The Wicked Baron (12 page)

‘Oh, the house itself is finished,’ replied James. ‘Durini has been painting the temples in the gardens this summer. His work is magnificent; I cannot wait to show it off to you all.’

Carlotta swelled with pride at this, but her aunt’s anxious face sobered her. Sir Gilbert touched her hand.

‘Another cup of punch, Miss Rivington?’

‘Yes, yes, if you please, sir.’

‘And when do you set off for Malberry, Mrs Ainslowe?’ asked Lady Broxted, anxious to move the conversation away from art.

‘Friday next, to make everything ready for you all to join us the following week. I would have liked to go down sooner, but we are engaged to Lady Ottwood for her entertainment on the Thursday.’

Lady Broxted nodded. ‘Yes, we, too, are going. I am told we are to dine out of doors and there are fireworks planned for the evening.’

‘Fireworks,’ exclaimed Adele. ‘How exciting. What a pity Luke will not be there. He says there is business he must attend to. But it does not matter—we will arrange something of our own at Malberry, will we not, my love?’

Mr Ainslowe patted her arm. ‘I shall see what I can do.’ He turned towards Sir Gilbert, who was returning with
another cup of punch for Carlotta. ‘You are coming to Ottwood, are you not, Gil?’

‘Alas, no. I must go out of town for a few days.’

Adele looked up quickly. ‘Oh, but it will not prevent you joining us at Malberry?’

Sir Gilbert bowed. ‘Oh, no, ma’am.’ He turned to smile at Carlotta. ‘I am very much looking forward to that.’

The following day Mr Woollatt called at Broxted House. The ladies were in the morning room when he was announced; Carlotta gave him a faint smile, but her aunt flew from her chair and greeted him with uncommon warmth.

‘My dear sir, you are very welcome. When did you arrive back in town?’

‘Last night, madam.’

‘Fie on you, sir, and it is now nearly dinner time! Why did you not call this morning? You must know how welcome you are here.’

Carlotta blinked and listened in surprise as her aunt pressed Mr Woollatt to join them for dinner.

‘I would like that very much, ma’am, but my dress…’

Since Mr Woollatt was wearing a black tailcoat and knee breeches, Carlotta could not help wondering if he was half expecting the invitation. Lady Broxted was quick to reassure him.

‘Pho, we stand upon no ceremony here, sir. Now if you were one of these young bucks who think it acceptable to go round sporting a spotted handkerchief instead of a necktie, an untidy coat and top boots bearing only one spur, I should not be so forbearing, but you, sir, are always dressed with neatness and propriety!’

‘If I am not inconveniencing you…’

‘No, indeed, Mr Woollatt. Pray sit down, sir. You will excuse me for a moment while I order another place to be laid.’

She hurried away, and Carlotta was left alone with Mr Woollatt.

‘I understand the town has been very hot of late, Miss Rivington. I trust you have not suffered while I have been away?’

‘No, I have been very well, sir, thank you.’ She wondered if he wanted her to say how much she had missed him. She could not lie, so she kept silent. He sat back in his chair, folding his hands across his chest.

‘I am very much looking forward to going to Malberry Court next week. A country-house party is the very thing to raise the spirits. Your uncle tells me you will be travelling down early next week—it is my intention to be waiting for you there.’

The smile that accompanied these words made Carlotta look away, something very like panic welling up inside her. She was thankful that her aunt returned at that moment, and she was not obliged to reply. Mr Woollatt immediately turned his attention to his hostess.

‘You are not to be thinking I came here merely to beg a dinner,’ he said, chuckling at his own humour. ‘I have come to issue an invitation for you and Miss Rivington to join me at the theatre tomorrow night. I have secured a box at the English Opera House in Wellington Street.’

‘The theatre? How splendid—is it not, Carlotta?’

‘But, Aunt, I thought we were promised to Mrs Winterton.’

‘A card party! What is that when there is such a treat in store for us?’ Lady Broxted dismissed the hapless Mrs
Winterton with one white hand. ‘You need not fret, my love. It was never fixed, after all. We will be delighted to join you, Mr Woollatt.’

‘Excellent.’ he rubbed his hands together. ‘They are performing a farce and one of Mr Sheridan’s comedies. I thought Miss Rivington might prefer that to more serious fare, and I shall be able to show you both the new gas lighting.’ Carlotta thought she had misheard him, but she saw that her aunt was looking equally blank. ‘Not only do they have the new lanterns at the entrance, but they are using gas to light the stage, too,’ explained Mr Woollatt.

‘How exciting,’ murmured Lady Broxted. ‘We are very much in your debt, sir. You will be able to wear your new silk gown, Carlotta.’

Mr Woollatt beamed. ‘A new gown? I am sure you will look delightful, Miss Rivington, and as for being in my debt, well, ma’am, the sight of Miss Rivington in her new gown shall be my reward!’

The English Opera House gleamed in the evening sunlight, its new white stone pillars not yet blackened with the soot from the thousands of coal fires that warmed the metropolis each winter. Mr Woollatt escorted his charges to the theatre in his own carriage, informing them as he did so that the building had been designed by Mr Beazley to incorporate all the most modern comforts, as well as the celebrated gas lighting.

‘You cannot appreciate this innovation while it is daylight,’ he said, ‘but you will see it when we leave the theatre tonight, and, of course, the stage will be illuminated. Our enjoyment should be greatly enhanced, eh, Miss Rivington?’

They took their seats in the box and Mr Woollatt hovered
about the ladies, making sure that Carlotta had a good view of the stage, offering to put her shawl about her shoulders if she should feel a chill and bringing his own chair close beside her. Carlotta turned with a look of entreaty to her aunt, who was sitting a little apart, but she merely nodded approvingly.

‘Well, this is very cosy,’ remarked Mr Woollatt as the play began. ‘You told me you enjoy the theatre, Miss Rivington. I come to the plays regularly when I am in town. I hope this may be the first of many little outings we will make together.’

Carlotta smiled, but could think of nothing to say and after a few moments Mr Woollatt turned his attention to the stage. Carlotta wished she could go home.

When the farce ended several visitors arrived in the box, most of them friends of Mr Woollatt, but some came to pay their respects to Lady Broxted, including James Ainslowe and his wife. After Mr Woollatt’s rather ponderous conversation, Carlotta was glad to see them, but her smile slipped a little when she saw Lord Darvell following them into the box. Mr Woollatt has risen from his seat when the visitors had arrived and he was now obliged to stand against the back wall to make room for them all. He directed their attention to the new gas lanterns on the stage, but no one seemed to hear him. The little box buzzed with conversation, Mr Woollatt presented his acquaintances to Carlotta and Mr and Mrs Ainslowe engaged Lady Broxted in a lively discussion. When Mr Woollatt’s friends departed, he took a step back towards his chair, but Lord Darvell was there before him and slipped into the seat beside Carlotta, his knee almost touching her own. She
tensed, prepared to spring away from him should he dare to touch her.

‘Did you enjoy the farce, Miss Rivington?’

‘Very much, my lord.’

She turned away, supposedly looking in the audience for her acquaintance, but was very much aware of him, sitting so close to her. Every nerve in her body seemed to be on edge.

‘Mr Foote’s comedies are always of a superior nature,’ opined Mr Woollatt.

They ignored him.

‘And what do you think of the scenery?’ asked Luke.

Carlotta was immediately on her guard. She risked a glance at his face and fancied that the devil was in his eyes.

‘I did not notice. I was enjoying the play.’

‘I thought it was a little crude.’

‘I believe they have several renowned artists here,’ stated Mr Woollatt, on the defensive.

Luke kept his gaze fixed upon Carlotta. ‘But I have seen better artwork, have not you, Miss Rivington?’

She did not answer, merely unfurled her fan and waved it languorously before her. He turned a little more on his chair until his knee was in contact with her thigh. It was the lightest touch, but it burned through the thin muslin of her skirts, making her tremble. It was all she could do not to move away. It was all she could do not to press against him. Carlotta swallowed hard. She dare not look at him as he continued.

‘I thought the street in Rome looked a little contrived, too—what thought you, ma’am?’

‘Oh, come now,’ said Mr Woollatt. ‘You cannot expect Miss Rivington to know such a thing. She has never been
to Italy.’ He paused. ‘That is,
have
you visited Italy, Miss Rivington?’

She began to wave her fan much more vigorously. ‘I was there with my parents,’ she muttered. ‘A long time ago.’

‘Well…’ Mr Woollatt puffed out his cheeks. ‘How on earth did you know that, sir?’

‘I—I expect my aunt and uncle mentioned it,’ put in Carlotta quickly, aware of the wicked gleam in Luke’s eyes. He was going to denounce her, she knew it. She put up her chin. She would not crumble beneath his mocking glance. Whatever he did to her, she would not give him that satisfaction.

‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘I expect they did.’

‘Luke—’ Adele put her hand on his shoulder ‘—we must be getting back to our own box, the play will begin very soon.’

Lord Darvell rose. ‘A pity,’ he murmured, ‘When we were all getting along so well.’ He turned to Mr Woollatt. ‘Your servant, sir. Perhaps we may continue our conversation at a later date.’

Mr Woollatt watched him leave, his bottom lip jutting. ‘Audacious young dog! He presumes to know you very well, Miss Rivington.’

Carlotta wondered if she should confess the truth—surely nothing could be so bad as the game of cat and mouse Luke was playing with her? She glanced at her aunt; she must be told the truth before anyone else, and a box at the theatre was not the place for that. So she must put off her confession to another day. She summoned a bright smile for Mr Woollatt.

‘Lord Darvell is, as you say, sir, an audacious gentleman.’

Luke accompanied James and Adele back to their seats on the opposite side of the theatre, his senses full of Carlotta, her dark beauty, the perfume of the violets in her corsage, the warmth of her thigh when his knee had touched it—only a couple of thin layers of material had separated them. It was a wicked thought.

‘Well, what do you think, is it a match?’ Adele walked between the two men, looking up at each of them in turn.

‘Woollatt seems very much at home there,’ opined James.

‘She won’t have him,’ said Luke shortly.

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ James rubbed his nose. ‘Woollatt is as rich as Dives and Lady Broxted is giving him every encouragement. Broxted won’t want to let a fortune slip away from the family.’

‘Well, we shall know soon enough,’ said Adele, taking her seat. ‘They will all be at Malberry and we shall have plenty of time to observe them. Now, let us be quiet and enjoy Mr Sheridan’s play.’

Luke sat down, but he paid very little attention to the actors. Instead his eyes kept straying to the box opposite, where Daniel Woollatt seemed to be for ever hovering over Carlotta, leaning towards her to make some comment, whispering in her ear. And she was smiling at him, damn her! Luke’s reason told him that she was merely being polite, but every smile, every gesture towards Woollatt, flayed his spirits. It did not matter that he knew her to be a shallow, heartless creature; it galled him to see her giving her attention to anyone else. Now Woollatt was pointing out something on the stage to her, their heads so close together they were almost touching. Heaven and earth, how much longer did he have to endure this?

At last it was over. As the audience applauded, he watched Woollatt tenderly placing Carlotta’s wrap around her. Surely his hands lingered far too long on her shoulders? What was her aunt thinking of, to let the man maul her in such a way? Smothering an oath, Luke turned away to follow his brother out of the box. As they made their way out into the street, he muttered his excuses, wanting nothing more than to be alone. Adele turned to give him her hand.

‘Good night, then, Luke.’ She looked up at the front of the building and said with a laugh in her voice, ‘Oh, look, these must be the new lanterns Mr Woollatt described to us. What thought you of the new gas lighting for the stage, Luke? Do you agree with Mr Woollatt that it is a splendid innovation?’

He scowled. ‘No, I do not. I thought the smell of the gas quite nauseating!’

A
s the date for leaving town drew closer, Carlotta grew ever more anxious. She knew Darvell would be going to Malberry and she could not be sure how he would behave towards her. With less than a week until their departure, she decided she could bear the uncertainty no longer. They were all engaged to spend the day at Lady Ottwood’s house on the edge of the town, but Carlotta cried off, pleading a migraine and begging that she should be allowed to rest at home for the day. With some difficulty she persuaded her aunt and uncle to go without her and, as soon as the carriage had rolled away, she dashed off a note to Lord Darvell. She did not know if he would come. As she moved restlessly about the house she remembered only too well how he had promised to come to her once before.

No morning had ever dawned so bright as that last day at Malberry. Carlotta woke early, a warm glow of expectation filling her even before she remembered why. ‘Until tomorrow, my sweet life.’ Recalling the look in Luke’s eyes as he had taken his leave of her sent Carlotta’s spirits
soaring. She threw herself into the morning’s activities, insisting on cleaning and tidying the little parlour before she set off to the market with Jack, their manservant, to collect their provisions. She was anxious to get back, but even so the choosing of a freshly plucked chicken could not be rushed and it was past noon before her shopping was complete and she returned to the house. Jack’s arms were full with baskets and parcels so Carlotta went before him to the back door to let them in. She had scarcely put down her basket when Mrs Durini put her head around the kitchen door.

‘Good, you are back. Make haste and come in, Carlotta, we have visitors!’

Carlotta’s heart leapt. Pausing only to take off her bonnet, she hurried to the parlour.

‘Here I am, Mama…’

She trailed off, her eyes widening as she found herself being regarded by a total stranger.

With her mind in confusion, Carlotta was introduced to her uncle and aunt, Lord and Lady Broxted. She listened to explanations of renewing family connections, reinstating her in society, giving her the opportunity to make a good marriage, but all she could think of was that it was past two o’clock. Surely Luke should be here by now.

‘I do not like to rush you, Carlotta, but your aunt and I must return to London tonight.’ Lord Broxted turned to his sister and gave a tight little smile. ‘It has taken my people a long time to track you down, Margaret. We only received word of your direction yesterday and my dear Celia was anxious that we should visit you immediately.’

‘We are off to the country at the end of the week, and we would like to take our niece with us,’ Lady Broxted ex
plained with a smile at Carlotta. ‘I realise that this must be something of a shock for you all, and if you would rather take your time to discuss it, then of course you must do so, but we should not then be in a position to have her join us until the end of the year…’

Carlotta gave a little curtsy. ‘And I am very grateful to you, my lady—Aunt—but it is all so sudden.’
Please, Luke, hurry. I need you.

She uttered up her silent prayer. Everyone was smiling at her, convinced she must be delighted with the prospect of being taken off to live with the Earl and Countess of Broxted.

‘You will be free to return home whenever you wish,’ continued Lady Broxted. ‘But I intend to spoil you so much that you will want to stay with us for ever!’

Carlotta looked at the smiling faces. A net, a fine mesh of love and good intentions, was closing around her. She rose.

‘I—um—if you will excuse me for a few moments, I must go and see…’

‘Carla, where on earth—?’

But Carlotta did not wait to hear her mother’s words. She picked up her wrap and ran out of the house.

It was only a short distance to the inn and she ran all the way. Before she reached the tap-room door the landlord came out. He stopped when he saw her, blinked, then gave her a smile.

‘Well, Miss Carla, what is it now? Surely your father cannot have finished all that fine wine I found for him?’

‘No, no, it is not that, Mr Hitchen. I…’ Carlotta hesitated, blushing ‘…I was wondering if your guest is within doors; the—um—the gentleman who has been staying with you.’ She twisted her hands together, hope and anxiety mixing within her as she waited for his answer.

‘Ah, you’d be meaning Major Ainslowe.’

‘Yes,’ she said eagerly, ‘yes, that’s right.’

‘Well, he’s gone, a good half hour since.’

‘Gone!’

‘Aye, that he has, Miss Carla. Now what was it he said?’ Hitchen jingled the coins in his pocket. ‘Let me think. He said he was tired o’ country ways, and country people. I think he had grown bored, miss. Said he wanted excitement. You know how these rich gentlemen can be. Miss Carla, are you quite well?’

The landlord’s kindly concern brought her head up.

‘What? Oh, oh, yes, thank you, Mr Hitchen.’

She forced herself to turn away and with an effort began to retrace her steps. The bubble of happiness inside her heart had burst, shattering into tiny pieces. So he had gone. He had only been amusing himself after all. But she had known that all along, had she not?

By the time she reached her father’s door she had mastered the urge to cry. Instead her chin lifted a little. She went inside and found her parents sitting with Lord and Lady Broxted in uncomfortable silence. Her mother started up as she came in.

‘Carla, my love, whatever possessed you to run off in that way? Such rag-manners when your aunt and uncle have come so far to see you. ‘

‘I needed to—I had to…’ Carlotta took a long, steadying breath and looked directly at the earl. ‘My lord, if you still want me to come away with you tonight, then I am very willing.’

A full twelve months had gone by since then and once again she was waiting for Luke. But Berkeley Square was
a long way from Malberry and perhaps, after today, she would be free of him. It was shortly after noon when he was announced.

‘Please show Lord Darvell into the book room.’

Carlotta waited for a few moments, steadied herself with a few deep breaths, then went to join him. She found him standing before the empty fireplace, one arm resting along the mantelpiece. He was dressed for driving in an olive green frock coat, buckskins and top boots with a pair of York tan driving gloves clasped in one hand. She thought idly how well the country style suited him and noted how the summer sun had lightened his brown hair to a honey-gold. As she entered the room, he turned and bent a frowning gaze upon her, but although he looked serious, she was relieved that there was no sign of the savage anger she had seen in his face in their recent meetings.

‘Will you sit down, my lord?’

‘What is it you want, madam? I came here in my curricle, and I do not like to keep my horses standing any longer than necessary.’

His harsh tone made her heart sink; it was not a promising start. She moved to a chair and sat down. She must not allow his incivility to upset her.

‘Thank you, sir, for coming here so promptly.’

He shrugged. ‘You summoned me.’

‘I
asked
you here,’ she corrected him, holding her temper under a tight rein, ‘because I want to—to call a truce.’ The sardonic lift of his eyebrow brought a flush to her cheek. ‘It will be difficult to avoid each other at Malberry, my lord, and—um—I have no wish to cause embarrassment to your brother or any of his guests.’

His lip curled. ‘I see no embarrassment, except for you, Miss Rivington.’

‘Pray do not be so foolish,’ she retorted. ‘Think for a moment how difficult it would be for your brother, as host, if you exposed me.’

He moved closer, towering over her. ‘Very well then, tell me why you want this…truce?’

She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. He was watching her intently and his scrutiny disturbed her.

‘I have told you I want no unpleasantness—’

‘You have told me nothing that would warrant you writing to me, demanding to see me.’

The brittle curb on her temper snapped. Her fingers curled tightly in her lap. ‘Very well—if you want the truth, you shall have it. My uncle expects me to receive an offer of marriage while we are at Malberry.’

So there it was.

Luke caught his breath, winded, as if he had received a blow to the stomach. He kept his hands at his sides, but could not prevent them balling into fists. ‘Oh? Who could be the lucky man, I wonder? Woollatt?’ He gave a savage laugh. ‘I take your silence for confirmation, Miss Rivington. So, you have brought your rich suitor up to scratch.’

She winced visibly at his sneering tone and paused a moment before continuing. ‘Of course, if he is serious in his regard for me, then I must tell him the truth, but
I
would like to be the judge of when it is the right time, not you. I would therefore be…grateful if you would give me your word to say nothing that might j-jeopardise the situation.’

She kept her head lowered. He could not see her eyes, but her scarlet cheeks betrayed her. In the silence that
followed her words, Luke could hear only the steady tick, tick of the long case clock as she waited for his answer.

‘No.’

Her head shot up. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said no. I will make you no such promises.’

She stared at him. He turned away from those haunting brown eyes, knowing that if he met her troubled look his own defences would crumble and he might admit that he would do nothing to cause her more pain. Then he would be lost. He summoned up his anger. He was justified to feel it; by heaven, she had almost brought him to his knees! He had been on the verge of offering her more than he had offered any woman before. Thank heaven he had discovered her true nature before committing himself. ‘What have I ever done to make you hate me so?’ She spoke so quietly he could hardly hear her. ‘I admit I was angry with you when we met again in town, but that was understandable after you had left me so cruelly last summer.’

‘I
left
you, as you put it, so that you could be launched into society. And I must say you seem to have taken to it admirably.’

‘I had precious little choice in the matter, since you had already quit Malberry.’

‘Aye, and thank God I made good my escape.’

She jumped up, white-faced, only her eyes burning with anger as she glared at him. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Heaven knows what I might have done, had I stayed.’

‘You had no intention of staying,’ she flung at him. ‘Admit it; I was a mere distraction, something to pass the time while you were buried in the country.’

‘And you would know about distractions, would you not? You have enjoyed enough of them yourself!’

Her lip curled. ‘You have made several hasty judgements about me, sir, but I have done
nothing
to be ashamed of.’

‘No? I saw you with my own eyes, flirting with Woollatt in Vauxhall Gardens.’

‘Yes, when you were parading that…that
doxy
on your arm! Can you blame me for wanting to punish you?’

He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Punish me? What in hell’s name have I ever done to you?’

‘You abandoned me!’

Carlotta had not meant to say that. The words were wrenched from her, a despairing cry torn from her heart, where she had carried her unhappiness in secret for so many months. Angry at her own weakness, she dashed her hand across her eyes.

‘How foolish of me to try to reason with you,’ she said bitterly. ‘I would be obliged now if you would leave me.’

‘Have no fear, madam, I am going!’

He was turning towards the door when it opened and an anxious-looking footman came in.

‘A letter for you, miss. Come express it has, from Malberry.’

Carlotta was still reeling from her outburst and looked at him blankly for a moment until the implications of the words penetrated her mind.

‘Malberry?’ She almost snatched the letter and quickly broke the seal, her fingers shaking. Luke had not left the room. He was standing by the door, tugging on his gloves, but she ignored him as she read the short note. The words seemed to jump on the page.

‘It—it is my father. He is hurt, badly hurt…attacked. Mama wants me to come at once…’

Her throat dried. She looked across at Luke. Thoughts tumbled through her head but she could not make sense of them. He was watching her, his face grim.

‘Fetch your wrap,’ he said quietly. ‘I will drive you.’

‘Thank you.’

There was no surprise, no hesitation, only the knowledge that she had needed him and he had not failed her.

Pausing only to fetch her cloak and bonnet and to scribble a hasty note for her aunt, Carlotta climbed into the curricle. She did not speak as Luke threaded his way through the busy streets, her brain too shocked to think coherently, but as they left the town behind she unfolded the letter and read it again.

‘I do not understand—who would want to hurt Papa?
Why
would someone do this? I cannot think—’

‘Hush.’ His hand closed over hers. ‘Do not torture yourself with conjecture.’

‘You are right. I must wait until we reach Malberry; Mama will explain.’

He squeezed her fingers. ‘Try not to worry.’

A stretch of open road allowed Luke to push his team on, thundering towards a turnpike.

‘Billy, sound the yard of tin,’ he ordered briskly. ‘We have no time to lose here.’

They were through in seconds.

‘We are making good time,’ remarked Luke. He glanced at the stiff little figure beside him. ‘It won’t be long now.’

She did not reply, merely stared straight ahead, her hands clenched together in her lap. Luke found the silence between them uncomfortable. Unbearable.

‘I
did
come,’ he said shortly. ‘That day in Malberry. I did come to your house, but…the earl was there before me.’

Luke shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He remembered how nervous he had been, wishing he had brought his valet with him and something finer to wear than his brown country frock coat—not the ideal dress for a gentleman about to make a proposal of marriage.