“Indeed he does,” she said. “Miss Twillworthy can’t help her spots—not when her foolish grandmother overindulges her in sweets and keeps her trapped in that oppressive, musty house all the day. The girl scarcely ever goes out, but at night, like a little mole.”
While she spoke, Lilith debated what to do. To go with him was asking for trouble. On the other hand, she had something to say that could not be said before others. The matter on her conscience proving powerful enough to squeeze out other anxieties, she walked on with him.
She had kept clear of Lord Brandon all the past week. Now they were alone, she knew she could no longer—and should not—shrink from the apology she owed him. Had he appeared as coldly hostile as he had that morning in the park, her task would have been easier. She might simply make her speech and, her duty done, exit quickly.
His amiability made her far more uncomfortable. Either he was a remarkably forbearing man or too careless and unfeeling to be affected by—to even recollect—the harsh, unjust accusations she’d flung at him.
It didn’t matter what he was, she chided herself. She had made a grievous error and must apologise. She swallowed, lifted her chin, and spoke.
“My lord, a few minutes ago you referred to—to ears being blistered. I believe—I know—that is—some days ago, we had words.”
He stopped and looked at her. “We did. Mrs. Davenant, I do humbly beg your pardon for that. I was a beast. I was just this moment trying to compose my apology. Yet what expressions of regret could excuse me? I am still appalled by my behaviour. I never knew I had a temper, but I must have, because I lost it. And for what? Because you spoke some unpleasant truths.”
“Unpleasant, yes, but the truth—”
“Oh, it was that.”
“It was not,” she blurted out guiltily. “It was not the truth you hastened my husband’s death. He did that himself. It was not the truth you destroyed my marriage. It was a wreck from the start. There was no repairing it, no matter how—”
She hesitated, but that was foolish, when he knew already. His words the other day—as though he had known her intimately all those years ago, or had somehow looked into her heart. A generous heart, he had said. He must be generous, certainly, to forgive her and regret his own remarks.
“No matter how I tried,” she said softly. Though tears pricked her eyes, there was relief, she found, in saying it aloud, finally, after all these years, and so she went on. “If I had been older and wiser, perhaps I would have seen the futility.” Willing back the tears, she mustered up a smile. “Or perhaps not. I am supposedly older and wiser now, yet I needed you to point out my mistake.”
‘”You are far more generous than I deserve. No more on this topic, I beg, or I shall commence sobbing uncontrollably.”
A small titter escaped her, and she had to admire how deftly he’d drawn her back from perilous emotional waters.
He threw her an admiring glance. “What a remarkable girl you are,” he said.
“Hardly a girl,” she answered as she resumed walking.
“You are eight and twenty. I am seven years your senior. What do your calculations make me, I wonder? Shall I order a Bath chair at once?”
Her smile broadened at the image. “Now, there’s an intriguing picture. My Lord Brandon—a pair of spectacles upon his nose, a horn at his ear, shawls wound round him—being trundled about in a Bath chair.’’
“A fitting end. I know that’s what you’re thinking. You can’t deny it.”
“I should not presume to say what would be fitting in your case. Recollect I have but recently been tumbled from my throne of judgment.”
“Then you must be in need of support.”
He offered his arm and she, reluctant to spoil their truce, took it.
“If you continue in a penitential frame of mind,” he said, “I had better hasten to take advantage. I have a case to plead with you. Not my own,” he added before her newfound ease in his company could dwindle. “You may assume your wig once more, My Lady Judge. Take out your black cap if you will—though I hope you will not have occasion to don it.”
“A cardinal offence, is it? Not murder, I hope.”
“Not precisely, though a life is at stake, in a manner of speaking. A man’s life or—in the interests of accuracy—a fool’s. My cousin, Robin.’’
His handsome face was serious now, or appeared so. Lilith thought she had better not study it too closely.
“I do not see how any judgment of mine could in any way affect Lord Robert’s life,” she said carefully. “If you refer, as I assume you do, to this business with Cecily—”
“I do, and I beg you to reconsider. I do not believe you acted wrongly. I have told him so myself, repeatedly, but he refuses to listen. In consequence, I’ve had to endure a week of his incessant complaints and gripes and sulks and sullens. If you will not take pity on him, I wish you would take pity on me. Another day of it and I shall shoot him.’’
His face was still grave, but his aggrieved tones made her grin. “I am to be responsible for your cousin’s murder and your own hanging, my lord? Is that not excessive?”
“You would not say so if he were moping and grumbling the livelong day in your house, or if you had the hauling of his morose carcass about.”
“You cannot be hinting he is serious about Cecily. He cannot have serious intentions towards two women simultaneously. I need not, I hope, remind you of the moral character of one of these women.”
“Miss Glenwood is the only human being who has managed to draw Robert from the demimonde. I cannot say what his feelings are. I know only that since he met her, he has neglected his mistress. He has taken up quarters in my house—he who would scarcely leave his paramour’s side for an hour, is gone from her days at a time.”
“Yet he continues to send her gifts.”
“When passion dwindles, one often finds presents easier to give than time and attention. In any event, the less time he devotes to his mistress and the more among his social equals, the better his chances of finding a more suitable object—in the family’s eyes, at least.”
“I do not prevent his enjoying good society,” she said.
“Miss Glenwood’s is the only society that interests him at present Banished from her, he is bored and fretful. Worse, with each passing day, the risk increases he’ll return to his mistress.” He paused briefly, as though to allow the implications to sink in. “I’m convinced Robert means your niece no harm. Still, I shall promise to keep a close watch on him, if you will be so compassionate as to end his exile.”
She did not answer immediately, though she knew what her reply must be. She, who had accused Brandon of leading her husband astray, could not refuse to help lead another man aright.
“You are an eloquent solicitor, my lord,” she said at last. “I seem to be hoist by my own petard.”
“Not at all. I counted on your generous heart.” His gaze was warm.
Lilith looked away. “The heart that concerns me is Cecily’s. If I discern any signs of infatuation—unreturned, that is—”
“Then I shall knock the lad unconscious and drop him onto the first vessel bound for New South Wales.”
“I do not demand so extreme a remedy. Paris will do,” she said magnanimously. “Or Rome. With the end of hostilities, I expect half the Beau Monde will be flocking abroad.”
“With the hostilities ended, the Continent is not so interesting to me,” he said, a shade of meaning in his voice. Then, more briskly, he went on, “At any rate, Redley and his ancestors have transported half the Continent here. What works of art they could not buy or steal outright, I understand, they copied. There was once and I expect may still be an excellent reproduction of Bernini’s ‘Apollo and Daphne’ round the next turning. Will you permit me to expound upon its aesthetic qualities?”
The path, shaded by enormous rhododendrons, opened into a large clearing, in the centre of which the statue stood. The shrubbery all around was tall and dense. A narrow
opening through the leaves indicated yet another path, leading heaven knew where. The foliage was too thick to permit more than a glimpse of the way beyond. The place was quiet, except for the occasional ruffling of leaves in the light breeze.
“I was mistaken,” said Lord Brandon as they approached the sculpture. “This, as I recall, is the work of Lord Redley’s artistic great-grandfather. He called it The Abduction of Helen.’ The pose obviously owes something to Bernini’s ‘Pluto and Persephone’—though I never considered the two ladies’ cases quite the same. I prefer to believe Helen went with Paris of her own free will.”
He had already treated Lilith to several amusing theories regarding the expected Bernini. He was surprisingly well-read. Lilith wondered wryly when he’d found time for books. She had known he could be charming, but she’d expected a more shallow, social charm. She had not expected to find his conversation quite so... stimulating.
She smiled up at his sun-dappled face. “You think Helen willingly abandoned the throne of Sparta? Were Greek women so impractical, then?”
“I have decided she was very young, in an alien land, the husband chosen for her an old, insensitive lout. Paris appeared, and the two young beauties were instantly smitten. They tried to be discreet, but their affair was betrayed to Menelaus. Helen fled with her lover to escape a horrible death.”
Lilith laughed. “Leave it to you to devise extenuating circumstances.”
“I can’t help it. I am a hopeless romantic.” There was a pause—two heartbeats, maybe more.
Then, in lower tones, he went on. “I can guess, at least, what the Trojan must have felt when he met Sparta’s queen. In my vision she is tall, proud, and spirited, with eyes like Poseidon’s storms and hair tinged with Hephaistos’ fire.”
Lilith’s smile faded, along with her quiet pleasure in his company.
He was no longer looking at the statue, she knew, though she dared not meet his gaze. She must not listen, she told herself. He was too perceptive, too clever, and honeyed speeches came too easily to him. With forced calm, she disengaged her arm from his and walked to the entwined marble figures.
“Have you seen the Bernini?” she asked, keeping her voice light. “Is this very like, do you think?”
“I’m afraid at the moment I can’t think.” He moved up behind her. “I should not have brought you here. I should never be alone with you. Every good resolution I’ve made is smashed to pieces.”
His breath was warm on her neck.
“My lord—”
“Lilith.” It was a whisper, and his lips touched her neck, light as a whisper, yet the touch seared her.
He is the Devil, she told herself. It is all practised wickedness. But his lips had touched her neck again, and the hand gently clasping her arm burned too. A dangerous yearning incandesced within her. He turned her unresisting, betraying body towards him.
“I meant to be good,” he said softly, sadly, it seemed, as his face lowered to hers. “I cannot.”
“No—”
His mouth silenced her and her lips answered his kiss, just as her body answered the light pressure of his hands urging her closer. Light, yes, and gentle, yes, but she was helpless against the current drawing her to him. There was too much tenderness in its beckoning. She, who had never known tenderness of any kind, who had never heard sweet words of longing, could not resist what he offered, but hungered only for more.
She knew nothing of moments passing, nothing of the world about her. There was one world only, in his arms, a world that smouldered, then glowed, then crackled into flame against a growing darkness. There she was lost, utterly.
Lord Robert, emerging from the other path, immediately turned and pushed Cecily back.
“That wasn’t at all necessary,” she reproached when they were out of range. “You can’t think I would burst upon my aunt without warning. I hope I’m not such a clodpole.”
“Your eyes are a deal too sharp, Miss Glenwood,” he complained. “We’d better go back—or I shall be in your aunt’s black books forever.”
“We can’t leave them like this.”
“We most certainly can. They’re adults. It’s none of our business.”
“What if someone else comes? My aunt will be ruined.”
Lord Robert forbore rejoining that Mrs. Davenant was as good as ruined already, if that passionate embrace was any indication. “I am not going to stand guard until they’re done,” he said. Then, as he recollected what getting done would inevitably entail, he added primly, “And you certainly will not.”
“Don’t be silly. We must simply give them a moment to recover themselves. Lord Robert,” she said, so loudly that he winced, “you must go away. You should not have followed me. My aunt will be most displeased.”
“Miss Glenwood—”
“Louder,” she whispered. “Don’t be such a slow-top. Argue with me—or plead—or something—but so they can hear you.”
The feminine voice pierced Lord Brandon’s consciousness like a gunshot, though it took another moment for the message to be relayed elsewhere. Then, cursing inwardly, he reluctantly raised his lips from the widow’s right earlobe. Her eyes fluttered open.
“Someone is coming,” he said, his voice low.
Instantly, Lilith jerked away from him, leaving chill emptiness where her warm, supple body had just been. Forgetting other voices, he reached out instinctively to draw her back, but she had moved apart. With trembling hands, she was trying to smooth her frock and her hair simultaneously.
He heard Robert then, complaining loudly. Lord Brandon bestowed another silent though heartfelt malediction upon his cousin. “I shall kill him,” he muttered. “Was ever a man so cursed in his relations?”
He looked to her again, and felt a stab within. She was still flushed and utterly discomposed. Unlike many of her noble sisters, she was unaccustomed to coolly erasing evidence of an indiscretion. Her eyes appealed to him for help.
He moved to her, quickly smoothed a few curls from her face, and twitched the waist of her dowdy grey frock aright.
“It’s only the children,” he said. “Appear enraptured with the sculpture.”
The children came into view minutes later, stopped abruptly as they caught sight of their elders, and showed every evidence of surprise and confusion.
Cecily hastened to her aunt. “Please do not be angry, Aunt. We came upon each other quite by accident. I was just telling Lord Robert that I am not to speak to him, because I might say that at least, mightn’t I?”
“Mrs. Davenant, I do apologise,” said Lord Robert. “It’s all my fault—”
“Certainly,” Lord Brandon interjected. “It is always your fault. Here I have been trying to explain the misunderstanding, and this lady has not only kindly heard me out, but graciously allowed you a second chance. Now you blunder in like the confounded, clumsy idiot I have just been telling her you are not,” he finished with some heat.
The widow found her voice, though he detected a slight quaver as she spoke.
“We shall not compound one misunderstanding with another. Naturally, your meeting with Cecily was an accident.” Her gaze fell upon Cecily. “I know my niece would never deliberately disobey me. Therefore I cannot entertain for a moment the notion she arranged, behind my back, to meet with you.”
“Oh, never,” said Lord Robert chivalrously.
He reddened, though, and the marquess had no doubt why.
“Lord Brandon tells me you are the... the victim of a hoax,” the widow went on.
Brandon gazed at her in surprise. That was inventive of her. A hoax would serve admirably.
“Did he? Yes, well, I am—was—that is to say–”
“Then we shall consider the matter closed, Lord Robert. Though I should advise you in future to choose friends with less distasteful notions of humour. I will not have my niece suffer further shocks to her sensibilities.”
“No ma’am. You’re quite right. Thank you, ma’am. You’re exceedingly kind. Real
ly, I—”
“As to you, Cecily,” Mrs. Davenant said, disregarding Lord Robert’s protestations, “I thought you had already been advised against wandering off by yourself.”
As she spoke, she put her arm protectively about her niece’s shoulders and took the girl away, so that Lord Brandon heard nothing of the ensuing lecture.
He heard as little of his cousin’s expressions of gratitude and wonder, although Robert walked beside him. They had taken the other path. While it was a more circuitous route to the party proper, Lord Brandon was in no hurry to be back. His rage with his cousin had subsided, yet the marquess was not quite as easy within as he appeared without.
He was still irritated, which was foolish, when naturally matters could not have proceeded to any satisfactory conclusion. He’d no intention of ravishing Lilith Davenant in broad day in somebody’s garden. The problem was, he’d had no intention of allowing matters to go even as far as they had done.
He knew by now that her conjugal experiences with Charles had not been happy ones. That was why she was so skittish. Accordingly, Brandon had taken care not to lead her too far too soon.
The trouble was, he’d found himself drawn too far, from pleasure... to hunger, and long after she’d broken from him, the feeling remained, like an ache. It lingered yet, not so strong as at first, but uncomfortable nonetheless. It should not have existed at all. Lovemaking was an art, not the mere release of some base animal need.
Impatience, he reassured himself. He’d never had to woo so long or face so many obstacles. What aroused him was the difficulty and challenge of this pursuit. The seduction of Lilith Davenant was proving a more exhilarating and novel experience than he could have predicted. Since it was novel, one must expect the occasional aberration.
These reflections eased his mind considerably, and he began at last to respond to his chattering cousin. Occupied in devising ironic sallies to Lord Robert’s effusions, the marquess neglected to explain satisfactorily to himself the other, altogether different twinge he experienced from time to time, at the recollection of one pleading pair of smoky blue eyes.
Knave's Wager Page 12
