The Wicked Baron (3 page)

‘Miss Rivington.’ His self-assurance made her seethe.
He was laughing at her! ‘Your aunt tells me you are not engaged for the next dance. I would be honoured if you would allow me to partner you.’

Luke observed the upright little figure before him. By heaven, she was even more beautiful than he remembered: those large dark eyes—just one flashing look sent his heart soaring again—and the soft red lips that had tasted so sweet against his own. Even as his blood stirred Carlotta lowered her gaze and the dark lashes veiled her thoughts from him. She inclined her head, accepting his invitation with every appearance of maidenly modesty and with a polite bow he turned away. This was the game they must play, of course. No one must know that they had met before.

As he walked away from Carlotta, Luke allowed himself to indulge in the pleasant memory of his very first visit to Malberry twelve months earlier. He had not expected to delay his journey to Darvell Manor by more than a few nights, and he had certainly not expected to find such an angel looking down at him from top of the scaffolding that filled the entrance portico.

He had been running up the steps to the main entrance when a soft, musical voice had stopped him in his tracks.

‘Excuse me, but you cannot come in here.’ The voice had come from above.

‘Oh? And why may I not come in?’ Luke spoke to the air.

‘It is private. This house belongs to a gentleman.’

Luke spread his hands. ‘And am I not a gentleman?’ A slight movement on the platform close to the ceiling caught his eye and he observed a slight, boyish figure staring down at him.

‘Are you the owner?’

‘No,’ said Luke, ‘but I am come on his behalf.’

‘Oh. Mr Kemble is not here.’

‘So I can see. Where is he?’

‘They have all gone to the inn. It is mid-day and they are always hungry by mid-day.’

‘But not you?’

‘No, I must finish the fresco while the plaster is still wet.’

Luke shielded his eyes, trying to get a better view of the shadowy figure so high above him. ‘Are you not a little young?’

‘I am eighteen.’ The voice grew a shade deeper.

‘Come down and let me look at you,’ said Luke, intrigued.

‘No, sir. I cannot leave my painting.’

‘Then I shall come up to you.’ Luke put his foot on the ladder and heard a squeak from above. ‘Well? Will you come down now?’

‘I will, but only for a moment.’

Luke stood back and watched as the figure scrambled onto the top ladder and began to climb down. He grinned. The upper body was shrouded in a loose shirt, but the tight-fitting breeches left nothing to his admittedly rather wild imagination—the figure descending from the scaffolding was most definitely
not
a boy!

Moments later she stood before him, her eyes, large and dark, regarding him with a mixture of defiance and apprehension. She was very petite with a mass of gleaming near-black hair, constrained at the back of her long, slender neck by a poppy-red ribbon. A paint-spattered shirt billowed from her shoulders, but could not disguise the gentle swell of her breasts, and the tight-fitting breeches were worn with a nonchalance that would
have done credit to any actress at Drury Lane. He bit back an appreciative smile.

‘Well, does my brother know he has hired a lady to decorate his house?’

‘You are Mr Ainslowe’s brother?’

‘I am. And who are you, what is your name?’

‘I am Carlotta Durini.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘Perhaps I should explain.’

‘Please do.’

‘My—my father is the artist commissioned to paint Malberry Court, but he has broken his leg and—and I am finishing the last frescoes for him, so that the house will be ready on time. Please, sir, you must not think that there is any plot to deceive, but there was no one else to do it, and, if it is not finished in time, Papa will not be paid the full amount, and then Mama cannot have her maid—and it is only this one ceiling—’

Laughing, he reached out and caught her hands.

‘Peace, peace, Miss Durini! Do not upset yourself.’

Her hands were very small and soft within his grasp. Smiling, he let his thumbs gently stroke her wrists, just above the palm, and he felt her agitated fingers grow still. Her lustrous dark eyes were still wary, but he detected the beginnings of a shy smile curving her mouth. Luke found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss those soft red lips. His smile deepened; he opened his mouth to charm her with a few well-chosen words, but they were never uttered. The sound of voices drifted in on the still air. He looked out across the park and saw a group of figures emerging from the trees. Something very like disappointment passed over him.

‘I think this must be the others returning now. I will talk to Kemble.’

Those dark eyes regarded him anxiously. ‘You will not turn me off?’

‘I have no power to do so. But if your work is not up to the standard…’

To his surprise, the worried look left the girl’s face.

‘It will be, sir. I have been well taught.’ She stepped back, gently pulling her hands free. ‘If you will excuse me, I must go back to my painting; if the plaster becomes too dry, the fresco will be ruined.’

Without another word she scrambled up the ladder and was soon lost to sight. With a sigh, Luke turned to meet the man who was hurrying towards him.

It was natural that Kemble, Mr James Ainslowe’s clerk of works, should want to show his employer’s brother all the renovations that had been carried out, and to assure him that the work was proceeding as scheduled. However, at length Luke could contain himself no longer.

‘Is it now the fashion, Mr Kemble, to employ female painters?’

There was an uncomfortable silence.

‘You refer, my lord, to Signor Durini’s daughter.’ Luke maintained a polite silence, and soon Kemble continued. ‘I believe she has been running wild in the
signor
’s workshop since she was a babe, and learned all his techniques. Howsoever that may be, when the
signor
’s apprentice loped off back to Italy, there was no one to take over, and with the master due back in less than three weeks, the
signor
was desperate for his frescoes to be finished. I admit I was not very happy at first, having the chit here, but the
signor
assures me she can paint, sir.’

‘But is she not…distracting?’

Mr Kemble grinned.

‘I confess I had to give a couple o’ the lads a clout ’round the ear for staring…’

Now, in the overheated confines of Lady Prestbury’s ballroom, Luke thought that Kemble himself might stare if he could see Signor Durini’s daughter outshining every other young woman in the room.

Carlotta watched Luke walk away from her, then stumbled to one of the cushioned benches that lined the walls of the ballroom and sank down. She was shaking. She put her hands to her temples, trying to stop the memories, but it was no good. She was back at Malberry, climbing down from the scaffolding after completing that first fresco. Even now she could remember her satisfaction at a job well done, feel the warm sun on her back…

‘So you have come down at last.’

Carlotta jumped. With one hand still clutching the scaffolding, she looked around to see Luke sitting on the stone steps, leaning against the base of one of the pillars. His lazy smile made her tingle, right down to her toes.

‘Mr…Ainslowe.’

He grinned. ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’ He jumped to his feet. ‘I was taking a stroll through the park and realised you were still here. Do you always work this late?’

‘Sometimes later.’ Carlotta eyed him warily. The workmen had all gone back to the village, and even Mr Kemble would be in his lodge behind the stable block. Luke was smiling at her now, the twinkle in his hazel eyes making it hard for her not to smile back at him.

‘I think I should escort you home.’

‘Oh. I mean, um, I—I have first to clean out my brushes,’ she said, backing away.

‘Of course.’ He nodded gravely. ‘Go along, then. I shall wait here for you.’

She expected him to be gone by the time she had finished putting away her paints and tidying the little paint store, but he was still sitting on the steps as she came around the side of the house, and, with a little spurt of surprise, Carlotta realised that she would have been disappointed to find him gone. He rose to his feet.

‘I was beginning to think you had run away from me.’

Carlotta’s cheeks grew hot; she
had
considered avoiding him and going around the far side of the house. He held out his arm, but she gave a tiny shake of her head and began to walk down the drive, keeping a good distance between them. Safe. Sensible. Yet the truth was she did not
feel
sensible. She felt exhilarated in his company, aware of him walking beside her, matching his step to hers. She was sorely tempted to reach out her hand and take his arm, to draw closer to him. She did not understand why she should feel like this. It was all very confusing.

‘Kemble tells me your father’s apprentice ran away, and that is why you must finish the ceiling for him.’

‘It is only two of the minor scenes. Papa has completed all the major work.’

‘Yes, I was looking at the murals in the house. They are spectacular.’

‘Papa is a much respected artist in Rome.’

‘You must be very proud of him.’

‘I am.’

‘And is that what you want to do, paint life-size murals?’

She laughed. ‘No, it would be thought improper.’ She flushed, and glanced across at him. ‘Not that my work is not perfectly good. My father would never have consented to my finishing the ceiling if he thought there would be cause for complaint.’

‘You need not worry; I have seen nothing that would make me say any such thing.’

They walked together across the grass towards the edge of the park. Through the trees a short distance away the roofs of the houses at the edge of the village could be seen. Carlotta was aware of a faint disappointment that their walk would soon be over.

The sun had set and the early summer twilight was muting the colours of the park. Once they were amongst the trees the shadows deepened. When they reached the stile he vaulted over, then turned and held out his hand. After a brief hesitation, Carlotta took it. His touch disconcerted her; as she stepped down, she stumbled and would have fallen if he had not caught her in his arms. Laughing at her own clumsiness, Carlotta looked up and found his face very close. The laughter caught in her throat as she looked into his eyes. They were no longer twinkling with humour but dark and mysterious. Her heart began to pound against her ribs. No man had ever held her, let alone like this before. Her hands were resting against him; she could feel his chest, smooth and hard beneath the silk waistcoat. Even as she was wondering what to say, his arms tightened and he was kissing her.

Carlotta was at first too shocked to react. His lips fastened on hers, and there was fluttering excitement deep within her, as if her insides were dissolving. A confusion of fear and exhilaration filled her mind, making sober
thought impossible. She responded to his kiss; with none of society’s restraints holding her back, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to relax against him, her senses revelling in the feel of his arms about her. He encompassed her, mentally and physically. She was aware of his very male strength, crushing her against him. It was frightening, exciting, but there was something else awakening within her—a dark, dangerous attraction such as she had never known before. Carlotta had just decided that they should not be doing this when Luke raised his head and released her. She felt unaccountably bereft.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said contritely. ‘I did not mean to frighten you, but you looked so dashed irresistible.’

She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure. She wondered if the world would ever be the same again.

‘You did not frighten me, sir.’ Her heart was thumping so loud she thought he must surely hear it. ‘I…um…I must get home now.’

‘Will you not take my arm?’

She shook her head, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. Until that moment she had not considered how she must look, dressed in boy’s clothes, smelling of paint and resin. Mama had told her she should wrap herself in a cloak when going out, but Carlotta had always laughed at her, asking what could possibly happen to her on the short journey between Malberry Court and her home? Now she knew.

‘No. No. I think I will go on alone from here, if you please.’ He seemed to tower over her, a black shadow in the gloom. Her heart flipped as she thought he might try to kiss her again—she doubted she was strong enough to resist him and was shocked to realise that she did not
want
to
resist him. She did not know whether she was most disappointed or relieved when he stepped away from her.

‘Of course, if that is what you wish.’

He climbed up on to the stile and sat there, smiling at her, his teeth very white in the dim light. ‘Well,’ he said as she hesitated, ‘go along with you.’

Carlotta began to walk away, her spine tingling as she imagined his eyes raking her back. As soon as a bend in the lane hid the stile from sight, she took to her heels and ran the final few yards to her home.

‘Carlotta, are you quite well?’

Carlotta blinked and looked around the crowded ballroom. Her aunt was at her side, regarding her with some concern.

‘Pray do not tell me you have the headache, when everything is going so very well. Come, child, your next dance partner will be looking for you. I am so pleased for you—all but two dances taken this evening! It can be a little difficult when one is new to town, but I knew that as soon as the gentlemen saw how well you dance they would come begging to be presented to you.’

‘And did Lord—Lord Darvell ask to be presented, Aunt?’ Carlotta tried to keep her voice casual.

‘Oh, yes. He came straight up to me and begged for an introduction.’ She dropped her voice to say confidentially, ‘Carlotta, Darvell is a very wild young man.’