’ he responded acidly. ‘After all, I am the lowest form of masculine life, am I not?’
Her heart did a strange little dance. Whatever had tied him to the duchess, the knot was well and truly broken. It was time to call a truce.
‘You have been good enough to rescue me,’ she began with difficulty.
‘On a number of occasions.’
‘On a number of occasions,’ she agreed. ‘It would be unbecoming in me not to acknowledge that.’
‘It would—and so…?’
‘And so I should apologise for calling you a rake.’
‘You should not,’ he said unexpectedly, ‘for that is what I am.’
She let out a long breath. Really he was impossible.
‘But,’ he continued hurriedly, ‘I give you my word that you will never find me other than an honourable man.’
A deeper flush spread across her soft cheeks, beckoning him closer. He resisted the invitation.
‘Why do you always paint the sea?’ she asked suddenly.
‘I hardly know. Perhaps because the sea is ever changing and I am equally restless.’
She considered this for a moment, but before she could reply, he went on, ‘Perhaps because the sea offers a constant promise.’
‘And what does it promise?’
‘Liberty, movement, transformation—all of these and more.’
She was intrigued. ‘Why would you wish for such things?’
‘Why not?’
‘I can think of a dozen reasons. You already have the liberty to be or do what you wish. You are wealthy, popular with those you live among, a favourite with the Regent. Why would you want to transform?’
His laugh rang hollow. ‘Nothing in your list persuades me. The palace is a web of lies and popularity at Court is as transient as the gossip that it feeds upon. As for wealth, it’s certainly better to have money than not, but that is the sum of its importance.’
For a moment she was taken aback until she recalled his words the very first day they’d met. She had wondered then why such an obviously successful man needed the solace of painting.
‘It is always possible to change one’s life,’ she said tentatively, ‘for a man, if not for a woman.’
‘You think so? That is the innocence of youth talking. Once one’s feet are set upon a path, Domino, they are generally doomed to tread it forever more.’
She was disconcerted by the weariness in his voice, but then he seemed to shrug off his depression and was studying her intently. ‘Why do you think a woman is not able to change her world, if she has enough spirit? I cannot believe you to be wholly powerless in deciding the course of your life, for example.’
She flushed. ‘There are circumstances,’ she murmured faintly. ‘It is not that easy.’
‘Really? And what are those circumstances?’
She did not answer his challenge directly. She had no answer. Instead she took refuge in a timeworn phrase. ‘I suppose that change may not necessarily be for the better.’
‘Ah, yes, the old cliché. The trouble with truisms is that they are so often true. You’re right, change isn’t always good, the sea doesn’t always deliver its promises.’
For a second only she glimpsed the deep well of disillusion beneath the surface calm.
‘Does not your home in Norfolk hold any promise?’ she said quickly. ‘It would seem an ideal place in which to set up a permanent studio.’
‘I have little interest in the house.’ He had swiftly regained his nonchalance. ‘I inherited Castle March from an uncle a few years back. It was not where I grew up; I hardly know the area.’
‘Where did you grow up?’
‘Oxfordshire.’
‘Do you ever visit the county?’ she was emboldened to ask.
‘No. I no longer have ties there, or indeed anywhere.’
‘But your family?’
‘Yes?’ The monosyllable should have warned her that she was approaching dangerous ground, but she pressed on. She wanted to know as much as she could about him.
‘Your family is still in Oxfordshire?’
‘I have a brother living there.’ His voice lacked emotion. ‘I hardly know him—he is ten years older than I. My parents have been dead these five years.’
‘I am very sorry.’ She felt bad now at having obliged him to offer information he evidently wished to keep to himself, but he seemed unperturbed.
‘Don’t be. We were not a close family.’
‘They did not share your interest in art?’
‘They did not share my interest in anything.’ His laugh was laconic. ‘I must confess to being an embarrassment to my family from the moment I was born. My parents were more than contented with one child and my arrival was inconvenient to say the least. And then I managed to continue the good work by being a permanent black sheep. Naturally my brother was the model son. I spent my youth breaking every known prohibition, so it’s hardly surprising I was expelled from the family seat at an early age. Hence my wanderings.’
She looked stricken and he said in a rousing voice, ‘There’s no need for tears. I hated my home, whereas the time I spent travelling in Europe gave me lasting pleasure.’
‘But you must have been very young when they sent you abroad,’ she said sadly.
‘Young enough, but I survived. Families have to be negotiated, do they not?’ he asked slyly. ‘Yours, for instance, seems intent on marrying you to a man you do not even know.’
‘They are not forcing me,’ she protested. ‘I have agreed.’
‘But why would you do so?’ He sounded genuinely perplexed.
‘I have to marry.’
‘Then choose someone you love.’
‘As you have?’ she retorted.
‘Learn from my mistakes. Life without love is hardly worth living.’
‘I have loved,’ she returned with dignity, ‘but it was not sufficient.’
For the first time she found that she could openly acknowledge the hurt she had suffered; somehow the memory of Richard no longer felt so distressing.
‘He must have been blind, deaf and insane to boot,’ he said roughly, hearing the past pain in her words. Then, catching her hands in his, he demanded, ‘Tell me his name and I will personally knock some sense into him!’
She smiled up at him, warmed by the sincerity of his voice and the glow from those leonine eyes.
‘I fear you are too late’, and she allowed herself a small gurgle of laughter. ‘He has already made his decision and married another.’
‘Then he deserves even more of a kicking.’
He let go of her hands to reach out for a stray tendril of hair and then curled it around his finger. Slowly he brought the curl to his lips. She stood motionless as his fingers moved from her hair to her face, lightly touching her cheek and then softly brushing her neck to come to rest on her bare shoulders. A breat
hless, slow heat began to uncurl within her. He was looking hungrily down at her, his eyes a molten brown flecked with that golden intensity. She felt herself mesmerised, falling into a vortex that was drawing her inexorably to his very centre; hardly knowing what she was doing, she brushed a flaxen strand of hair from his forehead and allowed it to drift through her fingers. The gesture seemed to unleash in him the passion he had so far restrained and he lowered his head and brought his mouth down on hers in a kiss of such aching pleasure that all rational thought vanished. She could think of nothing but the feel of him, the scent of him, the taste of him. He kissed her once more slowly and tenderly and then again, exploring, savouring and finally allowing the full force of his desire to wash over her. She was reduced to trembling sensation. When he lifted his lips it was to trail kisses down her neck, her shoulders and to settle whisperingly against the creamy swell of her bosom. A throbbing arrow of heat pierced her and she found her body arching, cleaving desperately to him. Somewhere in the distance she heard herself moan softly.
The sound seemed to bring him to his senses; in a moment he had stepped back from her, breathing heavily and looking considerably less polished. It was a while before he spoke and when he did his voice was still ragged with passion.
‘You should keep your distance from me; I will only bring you distress.’ Then, in a quieter tone, he continued, ‘Forgive me, Domino. You are a beautiful girl in all senses of the word, but that does not excuse my breaking the promise I made—and so quickly.’
Still in a daze of desire, she managed to stammer a disclaimer. Neither felt able to say more and the silence between them was filled with unexpressed feeling until Joshua, in an attempt to make light of the situation, joked, ‘As an experienced rake, I should advise you that now would be a good time to return to your family!’
As he spoke, he proffered his arm and she took it with as much dignity as she could muster, her head held high. Retracing their steps across the library and down the corridor, she saw them reflected in the many mirrors lining the walls. He may be dangerous, but what a comely couple we make, she thought. Almost respectable! She could have laughed aloud but for the mantra beating inside her head: she must never allow herself to lose control like that again. Her father must never know what had just occurred. He must never guess at the force of her desire. Nor Carmela and her aunts—certainly not—and as for the unknown Spanish husband, he must stay forever ignorant of such unmaidenly passion. And there was no reason that any of them should ever know. At least rakes did not kiss and tell or they would hardly be so successful.
Society's Most Scandalous Rake Page 11
