by Anne Herries
When Deborah requested that they should ride to the beach, they agreed at once. She noticed that all three were heavily armed and thought it sad that such precautions should be necessary in this beautiful place. The feud with Don Manola and his son had intruded even here into this paradise.
It was a merry party who set out that morning. Everyone laughed and sang as they rode at a gentle canter. There was no need for haste. All three gentlemen were plainly there to amuse and guard—or protect—her while Nicholas was away.
He was away all that day and night, and Deborah missed him. His friends tried to amuse and entertain her as before, but somehow their jests fell flat without the man who was the very centre of this world.
When he returned the next afternoon he brought a small cavalcade of three ladies and four gentlemen with him. Deborah was introduced to all the guests in turn and greeted warmly by them. She was a little disconcerted to discover that they seemed to take her presence at the château for granted, showing no surprise that she should be there without companions or relatives to attend her.
Deborah had taken a long, leisurely bath after her ride that morning, and her hair was freshly washed with scented soap. That evening, Louise brushed it back and secured it with a rolled bandeau of green velvet and cloth of gold, leaving a few tendrils to escape and curl enticingly about the perfect features of her face.
The seamstress had somehow managed to finish an evening gown. The underskirt was of a pale primrose yellow, lightly traced with pearls where the dark green overskirt fell back in a deep frill. The sleeves were puffed at the shoulders and split to show silk ribbons of a deep yellow colour.
Louise had just finished dressing her when they heard the knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ Deborah called. She was expecting it to be Mistress Trevern and did not rise from her stool. She was startled when the marquis entered. ‘Oh…my lord. I did not think it was you.’
‘I hope I do not disturb you, mistress?’
‘No, not at all. Louise had finished her work. I was about to come down.’
‘I have brought you a gift,’ Nicholas said. ‘If your maid will remove the ribbon about your neck…’ He took a string of large creamy pearls from inside his doublet. ‘I believe these will compliment your gown.’
‘But…’ Deborah stared at the beautiful pearls. ‘Are you sure you wish to lend me something as valuable as these, sir?’
‘They are not a loan,’ he replied. ‘Nor were they my mother’s. I bought them yesterday for you from a goldsmith. They are a gift of friendship, and I hope you will accept them as such.’
‘They—they are lovely,’ Deborah said. She knew she ought to refuse. Such a gift was too costly to accept and yet she did not want to see the warmth fade from Nicholas’s eyes. ‘You are too generous, sir. I can only offer you my thanks. I shall always treasure your gift.’
‘Then I am well rewarded,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘Will you allow me to escort you downstairs?’
Deborah stood up, slipping her arm through his. He was so tall, such a powerful, strong man—and being close to him set her whole body trembling with delight. Yet this feeling between them was not just a physical thing; she was truly happy and proud to be escorted by this man, for she was coming to like him more and more as she came to know him. How could she ever have thought him harsh or cold? Now that she knew what caused the bleak look that shadowed his eyes at times, she understood it. There was darkness in him, but she was not afraid of him.
‘You look beautiful,’ Nicholas told her as they walked down the gallery together. ‘Is that a new gown?’
‘Yes, my lord. The seamstress must have worked all night to finish it.’
‘I told her she must complete the first by this evening. I hope you are pleased with it, Deborah?’
‘Yes, my lord. It is elegant and fine and fits me very well. I am grateful for your thoughtfulness.’
‘I do not ask for gratitude,’ he replied with a little frown. ‘Only that you should find your visit pleasant.’
‘I am…strangely, I am happy,’ Deborah admitted truthfully. ‘Perhaps I ought not to be, but I confess I believe any woman would be privileged to live in such a place.’
Nicholas’s eyes seemed to caress her, making her heart sing for pure joy. She felt her cheeks grow warm and her pulses went wild. Was he about to kiss her? He had promised it would not happen again while she was his guest—but oh, she wanted him to kiss her! She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to know again that wondrous sensation that only his touch could arouse in her.
‘I am honoured by your presence in my home,’ was all Nicholas said, and then he was drawing her down the stairs to join the assembled company.
Their moment of intimacy had passed. For the remainder of the evening, Nicholas was the perfect host, giving his attention equally to each of his guests in turn.
He had engaged a small troupe of musicians and tumblers for their entertainment that evening. After a sumptuous meal of many rich courses, which far outshone anything Deborah had ever tasted, the guests watched as the tumblers performed their amazing somersaults and juggled with flaming torches. The minstrel sang his song of courtly love and after he had finished the musicians set up a merry tune and the company began to dance.
Nicholas took Deborah’s hand for the first, which was not as wild as the one they had danced together at the English Court, but a lively country romp in which everyone joined hands in circles. After their dance Deborah was claimed by each of the gentlemen in turn, and Nicholas danced with various ladies, including his cousin.
Deborah could not help noticing how intensely Marie gazed up at him. Surely Nicholas must be aware of her passion for him? Deborah wondered that he did not appear to notice the expression of longing in Marie’s eyes.
He had allowed her to remain at the château—but might it not have been kinder to give her a dowry and see her wed to another? She was young and lovely, and it would be a shame if she were to wither away into a sour old maid because her passion was not returned.
Deborah noticed that Jean looked at Marie often. Was it possible that he felt a tendre for her? It would not be surprising, for she was a beautiful woman and when she smiled and laughed she could be charming. It was only to Deborah that she showed her scowling face.
‘So—you are enjoying your stay at Chalfont, Mademoiselle Stirling?’
Deborah turned to look at the pretty young woman who had come to stand beside her.
‘Yes, very much, thank you, Madame Dubois.’
‘This is good,’ the Frenchwoman said with a smile. ‘We who care for Nico have long wanted to see him happy in a woman’s arms. I think you will make this happen, mademoiselle.’ She gave Deborah a swift kiss on the cheek, then laughed and walked away to join her husband.
Deborah’s face felt as if it were on fire. She could not fail to mistake the other woman’s meaning: she thought there was an understanding between her and Nicholas. And since she was unmarried and here without family or companions to protect her, she must obviously be his mistress!
She had denied it angrily when Marie accused her of it, but had thought it merely spite on Marie’s part. However, the well-meaning Madame Dubois’s remarks had made her aware of how others must see her.
Her reputation had been lost from the moment she came here. How could she have been so stupid as not to realize it? When she was sent back to her father, she would never be able to raise her head again amongst her own kind. She would be a fallen woman, besmirched by what had happened to her through no fault of her own. No matter that she was still innocent, no one would believe her. The old tabbies would whisper behind her back and the men would look at her with knowing eyes.
She had allowed her pleasant surroundings—and her captor’s charm—to lull her into a feeling of false security. Shame washed over her and she suddenly longed to be alone. She had thought the marquis’s friends kind and understanding, but now she saw that they had accepted her as his mistress.
The mistress of a powerful and wealthy man was often accepted in society—but what happened when she was discarded, passed over for another? She would not necessarily be welcomed then. Deborah had always been above gossip, her rank as Sir Edward’s daughter giving her respectability and position, but she had heard the spiteful tongues directed at others and knew that a disgraced woman had no choice but to retire from the world.
Deborah felt the tears sting her eyes. By appearing to acquiesce to her situation, she had completed her own ruin. When the marquis brought her here by force, she ought to have stayed in her chamber and refused to come down. She had been enjoying her visit, acting as if she were indeed an honoured guest. It was no wonder that Nicholas’s friends believed she was his mistress.
Suddenly, she felt as if she could not bear to be a part of this merry company a moment longer. She turned and would have left the room at once, but Nicholas came to claim her for the next dance.
‘You look pale,’ he said, and when she tried to move away he detained her by resting his hand on her sleeve. ‘Are you unwell, Deborah?’
She clutched gratefully at the lie. ‘I—I have a headache,’ she said in a voice so low that he could hardly hear it. ‘I think… I beg you will excuse me, sir. I would seek the quiet of my chamber.’
‘Of course, if it is your wish.’ His gaze narrowed as if he were suspicious and wished to read her thoughts. ‘Come, I shall escort you.’
‘I would prefer that you stay and attend your guests. Pray excuse me.’ Deborah walked away, leaving him to stare after her in exasperation.
The tears she was too proud to shed stung her eyes. She would not weep! It mattered not what these people thought of her. She had only to wait and she would be returned to her father. He would take her home and she would live quietly away from the world and never see the marquis or his friends again.
‘Deborah!’ Nicholas caught her at the bottom of the stairs. She had thought he would let her go, but at the last moment he had come after her. ‘Mistress Stirling, I pray you stop a moment. I must speak with you.’
She turned reluctantly, knowing he must read her distress in her eyes. ‘Yes, my lord? What must you say that will not wait on the morrow?’
‘You are angry.’ His gaze narrowed, intensified. ‘What has been said to make you look at me thus?’
‘Have you no eyes or ears?’ she asked scornfully. ‘You give me fine clothes to wear and costly jewels, and treat me as your honoured guest—what must your friends think of me? I have no companions about me, no guardian to protect my honour.’ Her fine eyes accused him. ‘You had done better to cast me into a cage, sir. Then at least I might have kept my reputation.’
‘So that is it,’ he said softly. ‘I knew that Jeanne had said something to you. Whatever it was, she meant no offence—she likes and approves of you and told me so at once.’
‘Madame Dubois, Mistress Trevern—all of them!—believe I am your mistress.’ Deborah tossed her head at him, eyes flashing like emeralds in sunlight. ‘Can you deny it?’
‘They have not heard it from me,’ Nicholas said. ‘But the world being what it is, they may suspect it. However, they would not think less of you if it were true. Men and kings must have their mistresses and many love where they cannot marry. Is that so very terrible?’
‘I have lost my reputation, sir—and with it my right to be a wife.’
‘Are the men you know so foolish, then?’ Nicholas asked, eyes watchful, voice soft. ‘Would they discard a priceless ruby because it had been worn on another’s hand?’
‘You are pleased to jest,’ Deborah said, her cheeks pink. ‘I do not think so lightly of my honour. And it is unfair since I am not nor have I been your mistress.’
‘Perhaps you would not mind so much if it were true? Shall I make you mine, Deborah? Would that content you?’ The caressing tone of his voice almost overset her, setting up forbidden longings. How dare he look at her so? How could he be so careless of her feelings?
‘I shall never, never be your mistress,’ she vowed in a low, passionate tone. ‘You have ruined any chance I might have had for happiness—no decent man would have me now—but I would rather die a maiden than be yours!’
With that, she turned and ran up the remainder of the stairs. At first she feared he would follow, but he did not and she gained the safety of her chamber without hindrance. Louise was surprised to see her back so early, but one look at Deborah’s face held her silent as she attended to her gown and brushed the flowing tresses that reached almost to the small of her mistress’s back.
Left to herself at last, Deborah sat on a seat by her window, looking out on the moonlit gardens. She felt desperately unhappy and humiliated. She had been so naïve, so foolish! Her anger at the way she had been snatched had melted too swiftly in the warmth of the marquis’s charm. She had been enchanted by his home and by him—only too willing to surrender her heart…and her body if he had pressed his advantage when they kissed so sweetly.
Shameless! Shameless! She deserved that Nicholas’s friends should take it for granted that she was his mistress, for her eyes must have been as revealing to them as Mistress Trevern’s were to her.
She felt so wretched…so lost and alone. If she could but turn back time, be as she had been before they met. But that was impossible. The damage was done. She had lost both her heart and her reputation.
How could she face the marquis or his friends in the morning? Oh, she wished she might die! Might be free of this ache in her heart…if only she was free. This situation was impossible! Anger was beginning to replace her feelings of humiliation. Perhaps she would carry the scars of her encounter with the marquis for the rest of her life, but that did not mean she had to remain tamely in this gilded cage. For it was a prison and she a prisoner for all its comforts.
The marquis would have returned to his guests. Now was the time to escape. She had gained enough knowledge of the château and its grounds to be able to find the stables and steal a horse, and she knew in which direction she should ride. Beyond the vineyards lay the village of Chalfont and a highway—leading where? She did not know, but it could not matter. Once she was away from the château she would find someone to help her.
She had given the marquis her promise that she would not try to leave his protection. She had been foolish to do so, and it must be broken. He’d had no right to demand such a promise of her. It had been given under duress and was therefore not binding, she told herself, though her conscience told her otherwise. No matter! She had a duty to escape and she would. Somehow!
Deborah shivered with excitement as she began to dress. She chose her own gown, the one she had been wearing on the fateful morning she was kidnapped. It was simple to fasten, and besides, she wanted nothing that belonged to Nicholas. No, no, the marquis! She must not think of him with her heart, only her head. He was a wicked rogue who had carelessly brought her to ruin, and the fact that his kisses made her melt with pleasure meant nothing.
The sound of music and laughter floated up to her as she walked softly down the stairs, hesitating now and then to listen and watch. If any of the servants saw her she would tell them she was taking a walk to clear her head. However, there was no sign of anyone. It seemed that all the servants were in the banqueting hall attending to the guests. Perhaps because of her promise the marquis had relaxed his guard a little and there was no one to hinder her leaving the house.
The air outside was sweet and cool, the gardens heady with the scents of roses, honeysuckle and oleanders. Deborah paused for a moment, breathing in the heavenly perfume. For a moment her determination weakened. She could be so happy here if only the circumstances were different—but they were not and she would be foolish to give in to the little voice in her head that was prompting her to stay.
She straightened her shoulders and turned in the direction of the stables, which were to the side of the house and beyond a courtyard that was used for exercising the horses. Once or twice she glanced bac
k, thinking she heard something, but it was too dark to see and the shadows might hide many things.
Tales of the evil that walked abroad after nightfall came to mind, making her nerves jangle. A shiver ran down her spine but she scolded herself. She was not afraid of shadows!
It was just nerves! Why should anyone follow her? If she had been seen there would have been noise and shouting as the alarm was given. No, it was simply her guilty conscience pricking at her, because she was breaking the promise she had freely given.
She could smell the strong earthy tang of the stables now. Some of the horses were housed in buildings of grey stone, which formed a semi-circle about a courtyard, others ran free in paddocks behind the buildings. Deborah had no idea where the mare she had ridden previously was housed. She would just have to open the top half of each door in turn until she found a horse that looked gentle enough for her to manage alone.
She attempted to draw back the bolt on the first door. It was stiff and resisted stubbornly. After a few moments of wasted effort, she went on to the next and tugged as hard as she could. This bolt moved more easily and she was able to swing open the top of the split door.
The warm smell of horse came out to meet her nostrils, and she made an encouraging noise with her tongue as a dark shape loomed out of the interior.
‘Oh, it’s you, old fellow,’ Deborah said as a nodding head poked out at her. She had chosen the stable of the great black brute Nicholas always rode. It tossed its head and snorted at her, wicked eyes gleaming in the darkness. ‘Good boy…would you like to come for a ride?’ She stroked the stallion’s nose and wondered if she dared to take the marquis’s own favourite horse. It would surely be too strong for her. Besides, she could not take an animal that Nicholas was clearly fond of. ‘No, perhaps not…perhaps I should look further—’
‘A wise decision.’ The sound of the marquis’s voice close behind her made Deborah jump. She swung round to see him standing a few paces away, half-hidden in the shadows as he went on. ‘Had you entered his stable he might have trampled you to death. Nero is an unpredictable creature and responds to authority, not kindness.’ Nicholas glared at her as he stepped forward. ‘Perhaps some women might respect the bridle more than the soothing glove.’
