by Stella Riley
But surely there was only one question which mattered. Which was more important? The masquerade … or the life Julian deserved? And the answer was glaringly obvious.
Setting further thought aside for the moment, she got up from the floor and perched on the bench beside him, saying curiously, ‘What is it called … your own piece?’
‘Nothing. I don’t name them.’ She was too close. He could feel the warmth of her against his side and smell the lavender-water she’d used to rinse her hair. He shifted to the far edge of the bench only to find that it wasn’t far enough. ‘It’s just a sarabande.’
‘Them?’ She pounced on the word and turned her head to look at him. ‘You don’t name them? How many pieces have you written?’
‘I’ve never counted. Three sonatas, a couple of toccata and fugues and a scherzo or two. I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘I only keep the good ones. The others go on the fire.’
‘You burn them?’ Arabella stared at him in pure disbelief. ‘Are you completely insane?’
‘No.’ He risked a sideways glance. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Who says those pieces are no good?’
‘I do.’
‘Exactly.’ She stood up to loom over him. ‘Do you suppose that Mozart burns music no one but him has ever heard because he decides it isn’t good?’
‘What has that to do with anything?’ He rose and found himself facing her at inescapably close quarters. ‘I’m not Mozart.’
‘No, you’re not. But perhaps you are as good. Perhaps you could be better.’
Julian’s tension fractured and he laughed.
‘Stop!’ She grabbed his arms and shook him. ‘Stop it! It isn’t funny. You are burning music. Your music. How can you? It – it’s downright wicked.’
The laughter dried in his throat. Not because, ludicrous though her faith in him was, it overwhelmed him but because the world had narrowed to the fact that the only thing separating her skin from his was the thin lawn of his shirt-sleeves. He couldn’t think. He was drowning in grey eyes, full of passionate accusation and certainty … all of it centred on him. It was too much. His hands moved of their own volition. One slid into her hair, while the other found her waist as he closed the space between them … and then his mouth was on hers.
For the merest instant before the absolute rightness of it settled over her, surprise stopped Arabella’s breath. Then there was nothing but him; nothing but the joy of his embrace and the gentle, questioning touch of his lips which she answered by putting an arm around his neck to draw him closer. A welcome, a promise, an invitation.
Her hair was cool silk in his fingers, the curve of her waist soft and warm, her mouth hot and sweet. Time ceased to exist and reality shifted. Desire blossomed, but though he acknowledged its presence, he felt as if he was hovering on the brink of something greater; something beyond the scope of his imagination … like a concerto, as yet unwritten. It both lured and confused him. So he released her and stepped back to where the ground was safer until he could make sense of it.
The kiss had lasted mere seconds but when she looked at him, he saw his own startled awareness mirrored in her eyes. Clearing his throat, he struggled to find something to say and eventually settled for, ‘Should I apologise?’
Arabella moistened her lips. ‘Not on my account.’
‘Then I won’t insult you by lying. I know I shouldn’t have done it and that it mustn’t be repeated.’ He stopped, as if puzzling something out. ‘I could blame the music, I suppose. Sometimes … afterwards, I’m not – I can’t --’ And stopped again, unable to explain how everything in him was very near the surface at such times
‘Oh – I think the music had something to do with it,’ she said softly. ‘For both of us. Goodnight, Julian.’
And walked quickly away, leaving him alone.
* * *
She checked on the children and then climbed into bed knowing that she wouldn’t be able to sleep. His kiss – every bit as beautiful as his music – had nearly been her undoing. Not in the physical sense, of course. Regardless of the fact that it had been lovelier and more pleasurable than David’s kisses had ever been, and she’d have liked to stay in his arms forever, she had learned her lesson on that score. If he hadn’t drawn back, she would have made herself do so. No. What she had wanted – and what she had very nearly done – was to end the deceit by telling him the truth; who she was, why she was there instead of her cousin … everything. But that wasn’t something to be blurted out on the spur of the moment with no thought to the consequences. Changing places had been her idea. She had talked Lizzie into it, so had no right to risk exposure without consulting Lizzie about that too.
But for reasons she wasn’t yet ready to explore or even acknowledge, she wanted to be honest with Julian. After tonight, the pretence was no longer remotely acceptable; and ending it would not merely salve her conscience but might also bring advantages. Of course, in addition to Julian, she would have to confess to both her mother and Rockliffe. But that done – and assuming that the heavens didn’t fall – she could approach the duke on Julian’s behalf. She could cajole Max into making the Chalfont estate a loan. She could even allow herself a small, private and very unlikely fantasy that could solve every one of Julian’s problems if neither Rockliffe nor Max would do so.
Her brain was reeling with too many ideas and the echoes of music.
First things first, thought Arabella. Tomorrow morning, I’ll write to Lizzie.
* * *
Julian also lay awake. His blood was singing … and it wasn’t solely due to the music. Sexual gratification had never been a priority. He could go for months without missing or even thinking about it. His two brief liaisons had come about because the girls in question had pursued him – presumably because they considered him either attractive or some sort of challenge. During the short time each affair had lasted, they had seemed satisfied with his performances in bed but found them insufficient compensation for his behaviour outside it. Julian couldn’t blame them for that. He supposed that one’s lover forgetting one’s existence half of the time might be a bit annoying. But Elizabeth was different. In the last few days, he’d caught himself thinking about her a great deal – more, in fact, than was either comfortable or wise. He looked forward to seeing her every evening and tried to think of things that might make her laugh. And tonight, when he had started to play, it hadn’t been for himself alone.
The temptation to kiss her which had been lying in wait for some time had finally proved irresistible. Immediately, he had known that he wanted her; almost as immediately, he had been aware that there was – or could be – more to it than that. It wasn’t a feeling he knew or could understand and it had been sufficiently alarming to stop him doing what he shouldn’t have been doing anyway. She hadn’t seemed to mind him kissing her but that didn’t mean she would welcome him doing it again, possibly even more than once. He hoped she knew that he wouldn’t have tried to take it any further. If she didn’t … if she doubted his intentions, she might leave; and since he couldn’t risk that happening, kissing her wasn’t a mistake he could afford to make again.
He told himself he shouldn’t feel like this – whatever this was. He should concentrate on practical matters such as how to find the money to pay for a new plough, the current one having outlived its useful life a decade or so ago. The trouble was that he seemed incapable of stemming the tide of stupid happiness that washed over him when she smiled or laughed … or merely entered the same room.
Was this what love felt like? He didn’t know. He had never experienced it. But tonight – and entirely separate from the heightened emotion he always got from playing freely and at length – he’d had a dizzying sense of possibility. And had no idea what to make of it or how to find out of it had been purely in his imagination.
~ * * ~ * * ~
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Having lingered at Gardington for several days to deal with matters brought to his attention by hi
s steward, Lord Sherbourne returned to Curzon Street the night before the Cavendish ball and was astounded to find an invitation to it. He wasn’t unacquainted with Lord and Lady Cavendish; no one in society was. But he couldn’t think of a reason why he would receive an invitation from them when he had never done so before. Since, however, it would be stupid not to attend, he sent a footman round with an acceptance along with his apologies for not having responded sooner.
As soon as he walked into the ballroom, having exchanged greetings with his host and hostess, things that had puzzled him very quickly became clear.
Lord Nicholas Wynstanton dropped a heavy, if apparently amicable, hand on his shoulder and said, ‘Sherbourne. We heard you might be joining us this evening. Come and take a glass of wine in the card-room.’
‘That is extremely civil of you,’ replied Ralph. ‘Later perhaps?’
‘Why not now?’ asked Nicholas, smiling but not releasing his grip. ‘Numerous other friends eager to drink with you, are there?’
‘Probably not. But one prefers to have a choice in the matter.’
‘Then let’s make it look as if you have one.’ Cheerfully manoeuvring towards the card room, Nicholas added softly, ‘It wouldn’t do to have folk think there’s bad blood between us … now would it?’
There being no answer to this, Ralph didn’t attempt to make one.
Inside the card room and occupying a group of armchairs near the hearth were Amberley and Lord Harry Caversham. The obvious choices, Ralph supposed; Rockliffe’s brother, his oldest friend and his brother-in-law. He found himself envying the duke’s ability to keep things in the family. It was a comfort he himself had never possessed and was never likely to. Now he remained silent and waited to find out what these men wanted with him. Whatever it was, he doubted he would like it.
Harry Caversham held out his hand, saying pleasantly, ‘Good evening, Sherbourne. You haven’t been around much recently, I believe?’
‘No. I have spent some months in Dorset.’
‘Familiarising yourself with your estates?’ asked Amberley, handing him a glass of wine. ‘The early stages take time, do they not?’
‘Indeed.’ Ralph made no attempt to drink. Instead, letting a cool glance stray past the marquis and Lord Harry to land on Nicholas, he said, ‘What may I do for you, gentlemen?’
‘You can listen,’ returned Nicholas flatly. ‘The ladies believe a show of friendship will cast doubt on any gossip before it becomes a problem. We … have our doubts.’
‘Of course.’ His smile was faintly acidic. ‘Am I supposed to reassure you?’
‘You can try.’
‘Nicholas.’ Amberley sighed faintly. ‘We know you don’t like Lord Sherbourne but --’
‘No. I don’t.’ Dark eyes met and held the earl’s tawny ones. ‘Quite aside from everything else I and the rest of the world knows of you, my lord, Aristide Delacroix is not merely a friend of mine but also my brother-in-law – as he is yours. And your sister could have done much worse for herself. I hope I’m making myself quite clear?’
‘Admirably so,’ said Ralph. ‘However, I don’t imagine you brought me here purely to hear that. So perhaps we might come to the point?’
Harry laid a restraining hand on Nicholas’s sleeve, saying, ‘Leave it, Nick. You’ve said your piece … but his lordship is quite right. We’re under orders to make it look as though we’re all getting on like a house on fire – and this isn’t the way to do it.’
‘I just wanted to make the position plain.’
‘And you have done so.’ Amberley raised his glass and low-voiced but firm, said, ‘We are attracting attention. So smile, gentlemen and let us toast … something.’
‘Our accord?’ suggested Harry, grinning. And before anyone could object, ‘Here’s to it!’
All of them drank; all of them smiled; all of them knew it for the charade it was.
Amberley, however, decided that it was time to address the situation. He said, ‘We’re all aware that you helped Mistress Brandon out of extreme difficulty and behaved impeccably towards her throughout. We’re also aware that it was sheer bad luck you were seen together by Philippa Sutherland, of all people. Tonight is about telling the world not to believe everything it may hear. The suggestion is that you dance with Mistress Brandon – just once, in order not to raise speculation of an impending betrothal – and perhaps also Lady Elinor and the Countess of Sarre.’ He paused and added, ‘My wife, of course, dances with no one but myself.’
‘And you can forget both my wife and Cassie Audley – neither of whom are predisposed in your favour,’ advised Nicholas. ‘So – do we have an understanding?’
‘Oh yes,’ Ralph replied, his tone rather more clipped than usual. ‘You have made yourself abundantly clear, my lord. Do I have everyone’s leave to go?’
‘Don’t be an ass, Sherbourne,’ said Harry, by no means unkindly. ‘We’re trying to help, believe it or not. And when you’ve done your duty in the ballroom, perhaps you’d care to join me for a hand or two of piquet. Amberley is too good for me and Nick, no challenge at all … so I’d be happy to try my luck with you.’
* * *
Clad in the embroidered blue silk delivered only that afternoon from Phanie’s, Elizabeth stood at the edge of ballroom with Adeline and Cassie and tried not to look like the country cousin she undoubtedly was. The room was vast, elegantly-appointed and ablaze with candles. There were banks of flowers and greenery, an orchestra that bore little resemblance to any at the York and Boroughbridge assemblies and what seemed to be hundreds of fashionably-dressed ladies and gentlemen. Half-dazzled and half-terrified, Elizabeth wondered whether she would ever get used to any of it.
The gavotte that had begun just as they had arrived was still in progress and during it Rockliffe had presented three gentlemen who had requested introductions and all of whom begged the honour of a dance. Even before that, her card had held the names of Mr Audley, Lord Sarre and the Marquis of Amberley. Elizabeth, who had little experience of even provincial balls, could only pray she would acquit herself adequately.
Nell Caversham, a vision in foaming rose-pink and white, rustled over to join them and said, ‘Sherbourne is here and been dragged off to receive his orders. Personally, I don’t consider that helpful – but Nick has a bee in his bonnet about the man.’
‘In which he isn’t alone,’ observed Cassie. ‘However, I’ve agreed to join the rest of you in giving Sherbourne a second chance – so I will. It’s up to him not to make me regret it.’
‘And here he comes,’ murmured Adeline. ‘Perhaps we could all not stare?’
Elizabeth watched from the corner of her eye as Sherbourne shook hands with Rockliffe and exchanged what looked like genial pleasantries. He wore a coat of dull gold brocade, over an embroidered vest and he was more attractive than she remembered. Seeing him again and knowing that, if it became necessary, he would offer her his name … that, in doing so and had she been able to accept, he would make her a countess … gave her a very odd feeling. And then he was bowing over her hand with that faint half-smile and the odd feeling abruptly became a sort of quivery warmth.
Hoping she wasn’t blushing, she curtsied, smiled and said, ‘It is a pleasure to see you again, my lord. I am quite sure that I didn’t thank you adequately for your help.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ he replied suavely. ‘But if you wish to thank me and your card is not already overflowing … a dance would be more than enough reward for whatever small assistance I was able to provide.’
Unseen by anyone but Nell, Cassie rolled her eyes.
‘I should be delighted, sir.’ Elizabeth hesitated briefly. ‘Perhaps … the supper-dance?’
The hawk-like gaze widened a fraction, before briefly filling with something that might have been resignation as he said, ‘The supper-dance, then. I shall be honoured.’ With another slight bow and scarcely a pause, he turned his gaze on Nell. ‘May I also solicit your ladyship’s hand? You should know that I hav
e been granted permission to ask.’
The caustic note was slight but Nell heard it and frowned. ‘The only permission you need is mine, my lord. And you may have the first dance after supper.’
‘I thank you.’ He half-turned to go and then said softly, ‘Mistress Audley, pray understand that, on the advice of Lord Nicholas, I am … sparing us both a refusal.’
‘When I need Nicholas to decide who I will or will not dance with, I’ll let him know,’ remarked Cassie. ‘The gavotte is finishing and I am not engaged for the next set. It’s yours, if you want it.’
‘You mean it is mine if I am brave enough to accept it,’ he retorted smoothly, offering his arm. ‘And yes, ma’am. I believe my courage is adequate.’
As they moved away, Nell whispered, ‘You’re right, Arabella. He isn’t stupid. But here is Lord Sarre to claim you. You’ll like dancing with him. He’s lovely.’
Elizabeth discovered that Lady Elinor had not exaggerated. Lord Sarre danced well, conversed easily and gradually banished her earlier nerves so that she was able to greet subsequent partners with less trepidation than she might otherwise have done. But for the next two hours, although she danced nearly every dance and enjoyed all of them, something inside her was waiting with illogical anticipation for the minuet before supper.
From time to time during the earlier part of the evening before he disappeared from the ballroom, she glimpsed Lord Sherbourne dancing with this one or that; Cassie, then Lady Sarre … and later, a beautiful and extremely sophisticated-looking brunette who seemed to be enjoying his company very much indeed. It was at this point that Elizabeth edgily reminded herself that his lordship had only solicited her hand because he had been told to.
In fact, aside from the measure he had trodden with Caroline Sarre, Ralph was deriving little pleasure from the evening. He’d had to tolerate Cassandra Audley telling him it was time to mend his fences with his half-sister and her husband … and then spent a half hour deflecting Alicia Denning’s attempts to lure him into bed. And when he’d escaped gratefully to the card room, a potentially enjoyable hand of piquet with Harry Caversham had been spoiled by the unsmiling presence of Nicholas Wynstanton. Had he not been promised to Lady Elinor for the quadrille immediately after supper, Ralph rather thought he would have left the instant his dance with Mistress Brandon was concluded.
