Star-Crossed Summer
Page 31
Slowly and with great trepidation, she accepted it. For a moment his hand enclosed hers. ‘One day you will see this as providence,’ he murmured, ‘because you know deep down that Haldane isn’t for you.’
‘Perhaps I know that you aren’t, either.’ Such bravado, when her silly heart fluttered and her legs had become jelly.
‘It’s all immaterial anyway, because this is to be a mariage de convenance. Neither of us gives a fig about the other, but in public we will pretend we do.’
You might not give a fig, but I do. Oh, how I do. I love you, Guy, and want you to want me. He began to walk toward the door, but she held back. ‘You may have the nerve to walk brazenly through the ballroom, but I don’t.’
His fingers twined firmly with hers. ‘Oh, yes, you do, Beth, you have the nerve for anything, as you’ve shown in all our previous encounters. We’re both capable of facing down the Devil himself, so West Country society will be simple. Besides, they’ll imagine that I have a prior claim to you.’
‘And provided I’m a meek, obedient lapdog, all will be well?’
‘Meek and obedient? You?’ He laughed.
‘Sir Guy, are you familiar with the local saying that those who dance at midwinter will need many lights to see their way? Well, you and I danced tonight.’
‘I can afford all the candles in England, so our darkness with be well lit.’
She fell into silence as he opened the library door and they stepped through into the antechamber that led to the ballroom. Another waltz was in progress, but the moment they appeared – the future Mrs Haldane arm-in-arm with Sir Guy Valmer, his fingers linked lovingly with hers – the assembly’s elegance and dignity dissolved into an utter shambles. Beth recalled Mrs Cobbett’s doubts about tonight. Had the housekeeper foreseen tonight’s tumultuous events? She felt as if she and Guy trod a brightly illuminated stage, before a darkened auditorium where every seat was taken, every aisle crowded. She would better have worn scarlet tonight….
‘Smile, Beth,’ Guy prompted, ‘for I will not have it thought that you are being made to marry me.’
‘Heaven forfend,’ was the brave riposte she knew must set the scene for the ensuing acts. She must be cool and remote, she thought, smiling obediently for the benefit of those who’d gathered at Haldane Hall to celebrate her betrothal to Landry, only to see her depart on the arm of the man he loathed most. She must also be cool and remote with Guy, a goal not easily accomplished when his hand moved over hers in as loving a manner as could be imagined. Even this false caress affected her, exposing as it did how much joy he could impart to her … had he been so disposed. She shivered secretly as shameless sensations invaded places they shouldn’t. Her body and senses quickened; her imagination taunted her with thoughts of exquisite carnal joy … but such desires were fanciful, because Sir Guy Valmer didn’t want her in that way. His affection and physical adoration could make her the happiest of creatures, but neither would be forthcoming. To him she was as much a matter of business as the purchase of Lancelot, and she wished she knew his motives; unless … could it be connected with her father’s missing will? Yes, of course! Why hadn’t she thought of it before?
Tears sprang to her eyes. How cruel life as Lady Valmer was going to be. She would be the wife of the only man she would ever love so intensely, but in the face of his coldness would have to salvage her pride and self-respect by pretending indifference. Tormented, she hardly knew that her fingers wove between his, or that he glanced at her in surprise, as did the rest of the ballroom, around which a torrent of whispering now began to pour. Society was affronted by what conclusion it drew, and she knew she was branded. The rumours of the summer and autumn pierced the thin veneer that had hitherto cloaked this evening, and local society decided once and for all that Miss Mannacott of the Dower House had never been anything but a scheming, ambitious whore, who, having snapped up the considerable prize of Landry Haldane, was now setting him aside in favour of one far greater.
Guests moved silently aside, as they had on Guy’s arrival, and as he and Beth mounted the ballroom steps, a babble of conversation broke out behind them. Somehow Beth managed to hold her head up as they entered the vestibule, where bemused footmen rushed to obey when Guy requested their outdoor clothes and that his carriage be brought to the main entrance. The mantle’s fur lining felt cold against Beth’s too-hot skin, as did the muff into the pristine white depths of which she plunged her hands. She hardly knew as she and Guy approached the outer doors, nor did she feel the chill of the snow-filled night as he assisted her down toward the waiting carriage. Snowflakes brushed her face, and clung to Guy’s dark coat. The atmosphere of Christmas was all around, and she was sure that a trick of the wind carried the sound of carols from Haldane church.
But then she saw Landry and Harriet ascending toward them. Both couples halted awkwardly. Harriet had been crying, and Landry, who avoided Beth’s gaze, looked as if he’d been struck by lightning, but Harriet’s hand was on his sleeve, and his hand was over it, just as Guy’s was over Beth’s. ‘Every hand tells a story,’ Guy murmured to Beth as he made her continue the descent.
She looked back, and Harriet gave her a wan smile as she tried to suppress another sob; Landry proceeded stiffly toward the house. Beth wanted to call out and make him acknowledge her, but Guy sensed as much and forbade it. ‘Leave the churlish fellow to his sulks, my dear,’ he murmured. At the bottom she glanced back a final time, but Landry and Harriet had gone inside and the doors were closed again. Another chapter of her life had also closed, she thought. Guy paused by the open carriage door. ‘Forget him, Beth, for he really isn’t worth your regrets.’
‘At least there would have been warmth with him.’
‘You think me incapable of warmth?’ he asked.
‘I have no idea of what you are capable or incapable, Sir Guy. You present a mask to the world as you mock it. You are ice itself, sir.’
His grey eyes were unfathomable in the light of the carriage lamp, and she was so aware of him that desire seemed to have replaced the blood in her veins. Then he tossed his hat into the carriage and pulled her toward him. ‘I’m not ice, Beth, but you won’t believe that unless I demonstrate my skills,’ he breathed, lowering his lips to hers.
Time stood still as he kissed her. How often had she dreamed of this? How often had she craved this man? Her own resolution mocked her. Cool and remote, cool and remote.… But as his lips played with hers, and he gathered her body close, as if she were the most beloved thing in his world, it was impossible to abide by her promise. Her disloyal lips parted and softened as she returned the kiss with all the stifled passion she’d endured since meeting him. But this wasn’t the same as her savage surrender on the cliffs, this was timelessly exquisite, a kiss shared with the man she loved to distraction. She felt the moisture between her legs, and the rich flow of desire over her entire body. She dissolved against him, exulting in the way his embrace tightened so that he lifted her from her toes. Their lips moved together, their hearts beat together, and she felt the desire that swelled at his loins. She was in ecstasy, drawing his tongue into her mouth and pressing to him in a way so wanton and abandoned that he surely could be in no doubt of her feelings for him.
If her fervour startled him he gave no sign, but with her still in his arms he turned to press her back against the carriage. She kissed him again and again, running her fingers into his hair, that wonderful hair that so set him apart. If only she dared tell him of her love … but that would be to court his derision. He was simply proving a point now, and proved it only too well.
To save what was left of her self-respect, she had to pretend to be paying him in kind, so from somewhere she found the strength to draw back coolly. ‘You see? Two can play at that game, Sir Guy,’ she whispered.
His face was unfathomable. ‘It would seem they can, Beth. I bow to your superior acting talents, for to be sure you are very convincing.’
She was glad of the poor light, because she knew the
re were spots of guilty colour on her cheeks.
He turned to Dickon, waiting discreetly nearby. ‘The Dower House first, I think,’ he said, and then helped her into the carriage. Moments later they drove out of the Haldane Hall gates and then down the steep incline toward Lannermouth. Her senses were in chaos as she waited in the carriage at the Dower House, where Dickon loaded her waiting luggage into the boot. Mrs Cobbett and Molly waited nearby, clearly in some confusion, but then the housekeeper hurried to the carriage. ‘What’s to become of us, Miss Beth?’
Guy answered. ‘You will stay here as you are now.’
Mrs Cobbett looked at him nervously, but then became suddenly bold. ‘I knew there would be dark goings-on tonight, Sir Guy, but I did not imagine it would be this. Take care of her.’ The last words were an instruction, not a request.
Guy was amused. ‘And if I do not?’
The housekeeper raised her chin. ‘Dark goings-on require dark remedies.’
‘Am I being threatened with a wisewoman’s magic, perchance?’
Mrs Cobbett’s lips parted to respond, but Beth spoke quickly. ‘I’m quite all right, Mrs C. Please don’t worry, for Sir Guy’s motives are honourable. I’m to be Lady Valmer.’
The woman’s face changed. ‘Lady Valmer?’ she repeated in awe. ‘But—’
Guy cut her short. ‘The only other thing you need to know is that you and the other two servants will be as secure in my employ as you were before.’
The luggage had been loaded, and the carriage shook as Dickon resumed his place. Guy closed the door on Mrs Cobbett, and the team moved forward again. Soon they were toiling up Rendisbury Hill, but at the top Dickon urged the horses along the coast road. Snowflakes swirled, and the sea and great inland expanse of Exmoor were lost in the darkness.
Another new beginning stretched ahead for Beth Tremoille, this time as the titled mistress of the great estate of Greylake. Tears stung her eyes. Oh, why did it have to be this way? Everything would be so based on deception and pretence that surely there would never be a moment to tell him how much she loved him. She had so much to give this man. If only he wanted it.
Copyright
© Sarah Stanley 2008
First published in Great Britain 2008
This edition 2012
ISBN978 0 7090 9746 4 (epub)
ISBN978 0 7090 9747 1 (mobi)
ISBN978 0 7090 9748 8 (pdf)
ISBN978 0 7090 8395 5 (print)
Robert Hale Limited
Clerkenwell House
Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R 0HT
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The right of Sarah Stanley to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988