Beth Andrews (5 page)

‘Yes indeed.’ Pale-pink lips were caught between pearly white teeth. ‘He is always so careful.’

‘Unless, of course, he was instructed to leave it unlocked.’

There was a moment of silence, broken by a sudden burst of youthful laughter.

‘Dear Lindy.’ Cassandra could barely contain her mirth. ‘You know me too well.’

‘You were never one to brook any opposition when you wanted something.’

‘And I fully intended to meet the two gentlemen, whatever you might say,’ she admitted without a trace of remorse. ‘Now do not fret. We are embarking on the most wonderful adventure of our lives. Someday you will see that I am right about this.’

* * * *

The battle was lost. The enemy had been allowed — even encouraged — to enter their sanctuary, much as the Trojans gleefully pulled the great horse through their city gates and so sealed their own fate. Miss Woodford, however, while she might bear the name of a prophetess of doom, seemed blissfully unaware of any imminent disaster. She did not even have the excuse of ignorance, for she was well aware of the trap into which she stepped so blithely.

‘It seems,’ Rosalind muttered to her reflection in the mirror on the wall of her bedchamber, ‘that I alone am left to defend the citadel.’

Her enemies, she grudgingly admitted, were formidable. In spite of her knowledge of their intent, and having nerved herself to despise them, she found that she could not deny their undoubted charm. As for their looks, at least Cassandra had the advantage there. But still, she was young and innocent; she knew little of the ways of the world. Come to that, what did
she — 
what did Miss Rosalind Powell — know? Rosalind had been sent by her family to live with her uncle and to be a companion to his daughter when she was not yet thirteen years of age. She was now just shy of thirty, and had led a life almost as sheltered as that of her cousin.

She knew nothing of rakes or of the world outside these walls, except for what she had read in books. Nevertheless, that reading had been extensive, as her uncle allowed her complete freedom in the choice of books from his library. He himself rarely read anything but the papers from London and the works of Shakespeare, which had given him an unfortunate penchant for dramatic utterances of considerable length.

She felt that she had acquitted herself quite well in their skirmish this afternoon. Tomorrow night was another matter. She must consider carefully what action to take. She must formulate her battle plan with care. Experience she might lack, but not courage.

Even so, she would have given a great deal to know just what the two gentlemen in question were thinking at this moment.

‘It is too horrible. I cannot do it.’

Trudging back toward his uncle’s house, Julian Marchmont was as vehement in his sudden repudiation of their schemes as he had previously been eager to implement them.

‘My dear Julian,’ St George counselled, ‘do not allow yourself to be overset by what we have discovered today.’

‘Overset!’ Julian kicked at a stone along the rough path and sent it rolling into the grass. ‘She is blind, Richard. How can I even contemplate something so — so obscene?’

‘You find it acceptable to seduce a young girl with sight, but not one without.’ St George rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘That is a distinctly odd sort of morality, I would say.’

Julian was not pleased with this ruthless logic.

‘It
seems
worse, somehow.’

‘It merely means,’ his friend said reasonably, ‘that you cannot depend upon your good looks to ingratiate yourself with the lady, my young popinjay.’

‘I am ready to abandon the scheme altogether.’

‘For the lady’s sake, or for your own?’

‘What do you mean?’ Julian demanded.

‘Do you fear that, without the aid of your physical appearance, you are incapable of winning your uncle’s wager?’

Julian frowned. ‘You must admit that it considerably lessens my chances of success.’

St George, however, would not allow this to be the case. He urged the younger man to consider their situation. The two ladies were young, lovely and apparently sheltered from the world. Miss Woodford was obviously already interested and eager to further their acquaintance. It would be odd indeed if she did not respond to masculine charm and flattery.

‘And Miss Powell?’ Julian asked drily.

‘Miss Powell is clearly not a fool. She is highly suspicious of us and of our intentions.’

‘If that be the case, she will block us at every turn,’ Julian protested. ‘How can we hope to succeed?’

‘Leave Miss Powell to me,’ Richard answered. ‘She is a stubborn and independent filly, but she can be ... mounted.’

‘You are a heartless devil, Richard.’ Julian looked at his friend as though seeing him for the first time.

St George shrugged. ‘Hearts are fine organs for circulating the blood, my idealistic friend. But where women are concerned, a man had better not be guided by them. Use your wits, rather than your feelings, and all will be well.’

* * * *

Later, at the hunting lodge, St George sat alone, contemplating the events of the day. Sir Jasper had certainly set them a hard task, but he’d swear it was one well worth the effort. In spite of his words to Julian, he still was not certain that they would succeed.

Miss Woodford was undoubtedly a diamond of the first water. Her one defect did not detract from her beauty. Indeed, it might prove to be a boon to them. She had obviously been well guarded by her father and the redoubtable Miss Powell, and he’d wager that she knew nothing of men or their relations with the weaker sex. It could well be easier than Julian imagined to engage her interest and accomplish her seduction.

The beautiful dragon was another matter. She was far younger and much more beautiful than Richard had anticipated, and there was no denying that she was intrepid enough to tackle any man. He could not suppose, however, that Mr Woodford would have engaged her as his daughter’s companion had her reputation not been irreproachable. But while her tongue might be as sharp as the arrows she did not hesitate to dispatch at unwelcome visitors, he fancied that she was every bit as unaccustomed to the attentions of gentlemen as Miss Woodford.

He had to confess to himself that he found her fascinating and looked forward to her conquest with greater pleasure than he had felt for anything in some time. He did not usually trifle with the infantry, finding younger women shallow, silly and too easy prey for his talents. But this was no ordinary young lady. No, this was a challenge which roused all his sporting instincts.

He must carefully consider his tactics. She was not likely to be won by ordinary means. She had already shown that she was more than a match for any man whose methods were too obvious and brash. No. He must study her better. Her eyes might blaze with anger and defiance, but that only showed that she was capable of strong emotion — always a weakness, as far as he was concerned. He had only to discover the chink in her armour and pry away the hard shell which protected her heart to uncover the softness beneath it. Once he possessed her, of course, her charms would fade — as did all women’s.

In the meantime, he would enjoy the chase, and gladly leave her young charge to his friend’s tender mercies.

* * * *

As for Julian Marchmont, his sleep that night was disturbed by thoughts which were far from pleasant. He had begun this enterprise with a light heart and a conscience untroubled by pangs of guilt or shame. After meeting Miss Woodford, though, he began to feel the first sharp pricking at his heart, which was not nearly as light as it had been formerly.

Miss Cassandra Woodford was like a fairy-tale princess. She possessed a beauty as divine as it was fragile. It even seemed that she was under a strange enchantment which had taken away her sight, so that she was incapable of seeing the evils of the world around her and the deceptiveness of men. Locked in her ancient castle, guarded by an attendant sorceress who dispensed magic arrows at those who dared to encroach upon their domain, she seemed to be waiting to be rescued by a handsome prince.

Alas, Julian reflected, staring up at the ceiling, he was no prince. He was come not to rescue but to rob her of her tranquillity as well as her virginity. He was the lowest worm that ever crawled the earth.

Yet he had made the wager, and his uncle would only laugh if he could know the scruples which suddenly distressed him. Richard certainly found his doubts absurd. After all, he could not, in honor, draw back from the wager. What a poltroon he would look! Yet he could see no glory or honor in the course to which he had committed himself.

With a muttered curse, he closed his eyes and attempted to banish his doubts. He had gone too far to allow remorse to check him now. Yet it was beginning to dawn upon him that he might well derive greater pleasure from losing this particular wager than he ever could from winning it.

The following day was one of great bustle and excitement at Folbrook Abbey. Though Miss Powell might not relish the evening ahead, she was too well bred to allow the two gentlemen into the house without ensuring that all was in order.

‘Sure, ‘tis a miracle!’ Ellen remarked to her in wonder.

‘I am well aware that my uncle would strongly disapprove of this invitation.’ Rosalind shook her head, silently chiding herself for submitting so easily to Cassandra’s whims.

‘Tis best the master’s not here,’ Ellen admitted. ‘But if you ask me, ma’am, it’s about time both you and Miss Cassandra had some gentlemen callers.’

‘To what purpose?’ Rosalind asked, not without an edge of irony. ‘It is highly unlikely that either of us will ever marry. Cassy’s blindness and my lack of fortune are liabilities which few eligible men are likely to overlook.’

‘Depends on the gentleman.’ Ellen gave her a saucy grin. ‘You both have enough assets to tempt any man with eyes in his head.’

‘To tempt them - yes, perhaps,’ Rosalind agreed, without any false modesty. ‘But not, I fear, to marriage.’

The maid laughed out loud at this, and urged Miss Powell not to be saying things to throw her into whoops. Rosalind obliged, and went upstairs to find Cassandra.

Cassandra’s maid, Harriet, was busy arranging her golden curls
à la Grecque.
She was positively glowing with anticipation, smiling and laughing up at Rosalind as she heard her enter the bedchamber.

‘What time is it, Lindy?’ Her ringlets bobbed as she turned about on her seat.

‘Half past six,’ Rosalind answered. ‘It will be another hour before the wolves enter our fold.’

‘But they will find that we are not the innocent lambs they take us for,’ Cass reminded her.

‘I still believe this to be madness.’

‘You speak like an old woman,’ her young friend quizzed her.

‘Old women generally have much more sense than young ones.’

‘But rarely do they have an adventure like this one!’

There was no denying the truth of her last remark, so Rosalind contented herself with a brief rehearsal of her plans for the evening. She must keep her wits about her if she would match them against two such opponents. It was obvious that Cassandra intended to derive as much pleasure as possible from their situation. And why not? Her youth was slipping quietly away, and who could tell whether such a chance would come her way again? Madness or not, she was human enough to want more from life than placid propriety.

Cassandra rehearsed their schemes with great enthusiasm, her anticipation growing every minute.

‘What fun we shall have!’ she exclaimed, looking more animated than Rosalind had seen her in a long time. ‘I can hardly wait until supper.’

‘I had better go and get dressed myself,’ she said at last, rising from her seat on the side of Cassandra’s bed.

‘Harriet will assist you,’ Cass told her. ‘And, for Heaven’s sake, Lindy,’ she added, ‘do not wear one of your dowdy governess-looking gowns.’

‘I shall find something appropriate, I am sure.’

Cassandra groaned. ‘I can just imagine what it will look like. Actually,’ she amended, ‘I cannot. But Ellen will tell me all.’

‘Well,’ Rosalind said, trying to bring her high flight down to earth again, ‘I cannot be expected to outshine the daughter of the house, can I?’

‘I have it on excellent authority that you are a beauty,’ the younger girl warned. ‘So do not attempt to bamboozle me. You shall wear something pretty and festive and we shall both dazzle our visitors.’

‘If I wore sackcloth and ashes, no doubt they would confess themselves enraptured by my beauty.’

‘But you shall wear nothing of the kind.’ Cassandra returned to the maid. ‘Harriet, I charge you to make sure that Miss Rosalind is quite ravishing. I will not be satisfied with less, do you understand?’

‘Yes, miss.’ Harriet smiled. ‘You won’t either of you be mistook for country bumpkins — I promise you that!’

* * * *

Nobody was likely to mistake Cassandra for a plain rustic, Rosalind thought as they descended the great staircase together. Dressed in cream-colored satin with pearls at her throat and woven through her intricately arranged tresses, she looked delicate and sylph-like. As for her own attire, Rosalind had allowed Harriet to cajole her into a gown of golden silk with a heavily-embroidered bodice. It was quite as lovely as Cassandra’s, but more suitable to her own age and colouring.

They were halfway down the stairs when the large front door was opened by Debenham, the butler, and immediately the two gentlemen entered. Rosalind and Cassandra paused in their descent and looked down; the men, in turn, looked up. It could not have been a more perfect moment had it been planned beforehand. As it happened, however, it was the one part of the evening which Rosalind had not arranged with military precision. From this moment on, however, she intended to be in full control of the proceedings.

‘What a vision of beauty!’ Julian exclaimed. ‘Aphrodite and Athena together on an oak staircase.’

‘Bacchus and Hades at the front door,’ Rosalind shot back.

‘You are punctual to a fault,’ Cassandra said, ignoring this jibe.