Nicola Cornick (21 page)

She was still shaking with the effect James had on her as she walked out into the central courtyard. It would be easy now to forget everything, to persuade James to let her stay with him and damn the consequences. She knew instinctively that it would take very little coercion on her part to accomplish her own seduction, for she could feel the tension in him as tight as a coiled spring and knew he had only a perilously slender grip on his self-control. Alicia also knew that she should be shocked with herself for even contemplating such a course of action but there was no point in self-deception. If James had tried to seduce her she
would not have resisted; she would have been glad. But then, what would have happened next?

Alicia gave up the unhappy tussle with her emotions and drew on all the cold practicality she could muster. Whatever happened between them in the future, for now she had to return to Chartley and dissemble her feelings for the benefit of her guests.

They reached the stables, where Ned was saddling up Savannah. James’s own raking grey hunter was already saddled and chafing impatiently at the delay. Alicia turned to James with a smile.

‘For the sake of my reputation, I think you must let Ned escort me back to Chartley and not do so yourself!’

She saw James frown and hesitate visibly before he nodded in reluctant agreement. He had to admit that any story that Alicia had spent her missing hours visiting innocuously in the village would be immediately discounted if he were seen in her company.

‘Very well. It’s not what I would choose, but you will be safe enough, and Ned will bring word when you are home.’

Savannah’s hooves rang out on the cobbles and Ned swung himself up onto the other horse. James raised an eyebrow.

‘Tempting fate, Ned? That horse is as recognisable as I am!’

Ned grinned. ‘I won’t let anyone see me, my lord! And he does need the exercise.’

James held Alicia’s stirrup for her and straightened up, smiling at her.

‘So it is farewell, then.’ He touched her cheek, a fleeting contact which nevertheless felt as though it burned her. His gaze was serious though his eyes still had a smile in their depths.

‘Take care, Alicia. I cannot begin to thank you…’

Alicia wheeled Savannah round and trotted briskly out of the courtyard, Ned at her side.

Back at Chartley Chase, her excuses and apologies were received with little curiosity. The expedition to Pilton had been a success and the visitors had returned only shortly before Alicia, having stayed to dine. Georgiana Stapleford in particular was in high spirits for a change, for she had enjoyed the undivided attentions of both Richard Pilton and Christopher Westwood. Only Caroline Kilgaren gave her friend a particularly piercing look as Alicia guilelessly related the tale of her fictitious, unscheduled stop at the blacksmith’s.

It was old Amos, the head groom, who was the only one to know
that the story was not true, and he would never say a word. In the first place, he had glimpsed briefly the prime piece of horseflesh which Ned had been riding as he had bidden goodbye to Alicia at the gates. Amos had worked at Monks Dacorum in the days of the old Marquis, knew James Mullineaux well, and also knew his excellent taste in horses.

In the second place, Savannah had been rubbed down and fed with a care that Amos respected. And she had not had a shoe replaced that day, or recently.

Amos grinned a little to himself as he put Savannah back in her stall. All the servants had heard of Lady Carberry’s meeting with the Marquis of Mullineaux at Ottery and it had given rise to much speculation. Most of them had been present at the wassail and had wagered it would only be a matter of time before the Marquis and the lady met again. Then there was Christopher Westwood, whose suit had not prospered. Hardly surprising, Amos thought, when contrasted with such a man as James Mullineaux. For certainly Alicia Carberry had been at Monks Dacorum that evening, and the dreamy expression on her face when she had returned owed nothing to a visit to the blacksmith!

They met unexpectedly at church the following Sunday. Chartley Church still had a Mullineaux family pew from the time that the Chase had been part of the estate, but in recent years it had never been occupied. The sight of James Mullineaux in that pew for the morning service riveted the entire congregation to the extent that the finer points of the sermon were completely lost on them, and the vicar would have been furious had his unexpected parishioner been someone less august.

Alicia also found James’s presence most distracting. She had not expected to see him again until the Season started and had tried to come to terms with the flat feeling which the thought had engendered. Despite the demands of her guests, she seemed to have spent a great deal of time thinking about the meeting at Monks Dacorum, and found that her feelings were in even more of a turmoil after the meeting than they had been before. Before, she had had nothing to hope for, and although this had been depressing it had at least been certain. Now she could not help the great number of unspecified thoughts and dreams which always centred in some way on James rediscovering the feelings he had previously held for her.

She stole a sideways look at him through her lashes and wondered what on earth he was doing there. There was something about his clear-cut silhouette which set her in mind of the alabaster profiles on the
tombs of his ancestors, which decorated both this church and the one at Monks. Whilst many of the Mullineaux family had chosen to be buried at their main seat in Oxfordshire, there was plenty of evidence to suggest that earlier generations had liked Monks Dacorum sufficiently to live and die there.

Well, Alicia thought, she supposed that James could attend church wherever he wished and scolded herself for the presumption that he might have chosen to come to Chartley in order to see her. Certainly there was nothing in his bearing towards her that suggested it. They had exchanged the briefest of greetings when he had taken his seat, and he had not looked at her once since. She imagined that it was just his way of behaving as though nothing untoward had ever happened between them. Perhaps, she thought, he was already regretting what had happened.

The service over, James spent a considerable time chatting to the vicar at the church door whilst the more forward members of the congregation stood about with ill-concealed interest and waited to greet him. As soon as he was free, Caroline hailed him in her usual blunt manner.

‘James! We thought you had already gone to Worcestershire!’

‘I travel tomorrow.’ James smiled impartially around the group, and Alicia stepped forward with slightly more alacrity than she had shown at Ottery to smooth over his greetings to the Staplefords and Lady Stansfield, whom he had not seen for a very long time.

‘Ha! Mullineaux!’ Lady Stansfield raised her lorgnette and viewed him critically. She smiled suddenly. ‘Good to see you again, boy! Do you go up to London for the Season?’

‘I do.’ He returned her smile. ‘No doubt we shall all meet up then. You must excuse me—I have a hundred and one matters to attend to before I leave tomorrow. It was a pleasure to see you all again. Your servant, ladies and gentlemen.’ He bowed to them all, caught Georgiana Stapleford fluttering her eyelashes at him, and gave her an appreciative smile.

As an exercise in discretion, it had been admirable. All fences had been effortlessly mended and a basis for future meetings established. Alicia had been in no way singled out, but had been treated with exactly the same degree of impartial warmth as everyone else. There was nothing left to gossip about. Alicia understood this and could admire James Mullineaux for his strategy even whilst she resented it. It made the
heated passion of that night at Monks Dacorum seem a mere figment of her imagination.

They watched as he walked off to the lych-gate, exchanging greetings with those members of the congregation who still lingered.

‘Charming man,’ Lady Stansfield opined. ‘Come along, Honoria! Got to get out of this demmed cold wind!’ She slipped her arm through Lady Stapleford’s and the party from Chartley Chase turned for home. Caroline caught Alicia’s arm.

‘Alicia, while we’re here I’d just like to take a closer look at the church. No, it’s all right, Marcus.’ She smiled at her husband. ‘I know you don’t rate church architecture high on your list of entertainments, so please go on ahead! If Alicia doesn’t mind waiting, we can have a little chat on the way back. I won’t be long—’ So saying, she dived back inside the doors and left Alicia standing in the porch.

Despite the cold breeze it was a beautiful day, and Alicia sat for a little while admiring the view across to the sparkling sea. After a few minutes, however, she realised she was becoming chilled and resolved to take a quick turn around the churchyard whilst she waited. Caroline had always been interested in history, and her minutes could stretch to an hour without too much difficulty whilst she wandered around an ancient building in enraptured silence. It was perhaps an unusual pastime for a Society matron, but Alicia liked Caroline for it. She never felt the need to apologise for her lack of conformity.

The cypress-lined path wended its way around the ancient graveyard. It was very quiet now that all the churchgoers had left and the bells had ceased their ringing. Alicia made one circuit, relishing her solitude, then another, appreciating the view over the hills. When she had almost reached the church door again, she decided she would really have to go in soon and prise Caroline away from the glories of the past.

Her hand was on the church door when she felt a touch on her arm and turned, startled. She had heard no one approach up the stone-flagged path and in the shadows of the porch it was a moment before she recognised James Mullineaux. She never had a chance to greet him. He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, stifling her instinctive exclamation with his mouth on hers. One hand was in the small of her back, holding her hard against him, whilst the other dispensed ruthlessly with her bonnet in order to entangle itself in her hair and draw her even closer.

Had Alicia been able to think at all, she might have reflected that all she had heard of James Mullineaux’s reputation had unexpectedly
proved itself to be true—this was not the man who had tried very hard not to seduce her two nights before, but the predatory rake of all the stories, a man accustomed to take the opportunities which presented themselves to him.

His devastating expertise swept her beyond coherent thought. His mouth plundered the sweetness of hers, shamelessly insistent, and the response it provoked in Alicia was equally abandoned. She felt as though every inch of her skin was on fire, burning for his touch. She wanted to dispense with the heavy layers of clothing which separated them, and feel his naked skin against hers.

He let her go at last, dropping one final kiss on her parted lips.

‘And that, Alicia, my sweet,’ he said very softly, ‘was in case you were tempted to forget. Be assured I shall remind you again, when the time does serve.’

Alicia sank down onto the stone seat, one hand to her bruised lips, the other steadying herself as she took a very deep breath. She watched for a second time as James walked down the path to the gate and disappeared down the lane towards Monks Dacorum. Conceited, presumptuous…She gave up. Once again she was becoming repetitious and none of those words came anywhere near describing the boundless audacity that characterised James Mullineaux’s behaviour. At that moment Alicia could not even begin to work out how she really felt.

She had completely forgotten Caroline Kilgaren. She turned her head slowly, to see her friend standing in the church door, the expression of comical consternation on her piquant face stating clearer than any words that she had seen exactly what had happened.

It was either very good or very bad luck that Christopher Westwood arrived at the church gate approximately two minutes later. Had he arrived sooner, and seen her with Mullineaux, Alicia realised it would have been disastrous. On the other hand, Caroline had only got as far as saying, ‘Alicia, what—?’ when she broke off, and set her lips in a very tight line as Westwood came up the path.

The friends had no chance for a tête-à-tête that day, for the demands of her guests kept Alicia fully occupied and she was never alone. On the following day, a number of visitors came to Chartley Chase. Mrs Henley delivered Miss Frensham home from Ottery on her way to Bath and a visit to her married daughter. The other occupants of the Henley coach were none other than Mrs Eddington-Buck and her daughter, who were also set to devastate that unsuspecting city. Good manners obliged
Alicia to offer them refreshment on their journey, but she was profoundly grateful when the Henleys’ coach lumbered off out of Chartley, weighed down with the Eddington-Bucks’ monstrous amount of baggage.

‘That woman is an ill-bred toad,’ Caroline Kilgaren observed roundly if inelegantly, when all the visitors had gone and she and Alicia were alone. ‘Did you hear her telling Lady Stapleford that her elder daughter Jane had had her heart broken by Peter Weston, of all people, and had thrown herself away on a half-pay officer when Peter did not return her love? What utter nonsense! Why, everyone knows that Jane Townley is the only woman of sense in that family, and she and Townley determined to wed from the moment they first met! Oh, it puts me out of all patience!’

Alicia smiled slightly. ‘Now we have seen for ourselves how gossip starts, Caro!’ She had been playing Scarlatti very quietly, so that the bright breeziness of the music was muted, but now she broke off and lowered the piano lid. ‘I did hear her telling my grandmother that she intended to catch Mullineaux for her younger daughter, now that he no longer had a penchant for auburn hair!’