The Wicked Baron (7 page)

‘Pho, plenty of time yet, it is barely eight o’clock,’ said her husband, consulting his watch. ‘There is nearly an hour to wait.’

Lady Broxted fidgeted with her fan.

‘But the cascade is only on display for fifteen minutes, my dear, and there is always such a crush. If one is late, it is difficult to see anything.’

The earl looked a little contemptuous. ‘I have already experienced the spectacle, several times,’ he announced. ‘I shall stay here.’

‘Very true, my lord,’ agreed Mrs Price. ‘Having seen the cascade on several occasions, I too should much prefer to remain here. No doubt you are the same, Lady Broxted, but the girls must not miss it.’ She smiled at Lord Fairbridge and Mr Woollatt. ‘Perhaps, sirs, you would like to escort them?’

‘Indeed we would!’ exclaimed the viscount, jumping up. ‘That is, I can’t speak for Woollatt, of course, but I should very much like to—I mean…’ He trailed off in confusion, a flush darkening his fair cheek.

Mr Woollatt rose to his feet and said smoothly, ‘We would be delighted to escort Miss Rivington and Miss Price
to the cascade, my lady. That is, if you think you can trust us to take such precious treasures through the gardens.’

Mrs Price laughed gaily and spread her fan.

‘Mr Woollatt, how charmingly you compliment our young ladies. Of course we trust you, do we not, Lady Broxted?’

‘Indeed we do, my dear sir. Off you go now. You will be able to secure a good view of the cascade, and when you return we shall go together to see Madame Saqui performing.’

Carlotta regarded her aunt with a little surprise, but a moment’s reflection made her realise that Lady Broxted considered both gentlemen worthy suitors and she was eager to promote them. She wondered what her aunt would say if she expressed a desire to remain in the supper box, but Julia was already standing up and the viscount was tenderly placing her paisley shawl about her shoulders. Carlotta could only acquiesce with a good grace.

With plenty of time to spare, Mr Woollatt led them all on a circuitous route through the gardens, pointing out the various statues and grottoes on their way. His tone was very much that of a man instructing a child. Julia and Lord Fairbridge were so engrossed in each other that they did not notice, but Carlotta found herself trying to think of something outrageous to say to shock him out of his complacency. Just when she thought she could no longer endure making polite conversation a bell rang out, summoning the crowds to the cascade and the wide path quickly filled up.

‘Now you see how wise we were to get here early, Miss Rivington?’ murmured Mr Woollatt, drawing her forward. ‘We are not quite at the front of the crowd, but I think we shall have a capital view from here.’

With a fanfare, the curtain was drawn back to reveal the display; Julia laughed and clapped enthusiastically, but Carlotta was aware of a little disappointment. The metal representation of a stream and miller’s wheel was ingenious, but it clanked noisily, and her artist’s eye found the garish setting and lurid colours a little childish. However, as they strolled back to their box, Julia was so enthusiastic about what they had seen that Carlotta suppressed her criticism. Remembering her resolution to be charitable, she even found a few words of praise for the spectacle when they returned to the supper box and her aunt asked her for her opinion. Satisfied that she had acquitted herself well, Carlotta settled down beside Lady Broxted to enjoy a light supper of paper-thin ham, followed by fruit tarts and syllabub laced with wine, while they watched the crowds parading through the Grove.

‘Goodness, I vow there are an extraordinary number of gentlemen here tonight,’ remarked Mrs Price, her bright eyes surveying the throng.

Lady Broxted nodded. ‘More than one usually sees here, certainly.’

‘Well, that is to be expected,’ said Mr Price. ‘A lady performing on a rope high in the air—they have come to watch her, hoping to glimpse more than a pretty ankle, what?’ He laughed loudly at his own wit. Lord Broxted, Carlotta noted, gave only a tight little smile.

Mrs Price nodded towards the latest group of gentlemen to appear in the Grove. ‘We are certainly acquainted with some of them. Look.’ She began to wave to attract their attention.

Like a flock of starlings the noisy crowd changed direction and headed towards their box. To a man they were
dressed in the height of fashion with their cut-away coats and light-coloured trousers.

‘Heavens,’ murmured Julia, moving a little closer to the viscount. ‘So many of them.’

‘But we know them, my love,’ cried her mama, still waving. ‘Look, there is Mr Eastleigh, and Sir Gilbert Mattingwood…Sir Peter Ottwood…oh, and Lord Darvell, too! Good evening, my lord, gentlemen. My goodness, the gaming houses will be quite empty tonight.’

‘We can always go back to ’em later, ma’am,’ cried a fair-haired gentleman with florid cheeks and a twinkle in his blue eyes. He bowed over Mrs Price’s hand. ‘Thought we should take a peek at the incomparable Saqui.’

Luke followed his friends towards the supper box where Mrs Price was waving and smiling at them all. He had not really wanted to accompany his friends to Vauxhall, but when he saw Carlotta in the box his spirits lifted. He felt the usual tug of attraction as he watched at her. She had discarded her enshrouding domino and looked enticing in her gown of blue satin. The deep colour enhanced the creamy tones of her flawless skin. Her dark hair was curled artlessly around her head, providing a charming frame for her pale face and those huge dark eyes. The anger he had felt at their last meeting was forgotten. He moved forward, ready to smile, to speak to her warmly, but Sir Gilbert was there before him, turning from Mrs Price to fix his eyes upon Carlotta. By God, thought Luke irritably, the man’s almost drooling.

‘Talking of incomparable,’ murmured Sir Gilbert, ‘won’t you introduce me, Mrs P.?’

Luke noted that Lady Broxted was tutting with disapproval at this forward approach, but Mrs Price merely laughed.

‘Of course! Miss Carlotta Rivington, may I present to you Sir Gilbert Mattingwood?’

It was as much as Luke could do not to scowl with frustration as Carlotta gazed up at Mattingwood, a shy smile curving her lips.

‘Your servant, Miss Rivington.’ Sir Gilbert fixed his laughing blue gaze upon her face. ‘Now, why have I not seen you before?’

‘I have not long been in town, sir.’ Still smiling, she looked past him to meet Luke’s eyes for a fleeting moment. Luke knew he was frowning and he saw her smile falter, until Sir Gilbert’s next words recaptured her wandering attention.

‘Your first visit here, is it, Miss Rivington?’

‘Yes, sir, and for Miss Price, too,’ answered Carlotta. ‘We are mightily impressed.’

‘We have been to see the cascade,’ offered Julia in her soft voice.

‘And did it please you, Miss Price?’ asked Luke, determined to say something, however inane.

Julia clasped her hands, a beatific smile upon her face. ‘Oh, very much, my lord. It was magical—such a colourful spectacle!’

He smiled and nodded, but from the corner of his eye he could see Carlotta laughing at something Mattingwood was whispering to her. Hell and damnation, could she not see Sir Gilbert for the flirt he really was? He turned to her.

‘And what of you, Miss Rivington?’ he said. ‘What thought you of the spectacle—did the colours suit you?’

‘It is very ingenious,’ she answered him carefully but her wariness only fuelled his anger.

‘But not to your taste, which is for a more…classical form of art.’

Her eyes flew to his face, he could see she thought he was about to denounce her. He would never do that—did she not know him yet? He wanted to say something reassuring, but Sir Gilbert was speaking again.

‘Everyone should see the tin cascade,’ he remarked with a laugh. ‘But only the once!’ He leaned a little closer to Carlotta. ‘I would be honoured to show you some of the
other
attractions of Vauxhall, Miss Rivington.’

Mr Woollatt stepped forward. ‘If Miss Rivington wishes to see anything, then it will be my pleasure to escort her,’ he said, his rather heavy chin jutting out belligerently.

Sir Gilbert straightened, still smiling. ‘Alas, then, I feel my loss most acutely.’

Carlotta smiled. She was aware of the compliment the gentlemen were paying her and would have been more than human if she had not felt a little tremor of excitement at their gallantry. She nodded at Mr Woollatt, then turned to give Sir Gilbert an apologetic smile. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you, sir.’

He inclined his head. ‘Madam, you could never disappoint me.’

Her smile grew. She was very happy to indulge in this mild flirtation, conducted from the safety of the supper box where she had the protection of her aunt and uncle. It was also a refreshing change from Mr Woollat’s dull lecturing. When she looked at Lord Darvell, however, his disapproving stare somewhat dimmed her enjoyment of the moment. As the group moved away, Mr Price shook his head.

‘Scapegraces, the lot of ’em,’ he said. ‘I hear Mattingwood is done up—could not pay his gambling debts at Brooks’s the other night. ’Tis a poor show when a man cannot pay his way.’

‘Actually, he did pay up,’ put in Lord Broxted, scrupulously fair. ‘I was there myself, heard him tell Ainslowe he would settle with him the next morning.’

‘Ah,’ said Mr Price, winking at Mr Woollatt, ‘we’ve all heard that one before, I dare say.’

‘No doubt,’ continued the earl, ‘but in this case he honoured his commitment. Gave Ainslowe a painting to cover his debt.’

‘A painting!’

‘Aye,’ said the earl. ‘A Tiepolo. His father brought it back from the Grand Tour.’

‘And is it genuine?’ asked Mr Price. ‘Has he had it valued?’

Lord Broxted looked affronted. ‘Ainslowe doesn’t need to do that; he has Mattingwood’s word, as a gentleman.’

‘Never mind that now.’ Lady Broxted rose. ‘Madame Saqui will be performing soon; I would like us to have a good view of it.’

They joined the crowd congregating around the fifty-foot mast erected for Madame Saqui’s celebrated rope walk. Mr and Mrs Price led their party to a good viewing spot. Carlotta was not sure whether it was by accident or design that they found themselves again in the proximity of the group of young bloods that included Sir Gilbert Mattingwood. With a little skilful manoeuvring, Mrs Price managed to place herself next to Sir Gilbert and engaged him in a rather flirtatious conversation while they waited for Madame Saqui to ascend the rope. Carlotta had taken Mr Woollatt’s arm and now stood patiently while he explained to her in excessive detail the number of appearances the lady had made in England. Her mind was beginning to wander when she heard a familiar voice in her ear.

‘Your escort is a veritable
encyclopaedia
, Miss Rivington.’

She froze. Luke was standing behind her, pressed so close by the crowd around them that they were almost touching. Her nerves tingled along the length of her spine and she shrank closer to Mr Woollatt. Her escort patted her arm.

‘These crowds are a little frightening, are they not?’ he said. ‘No need to be alarmed, Miss Rivington. I shall not let you go.’

‘Fortune favours Woollatt in all ways.’

These next words were merely a whisper; she could almost have imagined them except that she could feel Luke’s breath, warm on her cheek. Carlotta found herself trembling. She closed her lips tightly; she would not respond to his teasing. The crowd’s applause alerted her to the fact that Madame Saqui had appeared. Carlotta tried to concentrate on the stocky little woman ascending the rope, but she was too aware of Darvell standing so close behind her; if she leaned back just a little, she would be resting against him. The temptation to do just that was so strong it frightened her. Her senses reeled, the blood was singing in her veins. She dare not turn to look at him, but half-expected to feel his hand on her back, or her neck. Anticipation sizzled through her—the thought of his fingers stealing around her waist, pulling her back against him, the touch of his lips on her cheek where a moment ago she had felt his warm breath…It shook her to realise how much she wanted it to happen. She wanted to scream with frustration.

Mr Woollatt was directing her attention upwards, explaining how taut the rope must be, telling her of the special slippers Madame wore to grip the rope.

‘It is rumoured she is being paid one hundred guineas a week to perform here,’ he said, gazing up in rapt attention at the little figure above him.

‘That is nothing to a man of Woollatt’s fortune,’ Luke murmured in her ear. ‘You will be able to command your own private performance when you are his wife—ouch!’

Carlotta smiled. Her heel encased in its soft kid boot had connected very neatly with Luke’s shin. It was a small victory, but it eased some of her tension.

Mr Woollatt looked round. ‘Oh, is that you, Darvell? Demmed crush, ain’t it?’

Carlotta kept her eyes resolutely upon Madame Saqui. She heard Woollatt saying, ‘Pray do not crowd the lady, there’s a good fellow. Ah, look, Saqui’s turning. Bravo, ma’am!’

Carlotta joined in the general applause as Madame Saqui turned gracefully on her high perch. She jumped as a loud cannonade commenced, and a noisy display of fireworks lit up the sky. Madame Saqui moved easily to and fro on the rope, and began a graceful descent. The crowd cheered and roared for more and Carlotta risked a look behind her. Luke had gone.

‘W
ell, well, how exciting!’ exclaimed Lady Broxted. ‘Did you not think so, Carlotta?’

‘Yes indeed, Aunt. Even my uncle looked to be enjoying it. Is that not so, sir?’

Lord Broxted allowed himself a small smile. ‘It was very unusual. I have not seen her before, but I believe she has performed at Drury Lane. A most enterprising female.’

‘But she was not very pretty,’ uttered Julia. ‘I thought she would be dainty, fairy-like.’

‘No, she was quite mannish,’ agreed Carlotta. ‘But very accomplished for all that. Shall we return to our supper box now, Aunt?’

Lady Broxted tucked her hand into her husband’s arm. ‘Oh, I think we should take a stroll around the gardens first. The lamps look so pretty now it is dark. But there is no need for us all to stay together. Mrs Price, would you object if we allowed the younger ones to go off by themselves?’

‘Not in the least, ma’am!’

Carlotta’s heart sank a little. ‘But surely there is no need
for us to go separately. I am sure you will know the most attractive walks, Aunt.’

‘But we will want to take a much more leisurely pace. No, my dear, let the viscount and Mr Woollatt take you about. There can be no harm in it, when there are so many people here.’

‘Yes, you can chaperon each other,’ cried Mrs Price, almost bustling them away.

Carlotta turned to Julia for support, but her friend was looking positively starry-eyed at the prospect of walking through the gardens with Viscount Fairbridge, and Carlotta did not have the heart to spoil her evening. She resigned herself to accompanying Mr Woollatt and began to search for some topic of conversation. There was no lack, but since Mr Woollatt liked to turn everything into an educational lecture she soon found her mind wandering.

‘…of course, the dark walks were once notorious for salacious behaviour,’ Mr Woollatt remarked as he led her through one tree-lined avenue. ‘You can imagine that the little recesses you see at intervals along here were black as pitch before they put up the lamps on the main walk. The gardens have been forced to shut on more than one occasion, due to complaints of licentiousness…’

Carlotta sighed and thought to herself that there was no possibility of her partner behaving licentiously. She had no idea what had happened to Julia and the viscount. They had disappeared, but she guessed they would be having a much more enjoyable time of it. ‘The gardens were actually closed for a while and the proprietors were ordered to put lamps here. I think you will agree that the colourful illuminations now make it much more pleasant, although the recesses are still far too dark.’

‘I think it would be very exciting to walk through here in the dark with a lover,’ Carlotta said, a mood of rebellion growing within her, but her words were uttered so quietly that Mr Woollatt was not discomposed by them. She was disgusted at her cowardice. Why could she not shout at him and make him recoil at her vulgar behaviour? With an inward sigh she realised her strict upbringing did not allow her to behave in such an unladylike way. As they turned into another narrow alley, she saw a familiar figure coming towards her. Thanks to the compulsory lighting in what Mr Woollatt informed her had been a notorious trysting place, she was able to recognise Lord Darvell while he was still some distance away. He was arm in arm with a female who was displaying her ample charms very freely. In one glance Carlotta took in the improbably black curls, painted cheeks and vividly carmined mouth. Her own lips curled in distaste as she watched the woman leaning against her partner, laughing immoderately at something he said. As they drew nearer Carlotta realised she did not want Darvell to know she had seen him. She clung a little closer to Mr Woollatt and turned her face up to him.

‘Do you not think it romantic here, under the trees?’ she remarked. She knew Luke and his—she sought for a word to describe the wanton creature, but nothing ladylike seemed appropriate—his
woman
would be very close by now, and kept her eyes resolutely upon her companion.

Mr Woollatt regarded her with a rather startled expression. ‘I—I beg your pardon, ma’am, what was that?’

Out of the corner of her eye she realised that they were about to pass Luke and his partner. There could be no doubting that he had seen her. She snuggled even closer to Mr Woollatt.

‘I think this is
such
a romantic setting. The coloured lamps, the wind whispering through the leaves.’ She gave an artistic sigh. ‘It makes one long to be able to burst into song, or—or to write verse.’

Even as she said it, the thought of Mr Woollatt turning poet almost made her laugh, but she maintained her soulful pose, turning towards him even more, so that she could peep over his shoulder. She was rewarded for her efforts by the sight of Luke looking back at them, a heavy frown creasing his brow.

‘I—um—I have never thought of it in those terms,’ said Mr Woollatt, ‘but now you have suggested it, I can see how some might find these coloured lights inspiring.’ He smiled down at her. ‘I had no idea you were such a sensitive little thing, Miss Rivington.’

With Luke now safely out of sight, Carlotta felt it was safe to draw away from Mr Woollatt, but he was holding tightly to her arm.

‘Damme if I don’t think you are right, m’dear—there
is
something enticing about these lamplit walks.’ He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, ’fore Gad I think you have made my heart beat a little quicker, Miss Rivington, I—oh—’

He stopped suddenly and released her, clamping one hand to his chest.

‘Mr Woollatt, is something wrong? What is the matter?’ Carlotta stared at him in concern. He was bent forward a little, his face contorted with pain. A vein on his right temple bulged alarmingly.

‘Can’t—quite—seem to get m’breath,’ he gasped.

Carlotta looked about her, wishing that her aunt or someone she knew was at hand. There were but one couple in view and they had eyes only for each other. She took his arm.

‘You must sit down, Mr Woollatt.’ She guided him towards the nearest recess and was relieved to find that it was empty. ‘Come along, sir. Sit down here in this little bower for a few moments.’

Mr Woollatt staggered to the rustic bench and collapsed on to it, breathing noisily. His hands were tugging at his neckcloth.

‘Can’t breath,’ he gasped again.

Carlotta stripped off her gloves and fumbled with the knotted linen at his throat. It was too dark to see clearly, but at length she managed to untie the cravat and loosen the shirt around his neck. She glanced down at the waistcoat strained across his chest.

‘If you will excuse me, sir, I will unbutton your waistcoat too, for I think you will feel more comfortable without that constriction.’

‘Yes, yes, thank you, that
is
better,’ he muttered. The waistcoat fell away from his chest and he took a deep breath. His frilled shirt billowed out, gleaming palely in the dim light.

Carlotta sat down beside him. His chest was rising and falling with his huge, noisy gasps for air.

‘What should I do, sir?’ she asked him anxiously. ‘Would you like me to fetch someone?’

He reached across and patted her hand, saying wheezily, ‘No, no need for that. I think if I rest here for a moment, I shall be well again.’

Carlotta sat beside him, listening to his laboured breathing and thinking miserably that if he died now it would be her fault for exciting him with her flirtatious behaviour. A little tear slipped down her cheek. Aunt Broxted would be horrified to learn how badly she had behaved. She would most likely pack her off back to her parents. At that
moment Carlotta thought that she would like nothing better than to return to the little cottage in Malberry, to live in obscurity. She looked again at Mr Woollatt, slumped on the bench beside her. His breathing was much more normal now, but his eyes were closed.

‘Mr Woollatt?’ Her tentative call made him open one eye.

‘Ah, my apologies, Miss Rivington,’ he murmured. ‘I seem to have been a little overcome. Pray allow me to rest for a few moments more, then I shall return you to your family. I regret this most heartily; I assure you it has never happened to me before.’

‘You must not worry yourself, sir,’ she replied, relieved that he was showing signs of recovery. ‘Rest as long as you wish.’

He patted her hand again, closed his eyes and put back his head. A few moments later he began to snore gently. Carlotta did not know whether she was most indignant or relieved by this. She hoped Mr Woollatt would not sleep for too long, for her aunt and uncle would be growing anxious, but she did not think that she should leave him and go back through the gardens alone. It was growing late and she was aware of the sounds of raucous laughter and coarse jests coming from the adjoining walks. Occasionally she heard footsteps on the gravel path and held her breath, praying no one would look in and see her in the shadowy arbour. As the evening wore on and they remained undisturbed she began to relax, the tedium of sitting quietly in the darkness beginning to steal over her. She thought that she should put on her gloves again and was looking for them when a voice close at hand made her jump.

‘Miss Rivington. What a pleasant surprise.’

Lord Darvell was leaning against the pillar at the edge of the recess, arms folded across his chest. As the lamps
that lined the walk were behind him, his face was in shadow, but Carlotta thought his stance was decidedly insolent. His tone certainly indicated no pleasure at this meeting. She jumped up and went across to him, putting a finger to her lips.

‘Please, Mr Woollatt is sleeping. Do not wake him.’ She tried to keep her voice to a whisper.

His lip curled contemptuously. ‘Exhausted your lover, have you?’

Carlotta stopped. She had been about to explain everything, but his words suddenly made her realise how the situation must look, Mr Woollatt with his clothes in disarray and her gloves lying discarded at his feet. Her cheeks flamed and she felt hot with embarrassment. ‘It is not what you think.’

‘No?’

He pushed himself off the pillar and stepped towards her. He towered over her, a huge, menacing black shape. Carlotta could feel the anger emanating from him and had to force herself not to retreat; something of her old spirit reasserted itself. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her distress.

‘Woollatt looks well satisfied.’ His insolent tone flayed her. ‘Did you learn those skills at your fashionable academy, or does it come naturally to you?’

Carlotta gasped. Any explanation she had planned vanished from her mind. Even before he had finished speaking her hand swept up towards his face, but he was too quick for her and caught her wrist. Outraged, she tried to pull away, but with a savage laugh he captured both her hands and pinned them behind her. This brought them closer, her bosom pressed against the hard rock of his chest.
Shock rippled through her. Carlotta found herself staring at the diamond pin nestled into the snowy folds of his neckcloth. She felt an overwhelming desire to subside against him and burst into tears. She drew on her anger to support her, threw back her head and gave him a scorching look.

For a long moment they stared at one another. The poor light cast deep shadows across Luke’s face and Carlotta had never seen him look so menacing. She realised that he, too, was breathing heavily, far more so than the exertion of their little tussle warranted. Pressed against him, she could feel his heart hammering in his chest as fast as her own. She was taut as Madame Saqui’s high rope, heart pounding, nerve-ends tingling with excitement even while she berated herself for the way her body betrayed her. Standing so close reminded her of their dancing together at Malberry. She remembered how safe she had felt in his arms.
Then
he had been smiling and gentle. Now, as he crushed her to him, she could see only anger in his eyes. Panic threatened to engulf her. She fought it down. She would not give in.

‘Release me at once,’ she hissed, to be rewarded with a wolfish grin.

‘Why? Do you not like being in a man’s arms?’

‘Not in yours!’ she flashed.

His hold tightened. He lowered his head and murmured, ‘You enjoyed it once, do you not remember?’

Dear heaven, why did he have to remind her! Carlotta sought to control her wayward emotions. She dared not look into his eyes and instead fixed her gaze upon his mouth, but the sight of his lips, parted slightly to reveal his strong white teeth made her recall his kisses, the way he had grazed her bottom lip, the delicious excitement he had roused within her. The urge to turn her face up to his and
invite him to kiss her again was almost irresistible. Desperately she dragged her eyes away. If he did not release her soon, she feared she would give in. Or she would scream.

‘I thought you such an innocent at Malberry, Carlotta.’

She managed a bitter laugh. ‘You said yourself I have learned a great deal since then.’

His eyes flickered back to the sleeping Mr Woollatt. ‘Enough to snare a rich husband?’

She resorted to summoning up images of the haughty girls she had known at school and said with what she hoped to be a fine air of cool arrogance, ‘Oh, yes, I think so.’

She forced herself to look at him. The contempt in his eyes cut her like a knife and it took all her resolve to maintain her haughty pose, knowing it was her only defence. He stepped back suddenly, but Carlotta could not move. She was like an animal, unexpectedly released and paralysed with fear. She rubbed her bruised wrists.

‘Why did you come here?’ she asked him.

He looked down, smoothing his sleeves as if brushing away all signs of their contact. ‘I was passing your box and saw that you had not returned. I was concerned. Foolish, is it not?’

‘Extremely foolish. And the…female you had on your arm?’ She could not resist the question.

‘Just that. A female looking to make a few shillings from any gentleman wandering alone in these gardens. Unfortunately for her I have no interest in her charms and she has gone off in search of more lucrative company. She offers her body to the highest bidder.’ He paused. ‘Very much like yourself.’