The Wicked Baron (5 page)

‘Well, then, there is no more to be said on the matter.’ reasoned Lady Broxted. ‘You are a very sensible little thing, Carlotta. I have no doubt we can achieve a very creditable match for you. Fairbridge seems to have taken a shine to you.’

Carlotta followed her aunt’s gaze to observe the tall, fair-haired young man standing on the far side of the room.

‘I think the viscount is more interested in our host’s daughter, ma’am. Do you see how he hovers about Miss Price, and how she blushes when he speaks to her?’

‘Perhaps you are right.’ Lady Broxted sighed. ‘Pity, for he would make you an ideal partner. His mama is well disposed towards you, too. Her late husband was a great friend of Broxted’s and I think she would like to strengthen the connection.’

‘Dear ma’am, is it not a little early to be contemplating marriage?’

‘It is never too early,’ said my lady firmly. ‘I am determined to see you well established. However, we must not repine. There is time yet.’

‘I hope so, ma’am,’ replied Carlotta, her eyes twinkling. ‘We have been in town for little more than a month!’

At that moment a young gentleman approached to claim her hand for the next set and she went off, still smiling.

The ballroom grew hotter and more crowded as the evening progressed, and in between dances Carlotta was glad to stand by one of the open windows to cool her heated cheeks. She thought with longing of her parents’ cottage in Malberry village: her mother’s last letter had been full of trifles such as her success in the herb garden and the diligence of the new maid, as well as news of her
latest commission and her father’s progress at Malberry Court. He was now decorating the little temples that littered the gardens. Carlotta wished she could be with them, but it was not possible. She was fanning herself gently when Julia Price came to join her. Carlotta said in her open, friendly way, ‘Your mama must be very pleased with the success of her party, Miss Price.’

‘Yes, I think she is. It is always a concern that no one will come, for there are so many concerts and entertainments.’

‘Well, I think you need have no worries, your rooms are full to overflowing. Is this what they call a sad crush?’ Carlotta asked. ‘I believe that means it is a great success.’

She must remember to put it all into her next letter to her parents; Mama enjoyed reading about the parties and entertainments.

‘Yes.’ Miss Price was smiling at her. ‘We are very fortunate tonight, I think. Is this your first Season, Miss Rivington?’

‘It is. My aunt and uncle have been kind enough to sponsor me.’ Carlotta sighed. ‘They are very good, but it is all so new and there is so much to remember: I am in constant dread that I shall embarrass them!’

Miss Price was quick to disclaim, ‘No, no, that could not be—you always look so calm and at ease.’

‘Thank you, but I am in a perpetual quake, I assure you, Miss Price.’

‘Do, please, call me Julia.’

‘Very well, if you will call me Carlotta.’

‘That is a very pretty name.’

‘Thank you. It is—’ Carlotta became aware of someone approaching and broke off, turning to see Viscount Fairbridge at her side, his pale blue eyes fixed upon Julia. He bowed.

‘Miss Price, you p-promised me the next dance, I think…that is, if I am not interrupting…’

Carlotta smiled at him. ‘Pray, my lord, do take your partner.’

‘You shall not object if I leave you?’ asked Julia, looking anxious.

‘Not at all. Off you go and enjoy yourself.’

Carlotta stepped back, smiling, as Julia put her fingers on Lord Fairbridge’s sleeve for him to lead her away. Too late did she see Lord Darvell standing behind the viscount’s lanky form. They were only feet apart. He checked as he saw her, a slight frown in his eyes. He was already turning away when their host’s jovial voice boomed out.

‘Now, now, how fortunate is this, my lord!’ Mr Price put his hand on Darvell’s arm. ‘The next set is forming and here is Miss Rivington without a partner.’

Mortification swept over Carlotta. A glance at Lord Darvell showed her that he felt very much as she did, and for a brief moment she wondered if he would walk off, but Mr Price was clapping him on the shoulder, crying, ‘Well, go to it, man!’

Carlotta opened her mouth to protest, but she could not speak. Lord Darvell stepped forward, stony-faced. He held out his hand.

‘Will you do me the honour, Miss Rivington?’

There was no escape. To refuse would be to embarrass them all. Tentatively she put her fingers on his sleeve.

‘You are too good, my lord.’

Damnation. Luke swore under his breath. However much he tried to avoid Carlotta, it seemed she forced herself upon his notice. No, he must be honest with himself,
it was not her fault. He remembered his efforts at Malberry Court, when he had realised that he was in danger of falling in love with the bewitching little sprite in her shirt and breeches. He had done his best then to keep away from her, finishing his business with the clerk of works late one afternoon and planning to set off for Darvell Manor the following morning without returning to the Court. But when he left Kemble’s lodge he found the heavy storm clouds had brought an early dusk and lightning was already splitting the sky. He saw the faint glow flickering from the windows of the house and rushed in, expecting to find flames licking at the newly painted walls. Instead he had found Carlotta.

‘What the devil are you doing in here?’

His voice, edged with irritation, vibrated against the empty walls of the drawing room.

‘I might ask you the same, sir, when you have not been near the house for days.’

Heaven and earth, the chit was challenging him!

‘I have been at the lodge with Kemble, discussing plans for moving in the furniture. I saw the light in the windows as I was about to leave and came up to see what was amiss.’

‘I am sorry, then, if you thought it was intruders.’

‘I was more concerned that the lightning had started a fire. Why are you not at home?’ he barked the question at her, frowning.

‘I wanted to have one last look at my father’s work. I beg your pardon; I never meant to disturb anyone. I will go now.’

‘Oh, no, you will not.’

She blinked.

He took off his hat and shook it, sending off tiny
droplets of water that sparkled in the candlelight. ‘I mean the storm is too violent. It is not safe.’

‘Oh.’

That one little word, spoken so softly, was his undoing. His heart went out to her; she looked so vulnerable, holding aloft the candlestick with one shaking hand. He said gently, ‘You need not worry, you are perfectly safe here.’ He stepped forward and took the candlestick from her. ‘Let us look at your father’s work together.’

They wandered through the empty rooms until they found themselves in the salon, which occupied one end of the house. There was only one painted panel, set between the two marble fireplaces. The other three walls were taken up with long windows, designed to allow in maximum light, although now they only gleamed blackly as the rain spattered against the glass. Luke crossed the room, raising the candles higher as he studied the mural.

‘Your father is a great artist, Carlotta. This is really very good.’

‘Thank you. May I show you something?’ She took his arm and led him to the far corner of the panel. ‘There,’ she pointed. ‘Look closely at the decoration on the lady’s sandal.’

He peered closer. ‘A tiny snail.’

‘Yes, a
lumaca
.’ She laughed. ‘It sounds so much prettier in Italian. It is Papa’s signature. He does not tell many people, but it is very important to him. When he was in Rome he would often paint copies of the great masters for the foreign visitors to take home and put in their grand houses. He insisted that as long as he signed them then there was no harm in it; he was not trying to trick anyone.’

‘I am honoured you should share it with me.’

He looked down at her and Carlotta smiled back at him
briefly before she looked away, suddenly shy and awkward. As if to distract him, she pointed up at the chandeliers.

‘When all those candles are alight this room will glow. Can you imagine how elegant it will look, with all the ladies in their finest gowns?’ She sighed. ‘I wish I could see it.’

‘Perhaps you will.’

She laughed. ‘Perhaps! I will creep up to the windows and press my nose against the glass one night.’

The thought made him angry. ‘That is not what I meant,’ he growled. ‘You should be in here, dancing with all the other young ladies.’

‘Do not frown, sir. I do not want you to pity me.’

‘No, of course not, but I am determined you shall dance here.’ He put down the candlestick and opened his arms to her. ‘Come.’

‘You are nonsensical!’ She laughed, but did not resist as he took her hand and began to lead her around the room, humming a tune.

‘Do you waltz, Miss Durini?’

‘No, sir. I have never learned.’

‘Well, the gentleman holds the lady like this.’ He drew her towards him, pushed her cloak off her shoulders until it hung like a train behind her and slid one hand beneath it to rest on her back. Immediately her body tensed. A tremor ran through him as her breasts pressed again him, separated from his skin by only a few thin layers of silk and linen.

‘I have been told the waltz is considered by some to be improper,’ she remarked. ‘It certainly feels very daring, to be standing so close.’

She looked up at him, smiling shyly, and suddenly he could not breathe.

‘Well, sir, what next?’

‘This.’

He placed his fingers beneath her chin, tilted up her face and kissed her, very gently. She gave a faint sigh when he lifted his head, but did not move away. Tension crackled between them. Carlotta leaned against him, a tiny movement, but it was enough. With something very like a groan he swooped down on her again and his kiss this time was much more urgent. She responded, her lips parting in surrender to his demands and her body melting against him. His arms tightened. He nibbled gently at her lip and in response she put her arms around his neck.

Together they sank to their knees and he lowered Carlotta to the floor. She clung to him as he stretched out beside her, his mouth moving slowly, sensuously, over her lips while one hand slid to her breast. Luke felt her tremble, her back arched. A pulsing wave of desire swamped him. His fingers tore at her shirt, pulling it free from those soft, clinging breeches, then his hand was on skin, caressing the gentle curve of her waist. He ran his fingers over her stomach and she drew it in, gasping. He covered her face with kisses, drinking in the sweet taste of her, a taste of summer flowers and new-mown hay. His senses reeled. He had known many women, but never had the urge to possess and protect been so strong. She moaned softly and his touch faltered. He was overwhelmed with tenderness. She was such an innocent, it was important not to hurt her, not to frighten her. He knew the heady heights that love-making could achieve, but for her it would be new, strange and bewildering. Suddenly he was aware of their surroundings, lying on the cold, hard floor. By God it was not even his house!

He raised his head and stared down at her. Carlotta gazed up at him so trustingly and with a sudden, startling clarity he knew it would not do. This was not how he would show his love to Carlotta.

‘This has gone far enough,’ he muttered, almost to himself.

He got to his feet and held out his hand. Her brows contracted and she looked at him with bewildered, frightened eyes.

‘What is it?’ she whispered. ‘Have I done something wrong?’

His smile was strained as he pulled her to her feet.

‘Not you, sweetheart.’ He brushed his lips against her mouth in a fleeting, butterfly kiss. ‘You are everything I could wish for, but this is not right, not here, on the bare floor of an empty house. You deserve so much more than that.’ He looked towards the window. ‘I think the rain has stopped. We must get you home.’

There was an uncomfortable silence. Carlotta did not move.

‘I thought you were going to teach me to waltz.’

She sounded so lost that he had to stifle the temptation to take her in his arms again. He reached out to pull her cloak back over her shoulders.

‘I am no saint, Carlotta.’ He bent to pick up the candlestick.

‘You are not angry with me?’

He lifted her hand, pressing a kiss into the palm. ‘No, love. I am not angry with you.’

No, he had not been angry with her then, but now, as he led Carlotta on to the crowded dance floor, it occurred to him that he had been wrong about her; even then she had been trying to catch herself a rich husband.

With all the pleasure of someone walking to the scaffold, Carlotta accompanied Lord Darvell onto the dance floor. His hand beneath her arm was stiff; indeed, she thought his whole body was rigid with disapproval. She summoned up all her courage to help her through this ordeal. Anger came to her aid. What right had he to disapprove of her? When they took their places in the set she put up her chin and gazed steadily at some point over his shoulder. The music began; they held hands, moved forward until they were almost touching, the delicate flowers of her corsage trembling within an inch of his waistcoat. She must concentrate on her steps and forget her partner. There was no need for them to talk, after all. However, she soon discovered that Luke had other ideas.

‘Why did you change your name to Rivington?’ he asked her suddenly.

‘It is in deference to my aunt and uncle. They have been very good to me.’

‘And perhaps you are ashamed of your origins.’

‘I am not! It is not unusual to take the name of one’s benefactor.’ She almost snatched her hand away as the dance parted them. Insufferable man! He was determined to think badly of her. Carlotta’s head came up: she would not court his good opinion.

Luke fought down his anger. Damnation, one could not have an argument in the middle of a ballroom. The movement of the dance took him past his partner and he almost laughed aloud at the fury of her look. One had to admit those dark eyes flashed magnificently when she was angry. It seemed she planned to ignore him for the duration of the dance, but he would have none of it. The chit should learn that she must at least show him society manners.