The Wicked Baron (8 page)

This time he made no move to stop her and her open palm slammed onto his cheek with a force that made her fingers sting. She stepped back, holding up her head.

‘Your opinion of me is now quite clear,’ she said, her voice low and shaking with anger. ‘You can have nothing more to say to me.’ She turned away from him.

‘What?’ His jeering voice followed her. ‘Do you have no response for me? Are you not going to rip my character to shreds, Miss Carlotta Rivington?’

She closed her eyes, forcing back the tears. Her shoulders slumped a little, but she managed to speak with scarcely a tremor in her voice. ‘Goodbye, Lord Darvell.’

He did not reply, and after a few moments she heard the scrunch of his hasty footsteps on the gravel as he walked away.

Carlotta went back to the bench. Mr Woollatt showed no signs of waking up, so she put her head in her hands. How had it come to this? That Luke should think her capable of—she shuddered. Only one man had ever held her, had ever kissed her. There had been a violent storm at Malberry last summer, so violent that she had gone inside the house to wait until the thunder and lightning had passed before making her way home. Luke had seen the light from her candles and come to the house to make sure all was safe. She remembered how they had danced in the empty salon, how he had taken her in his arms and kissed her so long and so thoroughly that she had never wanted it to end. When eventually he had put her away from him she had been afraid that she had erred in some way and he had been at pains to assure her that he was not angry.

But he was angry now, here in one of Vauxhall’s famed dark walks. She had seen it in his eyes when he looked at her, when he accused her of having a lover. He despised her. And who could blame him?

In the darkened arbour with only the sound of Mr
Woollatt’s stertorous breathing to break the silence, Carlotta thought she could never be more despondent, but she was wrong.

When Mr Woollatt awoke and was well enough to escort her back to their supper box, they were greeted by Lord and Lady Broxted with a mixture of anxiety and relief. Mr Woollatt quickly explained that he had suffered a little dizziness and been obliged to rest for a while. Carlotta was relieved that her aunt and uncle accepted this explanation, but the knowing looks and smirking comments from Mr and Mrs Price made her cringe, and it was an ordeal for her to maintain her composure for the remainder of the evening.

A grey dawn was already lighting the sky as Carlotta fell into bed, and she felt little refreshed when she sat up to drink her hot chocolate later the following morning. She contemplated pleading a headache and remaining in her bed for the day, but common sense told her she could not hide for ever and she thought it better to face any criticism as soon as possible. She dressed with care and made her way to the breakfast room, where she found her aunt and uncle already at the table. It was not long before the subject of Vauxhall was broached. Madame Saqui’s exploits on the high wire had to be exclaimed over, Lord Fairbridge’s marked attentions to Julia Price discussed and Carlotta waited with a sinking heart for the inevitable comments on her own behaviour. She was surprised, therefore, when Lady Broxted merely remarked that she thought her niece had made a hit.

‘Yes,’ said Lord Broxted with ponderous humour, ‘if I had not known Woollatt for so many years I would suspect him of dalliance last night, keeping you to himself for so long.’

Carlotta was not tempted to smile.

‘He was suddenly taken with a shortness of breath, Uncle. I was very worried for him; he could barely walk and we were forced to sit down for a considerable time. If he had not recovered when he did, I should have been obliged to seek help.’

Lady Broxted leaned across to pat her hand.

‘You did very well, my dear. Mr Woollatt was most complimentary about you. He was very impressed with your concern for him.’

Remembering that it was her outrageous attempt to flirt that had brought on his malady, Carlotta thought this could be no more than flattery and dreaded seeing Mr Woollatt again. She was relieved, therefore, when they met some days later, to find that he treated her with the same polite courtesy he had always shown her. Mr and Mrs Price only mentioned the incident once and, as Carlotta made a supreme effort to conceal her embarrassment, the matter was allowed to drop. She saw no sign of Lord Darvell during the ensuing week and Carlotta began to hope that the episode at Vauxhall Gardens would soon be forgotten.

Lord Darvell was making every effort to blot out the disgraceful scenes at Vauxhall. Never had he felt such overwhelming jealousy as he had that night, seeing Carlotta with that prosy bore Woollatt. If she was determined to marry a fortune, then let her do so—it was none of his concern. But the demon in his head told him it
was
his concern, that if he could only break through the brittle, society maiden she had become, he might find the sweet, innocent Carlotta he had known at Malberry.

‘Don’t be a fool, man,’ he told himself impatiently. ‘She
is changed. She is the same as every other woman in town, desperate to make a good match. You have seen her with your own eyes, making up to Mattingwood and flirting outrageously with Woollatt. Let her go.’

He would do just that. They must meet, of course, but he would be no more than civil to her. Carlotta had made it perfectly plain that she wanted nothing more to do with him. So be it. It was over.

B
y an unlucky chance, Lord Broxted’s party arrived at Lady Yatebury’s rout at the same moment that Lord Darvell walked into the entrance hall of the magnificent Yatebury town house. Carlotta’s heart sank as Lord Broxted, knowing nothing of the contretemps at Vauxhall, hailed Lord Darvell pleasantly and Luke returned the greeting with a courteous word. As he turned to Carlotta, however, Luke’s eyes hardened and his bow was a calculated insult. Her cheeks flamed. How dare he treat her thus! She chose to ignore him and followed her aunt and uncle up the stairs. But despite her brave intentions she was painfully aware of him, her spine prickling with the knowledge that he was but a few steps behind her. Their hostess was standing at the top of the stairs and already calling down excitedly to Lady Broxted.

‘My dear, so pleased you could come—it is a veritable crush! But I am so disappointed, the new orangery is not in use yet! I had hoped to have it ready for this evening, but they were still working on it this morning, and my plantsman has let me down and will not be bringing the
flowers until next week. It cannot be helped, however, and you must come again as soon as it is ready, for I am burning to show it to you, since you are my
particular
friend.’

They had reached the landing by this time and Lady Yatebury touched her cheek to Lady Broxted’s while keeping up a constant flow of chatter. She turned to greet Carlotta, exclaiming at her beauty and cupping her face in her hands while she examined her.

‘Such perfect skin! I am sick with envy, my dear, for the smallpox ruined my complexion years ago, which is why I am obliged to wear these patches upon my cheek, but you are in blooming health.’ She turned to smile at Lady Broxted. ‘She is so pretty I vow she will have every gentleman at her feet, Celia. But you must take care of your heart, little Carlotta,’ she continued, her kind eyes twinkling. ‘Have a care that you do not take a liking to a rascal such as Darvell here. We would not have you losing your heart to the Wicked Baron—that would never do!’

Carlotta blushed, but said nothing; Luke was beside her, bowing over Lady Yatebury’s hand.

‘Miss Rivington has nothing to fear from me.’

She winced: his indifferent tone was like a blade slicing into her heart. Pride came to her aid. A half-smile, a haughty look and she murmured, ‘Lord Darvell is too kind.’

They moved on to the crowded reception rooms and did not speak again. Carlotta dreaded the coming evening. Heartache, anger and nerves combined; by the time dinner was announced, she felt quite sick and unable to eat anything from the numerous dishes spread on the dining table. She drank her wine in nervous sips and accepted another glass—or was it two? She could not be sure.

However, with so many young people present it was impossible not to be in infected by their high spirits and after dinner Carlotta began to relax a little. When the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room, the conversation became much more animated and Carlotta even began to enjoy herself. She tried not to think of Luke, or the fact that he had spent most of the evening with Mrs Leonora Daniels, a young married lady who was quite clearly throwing out lures to him. She watched him now, bending low over her chair, his brown hair almost touching the matron’s blonde curls as he listened to her. She hunched one white shoulder. She was sure she did not care; there were gentlemen enough paying her extravagant compliments and she was minded to enjoy a little flirtation. In fact, she was feeling quite light-headed. Possibly the effect of the wine, she thought hazily. The younger members of the group congregated around the pianoforte where several of them were persuaded to sing or play.

Carlotta joined Sir Gilbert Mattingwood in one duet, but refused to perform another, despite numerous compliments on their performance. She was sorting through the music to find a piece for Julia Price when from the corner of her eye she saw Luke approaching with Mrs Daniels on his arm. She concentrated on the music sheets, but she need not have feared, for Luke did not once look her way. Mrs Daniels addressed Julia as they drew closer.

‘Miss Price, I saw you at Almack’s last night. Did you not think it very flat?’

Carlotta had been there too and had found it incredibly dull, although when she observed the dashing matron in her fashionable gold robe and matching turban, hanging on to
Luke’s arm in the most possessive way, nothing would have persuaded her to agree with the lady on any point. She remembered that Julia had spent most of the evening with Viscount Fairbridge, so she was not surprised when Julia declared herself very well satisfied with Almack’s.

‘Well, I doubt I shall go there again for some time,’ Mrs Daniels purred, ‘Unless, my lord, I know that
you
will be there.’

‘That you will not do,’ returned Luke with a smile.

‘Darvell never goes to Almack’s,’ declared Sir Gilbert.

One of the other gentlemen laughed heartily, saying, ‘Good thing, too, or he would cut us all out with the ladies.’

Luke bowed. ‘Anything to oblige you, Elmwood.’

‘Lord Darvell rates his charms very highly,’ muttered Carlotta.

Immediately all eyes were turned on her.

‘No, no,’ Luke reproved her gently, ‘you do me an injustice, madam. I do not rate myself above the average.’

‘Aye,’ cried Sir Gilbert merrily. ‘It is the
ladies
who value his attentions. They are all ready to swoon at his feet.’

‘Not all of them,’ retorted Carlotta. Her head was bent over the music, but the words came out louder than she had intended. Mrs Daniels left her partner and moved forward a little.

‘Oho,’ she said softly, ‘Darvell, here is a woman immune to your charms. How can this be, Miss Rivington?’

‘It would be a very sad world if we all liked the same thing,’ returned Carlotta, her cheeks hot. She was beginning to regret her rash words and wished someone would turn the conversation to safer channels.

‘Indeed, but there are some things we must all value, and Lord Darvell has them in abundance.’ Mrs Daniels was
watching Carlotta, a small, contemptuous smile playing around her mouth. ‘Pray, Miss Rivington, tell us what
you
find attractive in a man?’

‘Yes, Miss Rivington.’ Luke came forward until the candlelight was reflected in his eyes, like little dancing devils. ‘Tell us what qualities you admire?’

Carlotta looked around the little group: they were all watching her, but for once she was not put out by this. She felt a little reckless and looked up fearlessly to meet the challenge in Luke’s eyes.

‘Honesty, integrity, a sense of honour,’ she ticked them off on her fingers.

Mrs Daniels laughed; Carlotta watched her throw back her head, giving everyone the opportunity to admire her fine neck and shoulders.

‘My dear, those are the attributes of every gentleman.’

‘But are they the attributes of every lord?’ flashed Carlotta.

A ripple of amusement ran around the group.

‘Now you intrigue me, Miss Rivington,’ murmured Mrs Daniels. ‘Darvell, is this aimed at you? What scandalous things can she know of you? Pray, Miss Rivington, do tell us.’

Carlotta gave another of her haughty looks. Really, she was growing quite adept at this. ‘No more or less than anyone has heard of the Wicked Baron.’

Luke was watching her. He said softly, ‘Come, Miss Rivington, will you not give me the opportunity to defend myself?’

She put her closed fan to her lips and modestly cast down her eyes. ‘A lady does not indulge in idle gossip, my lord.’

With a smile she left the group. She had not intended to be so outspoken, but it had been worth it to see the startled look upon Luke’s face, to hear the whispered murmurs of
those around her. She heard Julia begin her piano piece; with everyone’s attention upon the music, she slipped away. The sensation of having rocked Luke from his indifference elated her and she wanted a little solitude to savour the sensation. All the reception rooms were crowded, but in one corner of the main salon, behind a silk screen, she spotted a small door. It was covered in the same Chinese paper as the walls and she would not have noticed it if it had not been ajar. Most likely it was a servants’ passage, or perhaps another way to the stairs.

Desperate for a little cool air, Carlotta slipped through the door. The light from the salon illuminated the opening, but beyond that the corridor was black, the dark panelling on the walls adding to its gloom. She slipped into the darkness and took a few steps into the cool passage. In the distance she could discern a glimmer of light, but it was at the far end of the passage and Carlotta decided she should go back. As she turned to retrace her steps she saw a figure in the corridor behind her. She could see nothing but the black outline of the man, but she knew immediately it was Luke. He had followed her through the rooms! Blind, unreasoning panic overtook her. Carlotta picked up her skirts and ran.

She made for the patch of light in the distance. It was a doorway, opening into a bare, moonlit room. Carlotta ran in, glad to be out of the cloying darkness. The moonlight flooded in through long windows that filled three of the walls and showed that the room was completely empty. This must be Lady Yatebury’s new orangery, she thought as she breathed in the familiar smells of fresh plaster and new paint. Her buoyant mood was fading fast; she was tired and her head was aching. After the noisy, overheated ballroom the conservatory was blessedly cool and peaceful.
She listened carefully. There was no sound from the corridor so she walked over to the window. As she gazed out on to the walled garden, she wondered what madness had possessed her to challenge Luke; surely it was better to ignore him, even to avoid him, until this pain in her heart had diminished to a manageable ache. With a sigh she rested her forehead on the cold glass.

‘So, the vixen shows her teeth.’

Carlotta jumped. Lithe as a cat, Luke had come silently into the room. She swung round to face him. Words of apology sprang to her lips, but she bit them back; his face in the moonlight was as hard and cold as marble. It was too late for soft words. She lifted her chin to gaze at him defiantly. ‘I said nothing untoward.’

‘But you implied much,’ he said, coming towards her.

She curled her lip. ‘You are called the Wicked Baron; much is expected of you.’

He came closer and Carlotta stepped back until she felt the window pressing against her shoulders.

‘Then I am afraid I must disappoint you,’ he murmured.

He was less than arm’s length from her and Carlotta forced herself not to move.

‘I am not afraid of you.’

She was rigid with nerves, and her voice shook a little. Luke’s teeth gleamed, but she could discern no humour in his look, no softening of those harsh features.

‘Well, you should be. You should be very afraid.’

He reached out and placed his fingers on her shoulder, then drew them down along the embroidered neckline of her dress. Carlotta’s nerves were stretched to breaking. At his touch her breasts tightened and rose. Against her will they were inviting his caresses. She clenched her hands,
digging the nails into the palms. She wanted to run, but some instinct told her that such an action would inflame an already dangerous situation.

‘If—if you try to kiss me, I shall scream.’

He came even closer. Carlotta fought down the urge of her wayward body to close the gap, to lean forward and press herself against him. His eyes held hers and she knew he would see her fear reflected in them. She could not breathe; Luke, too, was taut as a bowstring, the atmosphere between them so brittle only one wrong word could shatter their control and that, she knew, would be disastrous. They gazed at one another, Luke towering over her, dark and menacing. Carlotta’s lips parted as he leaned towards her. Her head tilted; unable to prevent it, she was offering him her mouth to kiss. Then, when it seemed inevitable, when her very being was screaming to feel his mouth against hers, he stepped back and gave a little laugh.

‘Oh, no, Carlotta, you shall not have the pleasure of my embraces again: that time is past.’ His words, the cold tone, hit her like icy water. She leaned back against the window, the cold glass on her skin the only link with reality as he continued. ‘But I shall watch your progress, my dear, and if you
should
manage to catch a rich husband, perhaps I shall disclose what delights await him. And you
were
delightful, my dear, that one time at Malberry.’

She ran her tongue across her dry lips. ‘W-we did nothing wrong.’

His smile grew, but it was as cold as the moonlight. ‘You were alone, at night, in an empty house with the Wicked Baron—do you think any man would believe I did nothing more than kiss you?’ He took her chin between his thumb
and fingers and forced her to look at him. ‘You know I am right, my dear.’

Angrily she knocked his hand away. ‘I know nothing of the sort!’

‘Believe that if you want to, Carlotta, but I know enough about you to ruin your chances of making a good match.’

‘Then you are wicked indeed, my lord.’

He merely laughed, turned on his heel and walked away. Shivering uncontrollably, Carlotta sank down against the window and wrapped her arms about her.

Luke strode back through the corridor, wondering what had come over him. He had grown used to jesting and teasing during his years in the army, so why had Carlotta’s little barbs cut so deeply? He had loved and lost other women in the past and it had never been difficult to put them behind him, to see them again without a flicker of remorse. He had thought he could do the same with Carlotta, once he realised that she was intent upon finding herself a rich husband. And he had resolved to stay away from her, a resolve that had lasted only until their very next meeting! As he stepped back into the crowded reception room, he swore fluently under his breath. He would never forget the look of haughty disdain on her face the first time they had met in town, her taunts regarding his lack of fortune, but even that had not killed his feeling for her. It was seeing her at Vauxhall, behaving like any wanton in that darkened arbour with Daniel Woollatt that finally convinced him she was not the sweet innocent child he had left at Malberry.