by Lucy Ashford
* * *
When the old nightmare struck again that night, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Indeed, it was stupid of her to think she was over it, for she’d accepted months ago that the darkest time of her life would always haunt her.
Lying in her bed, with the heavy silence of the house enveloping her, she remembered her wedding day. Everyone had called them the golden couple—she, the sister of an earl, and Lionel, the grandson of a duke.
Her brother had tried his best to warn her. ‘Serena,’ he would say, ‘I’ve heard stories about Lionel. I’m really rather anxious about your future with him.’
She refused to believe him, but slowly—day by day, month by month—the truth hit home.
She realised that Lionel’s country mansion in Northamptonshire was all but ruined and that his financial situation was precarious, though of course money was a problem easily dismissed by her husband because Serena’s fortune had become his on marriage. At that time Lionel had an army post based in London and they rented a smart house in Dover Street, paid for with Serena’s money. But soon enough Serena noticed that her fortune was disappearing in other ways, thanks to extravagant army banquets and the many weekends that Lionel spent shooting or hunting with his officer friends in the country. She also began to realise that he gambled heavily.
Within six months of the wedding, she was forced to acknowledge that in her foolish mind she’d made Lionel into the man she wanted him to be, not the man he actually was. Then he was called away to India, to the war the British were fighting in Mysore, and Serena remained in the Dover Street house, at a loss as to how to occupy her time, yet dreading her husband’s return. Until one afternoon, at a tea party, she’d overheard a wealthy widow only a little older than herself, Mary Appleby, talking about a charity school she’d started up in the East End of London. Afterwards Serena had approached Mary shyly.
‘I wonder, may I visit your school? Maybe even help in some small way?’
Swiftly, she’d become involved with the school. She also met Joanna and Beth and these friends were the only ones who’d guessed the unhappiness of her marriage. The mistake of her marriage. But what could be done? She had continued to put on a brave face in society, as was expected of senior officers’ wives, especially when their husbands were away on active service. Then, one night, there was a tap at her bedroom door.
‘Mrs Penney,’ Serena had cried out in alarm. ‘It’s three o’clock in the morning. Whatever is the matter?’
‘Oh, my lady. There’s a man downstairs, come from the War Office! And it’s about your husband.’
The official had come to tell her that Lionel had been killed in battle while endeavouring to lead his men against impossible odds. For days the house was filled with flowers and cards of sympathy. So terrible for you, dear Serena, everyone said. But at least you have the consolation that Lionel died a hero.
And so Serena entered her new life as a widow, with much of her fortune still intact. Her brother, George, arranged for her to take possession of the lovely house in Curzon Street and, after spending the required period of mourning in Yorkshire, she was welcomed back into London society.
She’d resolved to say Never again to the possibility of allowing any man to woo her, or even come close to it. Only then, Raphael Lefevre had asked her to dance at that fatal ball last November and just for a moment the kind of emotion she’d thought was dead inside her had unfurled like a tiny plant at the first touch of spring sunshine.
But that emotion had been crushed utterly when she realised that he’d approached her merely to amuse his colleagues, which was actually the kind of trick Lionel and his friends might have concocted to make some vulnerable woman look foolish. Shaken and bruised, she’d realised that once more she’d been stupidly deceived by a man’s superficial charm. After that she made herself strong again, telling herself that she was perfectly content to live her life alone—after all, she had her three close friends for companionship and she had the charity school to engage her commitment. But now, all her best-laid plans had come to naught. Disaster had struck again.
Because though she could tell herself all she liked that she detested Raphael Lefevre, her pounding pulse whenever he was near told a completely different story. As for that kiss in Covent Garden... More, her body had demanded. More.
Chapter Eight
‘Lady Serena Willoughby! And the Most Honourable the Marquis of Montpellier!’
The great hall was filled with chatter when Serena and Raphael arrived at the Duke of Hamilton’s ball the next night. But as soon as their names were announced, an acute silence descended, apart from what sounded like a collective indrawing of breath. Serena felt her heart tighten painfully as dozens of pairs of eyes fastened on them like a flock of predators.
They had arrived slightly late at the Duke’s magnificent house overlooking Hyde Park. The timing, she guessed, was deliberate on Lefevre’s part; he’d doubtless delayed their appearance to ensure that everyone else was already there. Indeed, the main hall was packed, the ballroom glittering with showy jewellery and the flashes of gold on military officers’ uniforms. But it was Lefevre, in his sombre but perfect attire, who drew all eyes: Lefevre, wearing a dark grey tailcoat that hugged his powerful shoulders and a cravat that, plain though it was, dramatically enhanced his chiselled features.
‘Smile,’ he was murmuring at her side. ‘Try to look happy to be with me.’
She smiled. But she also said, so only he could hear, ‘Happy? To be with you? Surely you ask the impossible, monsieur.’
Lefevre increased his pressure on Serena’s arm. ‘For many months now, my lady,’ he said in the same quietly mocking voice, ‘you’ve taken great pleasure in blackening my name. Sometimes, you know, even a low-down scoundrel like me has to take steps to defend himself.’
She was silent. This was his revenge. He’d been waiting his chance to move in on her and crush her—and how he was revelling in it.
Gradually they progressed through the packed hall, each of them acknowledging the greetings that came from all around. Somehow Serena kept her smile fixed to her face, nodding to people she knew while he guided her, guarded her, spoke politely to those who gaped wide-eyed at them. ‘Good evening, Sir James. How do you do, Lady Devereau? And my Lord Hastings—yes, it’s certainly been too long since we met...’
Soon the string orchestra in the gallery above was striking up a minuet and with a bow Lefevre led Serena into the dance. It was as well the steps were so familiar, because she felt light-headed, feverish almost. It’s lack of sleep, she told herself. But she knew it was nothing of the sort.
The Marquis, on the other hand, appeared as powerfully in control as ever. He’d called for her at eight as promised and, as he met her in the hallway, he’d bowed over her hand and murmured, no doubt for the benefit of her hovering staff, ‘Lady Serena. You look ravishing.’
She’d chosen a gown of rose-pink silk, high-necked as usual. Long cream kid gloves and pink satin slippers completed her outfit; her silk fan matched her gown and her fair hair was neatly coiled on the crown of her head. She’d thought it was a modest look. Subtle, even.
But as they danced and Lefevre examined her with those cool, silvery eyes of his, she felt she might as well have been naked. It had been one thing to agree to their liaison verbally, quite another to actually be here, with his hands possessive on her waist and his strength imprinting itself on her. Somehow, this man compelled her to think of things she’d forbidden herself to ever contemplate again, like his lips on hers and his body pressing close, urgent with desire...
Oh, Lord, she needed to come to her senses. The minuet would end soon, at which point she must look for the opportunity to tell her friends and acquaintances exactly why she was tolerating the Marquis’s company—outwardly, at least.
You see, she would earnestly explain, the Marquis has been most generous to the charity I’
m involved with. Yes, I mean the school, of course. So kind of him, don’t you think?
She’d practised the words over and over while Martha dressed her for the ball. So kind of him...
She suddenly realised the dance had ended and, almost solicitously, Lefevre was guiding her to a corner of the big room. ‘I trust you’re enjoying yourself?’ he asked.
She shivered a little. ‘I think,’ she began, ‘I would like a small glass of wine, Monsieur Lefevre.’
‘Good idea.’ A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘Though a larger one might help to take that frozen look from your face.’
She struggled to reply. Hateful, hateful man! Only at that minute—‘Serena? Why, Serena—you said you weren’t coming tonight!’
Turning abruptly, she saw her friends coming towards her. Beth’s eyes were wide with surprise, Mary’s with disapproval and Joanna’s with something approaching delight. She recalled with fresh horror that all three of them had watched her the other day being driven away in the Marquis’s curricle, but Joanna was the only one who had the slightest idea what was going on.
Beth had spoken first, but it was Joanna who chimed in next. ‘Well, Serena,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us, my dear?’
Serena had to admit that Raphael Lefevre’s manners were impeccable. He bowed in turn to each of her friends as she gave their names, murmuring, ‘Enchanté, ladies. I’ve heard a good deal about you.’
Mary and Beth were clearly unable to speak for astonishment and unmistakable dismay. Joanna’s eyes, on the other hand, were twinkling.
‘I am delighted,’ Lefevre went on smoothly, ‘to have the chance to express my admiration for the work you do to improve the lives of those less fortunate in circumstance than yourselves.’ Mary’s eyes opened very wide. ‘I’m speaking, of course,’ explained Lefevre, ‘about your charity school. Lady Serena?’ He turned to her. ‘Perhaps you’d tell them?’
The phrases she’d so carefully rehearsed earlier were performing clumsy somersaults in her head. Most generous...has expressed a philanthropic interest... ‘The Marquis,’ she said at last with a stiff smile, ‘has kindly agreed to donate two hundred guineas to further the work of our school. He and I have discovered that the education of the less privileged is a topic of mutual interest. Indeed, the subject has quite drawn us together, I find!’ She beamed up at him and could have sworn he gave a barely perceptible wink.
Mary was speechless. Beth appeared bewildered. ‘But, Serena,’ Beth began, ‘the other day you—’
Serena saw Joanna dig Beth in the ribs before chiming in, ‘Serena! To have engaged Monsieur Lefevre as an ally—how wonderful! Such an unexpected friendship. But such a worthy cause!’
‘Indeed,’ said Lefevre and Serena registered that the man looked hatefully smug. ‘Perhaps,’ he went on, ‘I should fetch some champagne to celebrate my new acquaintances? Excuse me a moment, ladies. I’ll be back soon—you may depend on it!’
He touched Serena lightly on the arm and strolled off through the crowds.
Joanna drew a little nearer to Serena. ‘An inspirational idea of yours,’ she murmured. ‘Money for our school. Well done!’
Mary had been watching Lefevre’s departure with some scepticism. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Let’s hope, Serena, that your gratitude to the Marquis doesn’t extend too far. I must say I find all this a little surprising. Why didn’t you tell us about the Marquis’s offer when we were all at Joanna’s house, and we questioned you about that unfortunate incident in Covent Garden? And why did you say your dressmaker sent that note, when it was actually Monsieur Lefevre who was waiting down the road for you?’
Think quickly, Serena. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘I do apologise, Mary. But at that point, you see, I wasn’t at all sure that his offer of a donation was certain! And I didn’t want to raise anyone’s hopes, my own most of all. I must confess that the Marquis has expressed an interest in our school before, but I didn’t know whether to believe him. Now, however, in view of his kind contribution, I think there can be no doubt of his good intentions.’ She waved her fan to cool her over-warm cheeks. ‘And there’s something else. He and I have also decided we might enjoy one another’s company on such an occasion as this.’
‘And so,’ said Joanna blithely, ‘you find yourself at a grand ball with our notorious Marquis! What fun!’
‘What fun,’ echoed Serena in a hollow voice.
Beth still looked puzzled, but she tried as usual to be kind. ‘Perhaps we’ve misjudged him, Serena? Perhaps we were all wrong about the Marquis’s unfortunate reputation?’
No, thought Serena rather wildly. No, Beth, we weren’t wrong about him in the least.
‘Never fear,’ Joanna declared. ‘Beth, the Marquis’s daredevil reputation remains intact. But, Serena, my dear, he is without a doubt the most tempting man in London—and you must enjoy every minute with him! Mustn’t she, ladies?’
Serena shot her a warning look because at that very moment she’d spotted Lefevre returning, followed by a footman bearing a tray of wine glasses. ‘Ladies,’ Lefevre announced, ‘champagne for us all! Here’s to your noble charity work!’
‘So generous of you, monsieur,’ purred Joanna as she reached for a glass, ‘to be making such a substantial donation to our cause.’
Serena ventured to take a sip of champagne, but she almost choked on it when Lefevre gave a slight bow in her direction and said, ‘I must admit that I view most charity efforts as pure self-indulgence, created to salve the consciences of the rich. But how could I resist this particular cause? Especially when such a charming lady begged me for my help!’
He put his hand possessively on Serena’s shoulder. It felt warm. It felt strong. It sent her already heated thoughts scrambling into confusion. ‘I did not beg,’ she began. ‘You know I did no such thing—’
But just then a crowd of fashionable men strolled by and stopped. ‘Lefevre, by God! Here you are, toasting the Wicked Widows—what a caper! Got them all under your spell, have you? But listen, while you’re here, what’s your opinion on the race tomorrow at Newmarket? Which nag are you putting your money on, hey?’
Lefevre moved away to speak with his friends and Mary, still frowning, drew closer to Serena. ‘You know, I believe we agreed the affairs of our charity were meant to be confidential. I really don’t like the thought of the school being discussed with the likes of that man, no matter how much money he gives. We can maybe consider it at our meeting next Monday. It’s your turn to host, Serena, isn’t it? In the meantime I feel you need to have a word with him. And to give you the opportunity, we’ll leave the two of you together, since it looks as if the Marquis is about to return.’ She looked round at the other two. ‘Are you coming, ladies?’
Beth looked torn for a moment, but then she dutifully followed Mary. Joanna patted Serena’s hand and whispered, ‘I’ll visit you soon, darling. I think Lefevre’s donation is a brilliant idea of yours. Believe me, I cannot wait to hear more.’
She sauntered off just as Lefevre returned. He smiled down at her. ‘Being tactful, are they, your friends? Leaving us together for a romantic interlude?’
Serena felt two spots of colour burning on her cheeks. ‘You did that deliberately, didn’t you? Shocking my friends with your flippant comment about my begging for your help!’
He put on a look of wounded innocence. ‘But it was you who suggested I support this school of yours!’
‘I certainly didn’t want it to look as if I was...was pursuing you,’ she replied heatedly. ‘Which was how you, monsieur, made it appear!’
‘Hélas. I have to keep up my reputation,’ he murmured.
This was too much. ‘I’m going,’ she declared, turning to sweep away; but his powerful hand on her shoulder stopped her.
‘Going where, precisely, my lady?’
‘Home!’
‘No, yo
u’re not.’ Lefevre spoke mildly. ‘Not yet, anyway. We have an agreement. Don’t you remember?’
She looked pointedly at a wall clock nearby. ‘I’ve been here for over an hour with you. I’ve danced with you and I’ll be lucky if my friends ever speak to me again after your flippant comment about charities being an indulgence of the privileged few!’
‘And aren’t they?’
She felt hot and confused under his steady gaze. ‘Maybe there’s a little truth in it. But did you have to actually say so? Haven’t you done enough harm for one evening?’
‘There’s no harm done, as far as I’m aware. And if you leave now, Lady Serena, I’ll follow. Everyone will come to the same conclusion—which is, of course, that the two of us can’t wait to get into bed together.’
She backed away, feeling dizzy.
That comment should not have come as such a surprise, because of the way he was looking at her. Her attire was modest, but she felt she might as well be naked. She tried to ignore the carnal interest in the depths of his eyes, but as his gaze took in her face and her figure, something deep inside her was unfurling in an almost agonising torment. He shouldn’t be doing this to her. She couldn’t let him do this to her.
‘So will you stay on for a while, Lady Serena?’ he asked her.
‘You are hateful,’ she whispered.
‘Careful. Smile back at me—that’s right. People are watching us and they might be able to tell what you’re saying. You need to look as though you can’t tear your eyes from me.’ He drew closer and whispered, ‘Look as if you’d like me to kiss you. Again.’
The man was simply impossible! ‘Your vanity never ceases to amaze me, Monsieur Lefevre,’ she retorted. ‘Put it this way. I’d need to drink a whole bottle of champagne first.’
‘Really?’ He sounded surprised and impressed. ‘Then let me fetch—’
