Once her beauty had been enough. To know that men’s hearts would beat quicker at the sight of her had been all that she asked of life. There had been excitement for her in beholding the burning desire within their eyes, in the knowledge that their lips were hungry for hers and that she had but to smile or frown to give or withhold happiness.
She had been thrilled then by the power of her beauty, but she had soon found that to tantalise and tempt a man was not enough in itself. She wanted more, her passions were easily aroused. She too desired love.
But she was easily satiated, quickly bored, not with love and passion itself, but with the man who shared it with her. Lover succeeded lover. She dazzled them, gave them a glimpse of Paradise and then discarded them coldly and without even a passing interest in their misery or their broken hearts.
Yet insidiously, so subtly that she was hardly aware of it happening, time caught up on her. Her lovers grew fewer and not so ardent. Passion entirely replaced love so that those she dismissed no longer pleaded for her favours, but shrugged their shoulders and sought other and younger charmers.
It was bitter to know that her power was waning and to learn that she must strive to hold those who attracted her where before she had but to command. Where she had reigned supreme she would not supplicate, she wished for something to take the place of men in her life. And found it.
Yet even so, besotted and immersed in gaming, she could never lose entirely that joy and pride which came from an awareness of her beauty. Sometimes she even cried that crows’ feet must encroach on the smooth magnolia surface of her skin and that the firm ivory contour of her neck must sag and wrinkle.
At other times the kindly glow of candlelight and a sudden spring within her blood would create for her the illusion that she was incomparably glorious again as she had been in her youth.
Tonight she felt that lilt and gladness within her that was an echo of the swift-receding past. Her mirror told her that she was young and beautiful and she could pretend for the moment that she was also desired and adored.
There came a knock at the door and the Marchioness called out,
“Come in.”
Madame Roxana came creeping from the shadows. Tonight she seemed darker and more sinister than ever. Her hooked nose cast a strange shadow over her mouth and her eyes glittered in the candlelight.
As soon as she came into the room, the black boy trembled so violently that the glass on the tray tinkled against the decanter. Hearing it, the Marchioness made an impatient gesture and thankfully he put down the tray and crept to his familiar corner of the room, his eyes rolling wildly in their sockets.
“I had to see you, Roxana,” the Marchioness said in a low voice. “So much is at stake tonight. Put out your cards and tell me what you see.”
“I already asked the cards this morning, my Queen,” the gipsy answered, “but they were silent. It is not wise to force an answer.”
“But why should they be silent?” the Marchioness asked. “Nothing can go wrong. How can it? You told me that this man would bring me gold, the man with the left hand. You remember, you saw his coming two days before he arrived, and now – ’
The gipsy went across to the fire and held out her hands to the blaze.
“It is a warm night,” she muttered, “but my bones are cold.”
“You mean that my plan will not be successful?” the Marchioness asked.
“I did not say so,” Madame Roxana answered. “Come, hold the cards in your hand, and if it pleases you, my Queen, we will ask them once again.”
The Marchioness took the pack and shuffled the cards to and fro. It was very hot in the room and yet it was true that Madame Roxana’s hands held out to the leaping flames in the fireplace looked blue with cold.
Despite a conviction within her that she would triumph, the Marchioness felt herself shiver.
Ten thousand guineas meant so much to her at the moment.
“Put out the cards, Roxana! Put them out,” she cried imperiously, holding out the pack to her.
*
Serena, coming downstairs five minutes before the appointed hour for dinner, saw the dark figure of Madame Roxana slipping along the landing from the Marchioness’s room. Her head was bent forward, her shoulders pinched and it seemed to Serena that in some extraordinary way she gave the impression of being afraid.
There was something sly and crafty in the way she moved, but even so there was something more than that. It was almost as if she was scuttling along, hurrying, flying and going somewhere.
‘How imaginative I am tonight,’ Serena told herself and yet, as she watched the gipsy, who had not seen her, out of sight, the impression remained that Roxana was afraid. She was fleeing from something.
Serena went slowly down the Grand Staircase.
The usual chatter came to her from the Silver Drawing Room where the guests were assembling for dinner and where the footmen were passing round glasses of sherry. Instinctively, as she reached the foot of the staircase, Serena held her head a little higher and straightened her shoulders. It was always an effort to enter the room alone.
Sometimes there would come a little hush at her appearance, as though people had been talking about her, at others a woman would laugh a little spitefully following a whispered word which, judging by the spiteful glances that followed, had been none too complimentary.
It was always a relief to see Isabel smiling at her across the room and to know that Nicholas’s good-humoured face would light up at her appearance.
Tonight Nicholas was standing alone, for Isabel had not yet made her appearance and Serena hurried to his side.
“That is a very becoming gown, Serena,” Nicholas commented approvingly.
“Thank you, dear cousin,” Serena answered, dropping him a curtsey. “I am honoured that you should notice what I wear.”
“Between ourselves I am getting well trained,” Nicholas replied. “All women’s frippery used to look much the same to me, but Isabel likes a man to discriminate. I am getting nearly as knowledgeable about ball gowns as I am on the cut of cravats.”
Serena laughed.
“Dear Nicholas. Do you not often long for the comfortable lazy days at Staverley when we used to lie in the hay and talk about ourselves or ride our ponies in the Park and never give a fig for how we appeared to each other?”
“’Twas fun, was it not?” Nicholas said. “But when I recollect what happy days those were, I wish Isabel had been there.”
“Oh, Nicholas, must she share your past as well as your future?”
Nicholas smiled for a moment and then he scowled.
“So long as she does share my future and sometimes I think that she cares a trifle more for me than she used to, at other times I am cast into such a despondency that I wish I had never been born.”
There was nothing Serena could do except to press his arm, for at that moment she noticed that the Marchioness had come into the room. There were exclamations from all around at the beauty of her new gown, but Serena thought that the Marchioness looked a little pale as if something had perturbed her.
Strangely enough, as she looked across the room, their eyes met and it seemed to Serena as if on the Marchioness’s face there was an appeal for her personally.
‘How ridiculously I am mistaken!’ she laughed at herself, and a moment later had forgotten her impression as her partner for dinner proffered his arm.
There was dancing again this evening and Isabel upset Nicholas by refusing to dance with him until she had been partnered by the Marquis.
“If you refuse me, Justin,” Serena heard her say, “I shall sit alone and forlorn the whole evening and everyone will know that I am wearing the willow on your account.”
“That regrettable state of affairs must be avoided at all costs,” Justin said, “I will dance with you, Isabel, but these gentlemen are witnesses that I do it because a pistol is held at my head!”
There was laughter from the group of young men who always clust
ered round Isabel, and Nicholas stalked angrily away.
“Now Nicholas is in a miff,” Serena said in a low voice to Lord Gillingham.
“There never was such a fellow for being hipped,” he replied, “but Isabel is certain to dance with him later. Come to the drawing room and let me get you something to drink.”
“Thank you, I am thirsty,” Serena replied.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw Isabel smiling up at Justin as they took to the floor together. The Marquis had never asked her to dance and now she wondered at the omission. It was true that he seldom graced the floor, but there was no doubt that when he did he was an elegant dancer.
Lord Gillingham went in search of a glass of iced punch and for the moment Serena stood alone.
A footman then came hurrying up to her.
“Pardon me, ma’am, but her Ladyship instructed me to inform you that there has been an accident to your dog and to ask you to come at once.”
“To Torqo?” Serena gave a little cry. “Oh, where? What has happened?”
“If you will come this way, ma’am.”
He led her through an adjacent door into a passage that ran parallel with the drawing room and ended in the Great Hall. Serena ran along it hastily. Waiting in the hall was the Marchioness’s black boy and the moment he saw her he led the way through the main door and out into the night.
Serena wanted to ask questions. What had happened? Why was Torqo not in his kennel?
But she had never spoken with the black boy and had the idea that he could not speak English. Also he was moving so swiftly and she had breath for little more than to keep up with him. She pulled her gauzy scarf round her shoulders so as to leave her hands free to lift up her satin skirt.
They went through the inner courtyard and now through the high iron gates onto the drive outside. Here the way was no longer lit by the light from the windows of the house, but it was not dark.
The moon had risen and its silver light flooded the Park and turned the sea to molten magic.
Serena hurried along, the sharp stones of the drive hurting her feet through the thin soles of her shoes, but she was oblivious to everything save the thought of Torqo.
Had he been run over? Had he been snared by a trap? What had happened to him?
Suddenly ahead of her she saw a coach and horses. Now she understood. One of the horses must have kicked Torqo or he had run under the wheels of the coach.
Outstripping the black boy, she ran forward.
“Torqo!” she cried. “Torqo!”
Seeing a footman holding open the door of the coach, she called out to him.
“My dog! Where is he?”
He made a gesture as if inviting her to look into the coach. She hurried to the door and stared in.
It was dark and for a moment she could see nothing.
Then she felt herself lifted bodily in somebody’s arms, she was thrown forward onto the seat, the coach door slammed quickly behind her and with a jerk the horses started off.
For a moment Serena was too astonished and too bewildered to do anything and then with a cry she bent forward and wrenched at the door. Even as she did so a voice from the shadows came,
“I am afraid you will find it impossible to open, my sweet Serena.”
She gave an exclamation of sheer terror. Then a hand went out and pulled the shade from a silver lamp. Slowly, very slowly, because her breath was coming with difficulty, she turned her eyes from the lamp to the thin white fingers of the hand that held the shade and finally to the face watching her from the corner.
There was silence for a minute, a silence in which the horses’ hoofs flying over the gravel sounded unnaturally loud and then Serena whispered,
“What do you want with me?”
Lord Wrotham leaned back in his corner and regarded her with an expression in his eyes that matched the hateful smile on his full lips.
“Surely you are woman enough, my sweet Serena, to know the answer to that?”
“But Torqo? I was told that he had had an accident.”
“A slight inexactitude, my dear. It was easier to ensure your presence here that way than to invite you to accompany me.”
“You know I would have refused,” Serena said hotly and added, “Enough of this farce. I have no desire to go riding alone with you – at this time of night.”
“That is a pity,” Lord Wrotham said suavely, “for I have every desire to drive with you, Serena, and as it happens, there is quite a journey ahead of us. Shall we not make the best of each other’s company?”
He bent a little towards her and instinctively Serena backed away, moving until the width of the seat was between them and her shoulders were tense against the padded green satin that lined the coach.
Serena was frightened, but she was determined not to show her fear if she could help it. Her voice betrayed little of her agitation as she said,
“A journey, Lord Wrotham? Perhaps you will explain yourself, for at any moment my presence will be missed at Mandrake.”
“I think not! Your hostess will assure those who are anxious on your behalf that you have withdrawn to your bedchamber with a slight headache. Your absence, my sweet Serena, will not be discovered until tomorrow morning and by then we shall be far away.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To a very charming place,” Lord Wrotham answered. “It is a trifle lonely, perhaps, but you shall not lack for company while I am with you. And when we have sojourned together long enough to know each other well, we will return to the fashionable world together as man and wife.”
“As man and – wife!”
Serena repeated the words and her voice rose a little.
“You must be indeed deranged, Lord Wrotham, if you think I would wed with you.”
“I think you will have little choice in the matter, my dear,” he said drily and, although he said no more, she understood with a sudden horror what he meant.
He was taking her away, taking her somewhere where she would be utterly at his mercy and after that –
If she did not marry him, what sort of life or what position would she have as Harry Wrotham’s discarded mistress?
She looked wildly out of the window. Already they had passed through the Park gates and were in the open country. In the moonlight it was easy to see the open fields and hedges high with dog roses. There were few houses and there were even fewer passers-by at this late hour of night.
If she screamed and shouted, what chance had she of being heard? Besides, who would interfere with a Nobleman’s coach complete with grooms and footmen?
As if Lord Wrotham had read her thoughts, he smiled again.
“It’s no use, Serena, I have caught you, my pretty bird. It is better for you to accept the inevitable and to love me as I wish to be loved by you.”
“Love you, my Lord?” Serena asked. “I shall die before such a word shall ever pass my lips where you are concerned. I hate you, do you understand? I hate you and you had best let me go before I strive with all the strength in me to do you an injury.”
Lord Wrotham laughed and it was not a pleasant sound.
“Egad, but I like your spirit,” he said. “It will be amusing to watch your ineffective efforts to prevent me claiming you as my own. One grows tired of easy conquests, my sweet Serena, and a trifle of hatred will give our life together a spice and a piquancy that will make a new appeal to my somewhat jaded palate.”
He came nearer to her as he spoke, and though Serena moved away until she was close in the corner of the seat, there was no escape.
“If you touch me, my Lord,” she said between her teeth, “I will – ”
“Well, and what will you do?” he enquired.
Before she could move, he had slipped his arm around her and drawn her close. His action pinioned both her arms to her sides and with a strength of which she had not thought him capable he held her as though she was in a vice.
Then, slipping his hand beneath her chin, he
forced her head back until it lay against his shoulder. He looked down into her face.
“So lovely,” he smiled, “and so untouched. It is surprising that Justin was not more interested in his winnings.”
His mouth pressed down on hers. She felt his lips, greedy, brutal and possessive, before she forced her head to one side, sick and disgusted and at the same time terribly afraid.
“Let me go!”
She made a frantic effort to free herself and then, as she realised the impossibility, was conscious with a sudden sense of despair that her efforts not only amused but excited him. He was strong, and her ineffective struggles to escape did not perturb him in the slightest.
He held her firmly and now his hand moved from beneath her chin down the white column of her throat and over her bare shoulders.
It was more than she could bear, and now for the first time there were tears in her eyes and a sudden pleading in her voice as she cried,
“Let me go, my Lord, for – God’s sake!”
His thick lips were still very near to hers.
“Ah, that is better,” he said softly. “So now your anger is going. You are no longer so fierce with me. You are a trifle frightened, I think, for I can feel your heart beating beneath my hand.”
“Be – merciful, my Lord.”
“Merciful!” Lord Wrotham laughed. “Would you have been merciful to me had I asked it of you? No, my sweet Serena, you were very bitter and very cruel to me, but it is that which made me desire you all the more. It will amuse me to teach you to obey me and I promise you that in time you will come to love me, even as Charmaine loved me.”
He said the words deliberately to rouse her to a frenzy.
Now the tears were gone.
“You beast!” she stormed. “How dare you remind me of the girl who loved you and whom you abandoned so heartlessly! You seduced her – you – ”
“There was no difficulty about it, I assure you,” Lord Wrotham interposed. “She came willingly enough. It is that very willingness which becomes after a little while so infinitely boring. Now you, my sweet Serena, will never bore me. Besides, you are lovely, lovelier by far than any woman I have ever beheld.”
A Hazard of Hearts Page 20
