An Escapade and an Engagement (9 page)

But, in spite of the delight they took in planning their
rebellion against Lord Caxton, by the time it came to Tuesday night both ladies
were in quite a state. Lady Jayne gave up waiting decorously on the sofa and
stood at the window, watching out for Milly’s arrival.

Lady Penrose simply paced the floor.

‘Oh, dear,’ she said, for the umpteenth time. ‘I should not be
doing this. If anything were to happen to you, your grandfather would never
forgive me.’

‘What could possibly happen to me? I shall only be at a
masquerade ball. In a private house.’

‘These events sometimes degenerate into sad romps. It is why
your grandfather would disapprove.’

‘Miss Brigstock and I will have a male escort, Lady
Penrose.’

‘Yes, but we hardly know this Lieutenant Kendell.’

‘Surely he must be perfectly respectable,’ Lady Jayne replied
mischievously, ‘since Lord Ledbury introduced us to him.’

She had taken great delight in getting her seal of approval for
the male escort in question by emphasising his connection to Lord Ledbury. The
mere mention of his name always soothed Lady Penrose’s ruffled feathers. And
Lady Jayne hadn’t been able to help enjoying using him to enable her to go
through with an enterprise he would roundly condemn, should he ever find out
about it. It was a fitting revenge for the way he’d tried to dictate with whom
she could be friends.

At last the long-awaited carriage drew up outside. They had
decided to hire a hack, since travelling in Lady Penrose’s town carriage would
betray their identity at once.

She saw Milly getting out and so, before Lady Penrose had time
to think better of letting her go out without her, she flew across the room,
gave her a swift hug, promised that she would be very, very careful, and ran
from the room.

‘This is so exciting,’ said Milly as Lady Jayne bundled her
back into the hired cab and climbed in after her.

Exciting was not the word Lady Jayne would have chosen to
describe the emotions churning round her stomach. She was riddled with guilt at
not only deceiving Lady Penrose, but making her an accomplice. She was dreading
giving Harry the news that would break his heart. This evening was going to be
quite an ordeal.

A bit like lancing a boil. Quite painful, and messy, but once
it was done she would be able to return to a more healthy state of mind.
Eventually.

‘You look adorable,’ said Harry, who had been sitting in one
corner, hidden from the inquisitive eyes of the footman who had opened the
carriage door for her. He had gone to pick up Milly first, thinking it would be
best for them all to arrive together, rather than waste time trying to locate
each other whilst heavily disguised if they made their way to the ball
separately.

As he ran his eyes over her with smouldering intensity her
discomfort increased all the more. For one thing, it was hard to accept
compliments and admiring looks when she was about to break things off with
him.

For another, she knew she did not look in the least adorable.
She looked like a nun in a wimple.

‘What do you think of my costume, Lieutenant Kendell?’ Milly
twitched aside the heavy cloak she wore, drawing Harry’s eyes away from Lady
Jayne.

‘My word,’ he said, his mouth spreading into an appreciative
grin. ‘That is quite something.’

Indeed it was, thought Lady Jayne with a spurt of feminine
jealousy. Milly had told her that she had once seen a Spanish woman wearing a
dress of red satin, with hundreds of ruffles round the skirts, which had looked
so incredibly opulent that she had vowed if ever she had any money she would buy
such a dress for herself. She knew, of course, that such a style would normally
be quite unsuitable for everyday, but it would be perfect for a masquerade ball.
Red satin she had promised herself, if ever she had the means, so red satin she
would have.

Her own plain white muslin gown, and the blue silk domino that
covered it, were positively insipid in comparison with Milly’s flamboyant
costume. Particularly since it moulded to Milly’s figure as though it had been
painted on. She even had a red mask—Lady Jayne sighed enviously—studded with
tiny red beads to resemble jewelled eyebrows.

She had to remind herself quite sternly that it was ridiculous
to feel jealous when the whole point of her nondescript outfit was to deflect
attention, not to attract it.

Their host and hostess were waiting, arm in arm, at the head of
the stairs to greet their guests as they arrived. Lord Lambourne was dressed in
some kind of military uniform, while his wife was dressed in a costume very
similar to Milly’s. Spanish ladies were obviously in vogue for masquerade balls
this Season.

Their party passed on into a ballroom where dancing was already
underway. No sooner had they got there than a rather portly man in black silk,
sporting a pair of red devil’s horns, lurched up to them.

‘Do I know either of you fair maidens?’ He peered at Lady Jayne
and Milly in turn. ‘My, but I am going to enjoy endeavouring to penetrate your
disguises.’

The lascivious tone of his voice made Lady Jayne pull her
domino tight to her throat and shrink closer to Harry.

But Milly gave a sultry gurgle and replied, ‘And I shall enjoy
fielding your efforts to do so.’

He couldn’t tear his eyes from the front of Milly’s very tight
and daringly low-cut bodice when he asked her to dance.

Had Lady Jayne been on the receiving end of such a lascivious
look she would have slapped the portly devil’s face, but Milly did not appear to
feel in the least bit insulted. On the contrary, she laughed with apparent
delight and went off to dance with a perfect stranger…

Leaving her alone with Harry.

Chapter Six

W
hile Lady Jayne was trying to think of
some way to rescue Milly, even though she did not look as though she wanted
rescuing, Harry swept her onto the dance floor.

As he twirled her round and round she remembered exactly why
she had begun to look out for him whenever she had attended any of the
assemblies that the locals had put on to welcome his regiment to their part of
Kent. He was such a good dancer.

It was sad to think this would be the last time they ever
danced together. She was going to miss dancing with him. Well, the truth was she
was already missing dancing altogether. She bitterly regretted the fact that she
had been so adamant in rejecting all offers to dance with anyone when she had
first come to Town. It would make it very awkward to accept anyone now. Though
she could not think of anyone she was likely to enjoy dancing with anyway—except
perhaps Lord Ledbury, who would not read more into it than was really there.
Only he never danced, either. She was not sure why. He scarcely limped at all.
Though he did sometimes look very fatigued. And it was at those times that he
became particularly crotchety with her.

According to Milly, he got crotchety with her, too. Apparently,
during the year she’d acted as his nurse, they had frequently bickered. Though
Lady Jayne found that hard to believe. Milly was such a sunny, good-natured
person that it was hard to imagine her bickering with anyone. Even Lord Ledbury.
Although admittedly she was never in his vicinity for long before something he
said or did annoyed her.

‘You feel it, too, don’t you, my darling?’ Harry murmured into
her ear, bringing her back to the present with a jolt. ‘Being forced to meet
only in secret is breaking your heart, is it not?’

‘Oh, er…’ Far from worrying about Harry, she had just spent the
entire dance thinking about another man.

Lord Ledbury was invading her thoughts far too often. She would
be glad when this evening was over and she would be free of him, as well as
Harry. She
would,
she told herself sternly as her
spirits inexplicably plunged at the prospect of seeing him heave a sigh of
relief as he realized that he could bow out of her life for good.

Harry slid his arm round her waist and towed her from the dance
floor. ‘Enough of this. Though it is delightful to hold you in my arms, I need
to talk to you.’

He took her along a short corridor and into a conservatory.
Seeing that it was already occupied by a couple of pairs of lovers, tussling on
most uncomfortable-looking benches, he led her past them and out through French
windows onto the terrace beyond. Then he turned and shut the doors behind them,
so that she could scarcely hear the music from the ballroom any more.

She clasped her hands at her bosom, her heart pounding as she
prepared to give him the little speech she had prepared in which she planned to
tell him that she had mistaken her feelings, beg his forgiveness and urge him to
forget her.

But then he seized her hands and said, ‘I cannot bear sneaking
around like this. Give me the right to call you mine. Marry me. I know it will
mean eloping, but…’

‘Harry, no…’

‘Darling, yes. We could just walk out of this ballroom, get
into a cab and run away together.’

‘No, we could not…’

‘Ah!’ He smiled at her fondly. ‘You are thinking of the
practicalities. You are right to do so, my clever darling. We must have the
money to pay for a licence and so forth. You will have to go home first, and get
hold of whatever you can…’

She could not help it. She snorted.

‘Well, my pin money is not going to get us very far.’

‘But surely your grandfather does not keep you short? You dress
so well. And your jewels alone must be worth a fortune.’

‘I dress well because I have accounts all over Town and the
bills are all sent to his man of business to settle. I have very little actual
money to spend. But let us not talk about money. Harry, I have something I need
to tell you…’

‘It will be different once we are married, though, will it not?
There must be some kind of settlement which will mean that your husband will
have charge of your fortune?’

‘What fortune?’ she scoffed. ‘If I marry a man of whom my
grandfather disapproves I shall be cut off without a penny.’

‘I am sure he would not be so harsh…’

‘That’s because you don’t know him. He has already cut off his
own daughter without showing a single sign of remorse. How much easier will it
be to do the same to me?’

‘Daughter? What daughter?’

‘Oh. Well, it is not known outside the family. And even within
it we only speak of my aunt Aurora in whispers. But she ran off with a penniless
local youth, and Grandpapa not only banished her from the country but forbade
anyone to speak her name in his presence.’

A look of confusion flashed across his face. ‘But surely your
father
must have settled something upon you. You
cannot be entirely dependent upon your grandfather?’

‘I suppose we could live on the pittance that he set aside for
me. But the bulk of his fortune, along with all the land, went to the new holder
of his title.’

‘You mean you have
nothing?
’

That was not strictly true. The lawyers had drawn up what they
considered a reasonable settlement when her mother had married the Marquis of
Tunstall, to provide for any female offspring of the union. But in comparison
with what a son would have had Lady Jayne considered her inheritance from him to
be a paltry sum.

His face distorted with fury, Harry thrust her roughly away
from him.

‘You bitch!’

She was not sure what hurt most. Her hip, where it had caught
on the corner of the balustrade, or her feelings at being called by such a vile
word. Or the expression of complete loathing on Harry’s face.

‘All this time you have been leading me on when you knew full
well there was never any chance I could marry you!’

This was terrible. She had known he would be hurt when he
learned it must end, but she’d never expected him to think she’d deliberately
deceived him. No wonder he was furious.

‘I did not mean to lead you on,’ she said, stretching out her
hand as she begged for his understanding. ‘I simply did not think.’

He seized her by the upper arms, his fingers digging into her
flesh.

‘Well, if you think,’ he snarled, thrusting his face into hers,
‘that I am going to keep hanging around on the off-chance your grandfather might
change his mind about me, then you are very much mistaken. This is farewell, my
lady.’

Then his mouth came crashing down on hers. And it was horrible.
Far worse than the last time he’d kissed her. It was as though he was trying to
punish her. She could taste his anger in the metallic tang of blood when his
teeth ground against her lips. Though she did not try to fight him off, as she
had the last time he had pounced on her and taken liberties. She just stood
there, rigid in his embrace, accepting the punishment she felt she fully
deserved.

‘My God,’ he said, abruptly letting her go. ‘What a narrow
escape I’ve had. You don’t even have what it takes to keep a man warm at
night.’

She groped behind her for the balustrade. Her legs were shaking
so much it was all that kept her from slumping to the ground.

‘They call you Chilblain Jayne—did you know that? Because
though you look delectable enough to heat a man’s blood to boiling point, the
minute he tries to put his hands on you the frost you exude will freeze
all
his extremities.’ He laughed mockingly as she
flinched. ‘Frankly, I don’t have the patience to try and thaw you out. Nobody
would even attempt to without the lure of the Earl of Caxton’s fortune. You are
just not worth the effort.’

And then he turned on his heel and stalked off into the house,
leaving the French doors swinging wide behind him.

She pressed her hand to her bruised lips, feeling sick.

It had all been a sham. He had been pretending. Deceiving her
because he wanted her money. Not her. Never her.

But then, when had anyone ever wanted her?

She felt like curling up into a ball and keening with pain. But
she could not. She just could not bear to think someone might witness her
humiliation.

She had to find Milly and get home.

She blundered her way back to the ballroom, half blinded by the
tears she could not even wipe from her eyes because of the mask she dared not
remove lest anyone recognise her.

But before she’d made it through the door a pair of arms shot
out and grabbed her. A man, a very large and very strong man, whirled her right
off her feet and carried her, kicking and struggling, back into the
conservatory.

* * *

Lord Ledbury’s spirits had been steadily sinking since
the night of the theatre trip. But they had hit rock bottom the night before,
when he’d seen the bet written down for all to see. Two so-called gentlemen had
staked a tidy sum on the precise amount of time it would take Morty’s successor
to thaw out ‘Chilblain Jayne.’ His insistence that she appeared to welcome his
suit had blown up in his face. Spectacularly.

He had only taken her for a drive once in Hyde Park—but she had
never gone driving with any other man. Whenever he approached her in a ballroom
he got a polite smile, and the pleasure of her company for a stroll about the
room—whereas she sent every other petitioner about his business.

And then she’d accepted a seat in his private box at the
theatre. He should have known from the amount of interest each of them had
garnered individually at Lucy Beresford’s come-out ball that speculation would
rise to fever pitch when they were seen together.

He had wanted to hit somebody. Thrash them. Only he was not
quite sure upon whom to focus his anger. The men who’d made the repulsive wager,
himself for making her the subject of vulgar speculation or Lieutenant Kendell
for being the man with whom Lady Jayne was secretly already in love.

Ever since that night he’d stood beneath her window, savouring
the miraculous effect she’d had on his manhood, he’d been having the most
disturbingly explicit dreams about her. Dreams from which he woke in a tangle of
sheets, covered in sweat and rock-hard. And every time they’d met since then his
physical response to her had grown stronger.

But it wasn’t merely lust. The more he got to know her, the
more he liked her as a person, too. Even when her behaviour irritated him he
could see that she was acting from motives he couldn’t help admiring.

Worst of all was the fact that every other woman paled into
insignificance in comparison with her. He’d hoped that since she’d resurrected
his interest in sex he might be able to divert it to some other suitable
female.

No such luck. She was the only woman he wanted to haul into his
arms and kiss into submission.

And, to his annoyance, just lately he’d begun to daydream about
the various ways a man could permanently dispose of a rival in a crowded city
like London. Kendell would not pose much of a challenge. He might wear a
uniform, but he’d never got it dirty. And he wouldn’t be expecting a physical
attack…

Though his murderous daydreams always ended the same way. With
Lady Jayne finding out what he’d done—for she was so bright she was bound to—and
cheering as he was led to the gallows.

And she would. She didn’t like him. He’d thought she had begun
to soften towards him a little, but since the theatre trip there had been a
definite withdrawal. The few times he’d managed to insist they spend some
moments together her smiles had been forced, rather than natural. And, no matter
how much he’d goaded her, he hadn’t been able to rouse her from her
abstraction.

Why should it feel so important to try, anyway? He’d come to
Town to find a wife. Surely amongst the gaggle of girls on the catch for a
husband there must be
one
who could oust Lady Jayne
from the forefront of his mind?

But he could not face another night of searching in vain for
some elusive quality that would raise one of this Season’s debutantes above the
average. He could not stomach one more stuffy
ton
event, where everyone was on their best behaviour and nobody said or did
anything
real.

For just one night he needed to behave disgracefully. To get
more than a little drunk and dance with a dozen women of the kind who would not
take his interest in their charms as a prelude to a marriage proposal. Maybe
even kiss one or two of them if he felt like it and they showed willing. And
hopefully break the incomprehensible hold Lady Jayne had over him.

The Lambournes’ masquerade promised exactly the kind of mild
debauchery he was seeking.

Almost immediately upon his arrival he’d begun to pursue a
shepherdess whose main attraction had been a gown that was so low-cut he could
actually see the outer edges of her nipples. He’d just persuaded her onto the
dance floor and into his arms when he’d heard Milly laugh.

Since he hadn’t expected her to gain entry to an event like
this he’d turned round, in some surprise, to see who had escorted her here.

He’d frozen when he’d seen the woman standing on the edge of
the dance floor beside her.

Lady Jayne. With Kendell.

Well, if she held him in such disdain she thought she could
flout their agreement, then to hell with her!

He’d pulled the shepherdess hard against his loins and resumed
dancing in a way that paid no heed to the proprieties. But in spite of the
gratifying response the shepherdess gave him he was painfully aware of Lady
Jayne, swirling round the dance floor with Kendell, a look of dreamy absorption
on her face.

When they left the ballroom, arm in arm, they took with them
any last remnant of desire he’d fleetingly felt for the wanton little
shepherdess. The thought of Kendell holding Lady Jayne in his arms, kissing the
lips that
he
dreamed of nightly not fifty feet from
where he was standing, made him feel physically sick.