A Scandalous Publication (16 page)

“Why, of course,” replied Mrs. Wyndham. “Charlotte?”

Charlotte had no option but to turn back and face him again. She forced a stiff smile to her unwilling lips. “You wish to speak to me, sir? I cannot imagine why.”

His smile was equally frozen as he offered her his arm, speaking in such a low tone that only she could hear him. “Don’t conduct yourself with such a bad grace, Miss Wyndham. You’re supposed to know how to go on in society.”

She was furious, but still managed to conceal it from the others as she put her hand over his sleeve and walked a little way along the embankment with him. The moment they were out of earshot, however, she turned coldly toward him. “As I said, sir, I cannot imagine why you wish to speak with me, for I have absolutely nothing I wish to say to you.”

“No? You do surprise me, for looking at you right now I’d say there was a great deal you seem to wish to say to me.”

“I don’t want to waste my breath on you, sirrah, for you’re not worth the effort.”

“No, but I’m worth your fury, it seems. One kiss would appear to have had a diabolical effect upon your temper.”

“Your kiss was eminently forgettable, sir, so don’t flatter yourself that my temper now is due to its effects.”

“Then, what exactly is it due to? Surely you aren’t still listening to silly whispers?”

“No,” she breathed, “this time it’s much more serious than mere whispers, sir. This time I’ve seen proof of your misdeeds.”

A cold veil slid across his eyes. “Have you, indeed?” he said softly. “Are you going to elaborate upon that statement?”

“Do I really need to? Surely you aren’t still acting the outraged innocent?”

“Have a care, Miss Wyndham, for we may be in a public place but I will not put up with endless insult at your caprice. Either explain yourself or have the courtesy to keep a civil tongue in your head, and in future conduct yourself with some semblance of refinement.”

“Considering what I now know of you, sir, I feel that today I’ve acquitted myself with admirable restraint and decorum, for if I was a man I’d
—”

“Yes?” he interrupted in a voice that was dangerously soft. “What, exactly, would you then do, Miss Wyndham?”

“I’d call you out,” she whispered.

“Indeed? And no doubt your fate would be the same as my previous opponents: you’d either be dead or steeped in ridicule. Now, then, madam, I’m still waiting for your explanation. What do you now think you know about me?”

She raised her chin defiantly. “You ruined my father, Sir Maxim, you ruined him so that you could force him to sell Kimber Park to you. That didn’t succeed, so you resorted to other foul means to dispose of him. I despise you, sirrah, I despise you with every fiber of my being. You had the gall to tell me I was beneath your contempt; well, you’re so far beneath mine that I would gladly tread on you for the loathsome insect that you are.”

Close to tears and trembling still with fury and emotion, she turned on her heel and walked away. She struggled to compose herself as she returned to the bench where Sylvia and Richard had rejoined the others. She managed a smile, brushing aside their curiosity about the purpose of the interview by saying that Max had merely been inquiring if a scarf found at Kimber Park was hers. To her relief, at that moment the band on the bridge began to play again and attention was diverted. She took a deep breath to steady herself, for she was still trembling like a leaf, conflicting emotions tumbling through her in bewildering succession. She had told him she despised him, and she knew that that was what she should do, but in the very depths of her heart she knew she still loved him. What did he have to do before she was released from his spell? Why, oh, why, did her heart have to rule her head, and her conscience?

It was proposed that they all go to the Clarendon Hotel that evening for a French dinner, but Charlotte cried off, knowing that in her present mood she would almost certainly be a blight on the proceedings. The house was very quiet after they’d gone, for both Mrs. White and Polly had the evening off. After a while the quietness became almost oppressive, for it allowed too many unwelcome thoughts to intrude, and so as it was a very fine evening, she decided to go for a walk.

Regent’s Park was very lovely in such weather, and a great many people were to be seen strolling along the paths and among the trees. There were long shadows across the grass when at last she turned back again, and the sun was sinking beyond the groves in a blaze of glorious crimson and gold that was reflected like molten gold in the waters of the lake.

She paused at the entrance of the park to look back again at the sunset, and so didn’t notice the carriage that had been waiting at the curb nearby for some considerable time now. Its blinds were down as it moved slowly forward toward where she stood, and as it halted almost alongside, there was a commotion nearby. A young blood driving a curricle far too fast around the curve of Park Crescent clipped the wheel against a bollard and was flung into the road as the vehicle toppled over. Thus everyone’s attention was diverted from Charlotte as the door of the mysterious carriage opened and a gentleman stepped silently down. No one saw as he came up stealthily behind her, putting a hand over her mouth and dragging her back to the carriage. It was over in seconds. He thrust her inside and climbed quickly behind her, slamming the door. The coach immediately drove off, the team’s hooves clattering on the cobbles as they were brought quickly up to a very smart pace, entering Regent Street and mingling anonymously with the traffic that constantly thronged the fashionable thoroughfare.

Dazed, frightened, and too shocked to scream for help, she lay motionless where she had fallen on the seat. It was so dark inside that her captor was only a shadowy shape as he sat opposite. He didn’t say anything, and for a moment the noise of the carriage seemed very loud. Trembling and afraid, she sat slowly up, pushing a stray curl back beneath her bonnet. “Who
—who are you?” she asked at last, still unable to see who her abductor was. “Why are you doing this?”

He held a blind aside so that the fading evening light fell across his face, revealing the scar on his cheek and the streak of gray in his hair.

She stared at him. “You!”

“The same.” His hand dropped from the blind, and darkness returned.

“How
dare
you do this!”

“I thought it necessary, if disagreeable, to talk with you again, and when I saw you walking in the park, I decided this was the only way to achieve the desired result, since I doubt very much if you would have come willingly.”

“Come? Come where?” she asked quickly.

“To my apartment at the Albany.”

“I have no intention of submitting to this treatment,” she breathed, “and I’m certainly not going there with you. Other women may be amenable to your every whim, sirrah, but I certainly am not!”

“The thought of you submitting to my every whim is extremely pleasant, but unfortunately this doesn’t happen to be a mere whim. And if you fear for your virtue, let me assure you that I still have no designs upon it.” He glanced away then. “Beautiful as your face and no doubt your body are, it so happens that right now I’m more interested in your mind.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re an extremely exasperating woman, Miss Wyndham, and I really don’t know why I bother with you, but it so happens that your accusations today were far too momentous for me to even begin to ignore. I’m going to prove to you that I did not ruin your father.”

“I’ve already seen proof that you did.”

“What did you see? An IOU? Ah, I see from your reaction that that is precisely it. You’ve misunderstood the significance of that little piece of paper, madam, as you’ll know well enough before much longer. I leave for Chatsworth in the morning, and I don’t wish to leave knowing that you are still under dangerous illusions to which you are only too likely to give voice. I’ve been accused of many things, Miss Wyndham, but never
ever
of ruining a friend, or indeed of ruining anyone.”

“How very righteous you are suddenly! You’ve evidently quite put your poor wife from your mind
.
”

Even in the darkness she saw the anger leap into his eyes. “And what would you know of that?” he asked softly.

“Enough.”

“You know absolutely nothing,” he snapped.

“I’ve been told
—”

“Damn what you’ve been told. Were you there? Did you witness what passed between Anne and myself? No, you weren’t. You know as little as my sister-in-law, who has presumed to set herself up as judge, jury, and executioner. She didn’t know her sister at all, Miss Wyndham, and if she had, she would have come to dislike her as much as I did.”

Charlotte stared at him, but he looked away again, holding the blind aside to see where they were. The carriage had left Regent Street behind now and was driving west along Piccadilly.

The great house known simply as Albany, had once been Melbourne House, and had then become the home of the Duke of York and Albany, from whose title it took its present name. Turned into exclusive apartments for single gentlemen, it was a very sought-after address, and rooms were seldom vacant for long. The house, built of brown brick with stone dressings, was approached through a courtyard, the entrance of which was set between elegant shops in the French style. Eagles supported the balconies of the windows above the shop fronts, and a watchman’s box by the opening into the courtyard saw to it that undesirable persons were kept out of this expensive, superior retreat.

The carriage echoed in the courtyard as it came to a standstill before the main door, and as Max flung open the door to alight, the dim evening light seemed almost bright. He turned to look at her. “The truth awaits you, Miss Wyndham, if you dare to face it. Shall we go in?” There was a mocking smile on his lips as he held out his hand to her.

She ignored the hand, gathering her skirts and stepping down into an area that was strangely quiet considering the noise and bustle of Piccadilly only a few yards away. She walked past him and into the great house.

His apartment lay at the rear of the building, overlooking the famous covered walk that led north into Vigo Street. A very discreet manservant opened the door to them and then silently withdrew, leaving them alone. The rooms were gracious and furnished with impeccable taste. In the drawing room huge marble-topped console tables were built against the wall on either side of the gilded fireplace, and above them were mirrors framed by garlands of fruit and flowers carved most exquisitely by the finest craftsmen. Before the fireplace there was an arrangement of four chairs and two sofas, all upholstered in gray-blue velvet, and the same color was echoed in the niches in the otherwise clear cream walls. There were paintings and beautiful porcelain figurines, and a priceless collection of jade ornaments in a tall display cabinet. The only sound came from the elegant long-case clock standing in the corner. As Charlotte took a seat, it chimed nine o’clock.

Max went to a fine desk decorated with intricate inlaid work, unlocked it, and took out a letter, its seal broken. He held it out to her. “My loving sister-in-law missed this when she was searching. It’s from your father.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Are you suggesting that Sylvia
—”

“Broke in here to search my property? Yes, Miss Wyndham, I’m rather afraid that I am. She
was
the one who showed you that IOU, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.” What point was there in denying it?

“It disappeared from here the day you and I went to Kimber Park, and my manservant reported seeing a lady answering Sylvia’s description hurrying away that evening along the covered walk.”

Charlotte looked away. That was the day Sylvia had had a “headache” that prevented her from going to the theater…
.

“Please read the letter, Miss Wyndham.”

As she began to unfold the piece of paper, he went to the fireplace, standing with his back toward her. He leaned one hand on the mantelpiece and rested a foot on the gleaming fender. Silence fell, broken only by the gentle ticking of the clock.

A pang of sorrow passed over her as she gazed at the familiar, untidy scrawl his long-suffering correspondents had likened to the meanderings of a spider that had been unfortunate enough to fall in the inkwell.

My dear Talgarth,

You cannot imagine with what relief
—
and with what deep affection
—
I received your letter, the letter of a true friend and gentleman. It is because I recognize in your actions the concern of a friend that I will accept the returned IOUs, especially as I know that to refuse would cause you deep offense. But know this, there will come a day sometime in the future when I will repay your kind
ness, for I know how deeply I am in your debt. No, my friend, I cannot brush my obligations aside, even in the face of your express command that I do so. Would that I had not allowed myself to fall into such a hopeless position, but I have, and now my burden has been considerably eased by your exceedingly thoughtful actions. I value your friendship, Talgarth, and trust that one day I might have the opportunity to prove worthy of it. I wish only that others appreciated your qualities as much as I do, for you are sadly misrepresented.

I am, sir, your grateful and loving friend,

George Wyndham

Charlotte’s hands shook as she slowly folded the letter again. She felt utterly dreadful. “It
—it seems I owe you an apology, Sir Maxim.”

He turned with a derisive laugh. “Is that the best you can manage? You were much more liberal and forthcoming with your accusations.”

Her cheeks were hot with shame. “Forgive me, I
—”

“No, madam, I will
not
forgive you, for the simple reason that you don’t merit it.”

“I thought…believed
—”