Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (57 page)

* * *

The house on Curzon Street could easily have been reached on foot had it not been more fun to arrive in the handsome curricle Lord Verne had brought from Bedford Square. At the Park Lane end of the street that ran almost parallel to Piccadilly, the white-fronted house was elegant and discreet, rising in four storeys behind black-and-gold cast-iron railings, white stone steps and polished wall-lamps. Nothing, Annemarie thought, could be more fitting than this for a house of one's own, not even the house he'd mentioned on the very superior Upper Brook Street.

She was even more convinced of its rightness when they entered the hallway; the graceful classic lines were in the latest style, spacious and beautifully decorated in pale apricot and white with a winding staircase as delicate as a spider's web. The narrow frontage was misleading, for the rooms leading off the hall were large, high-ceilinged and airy, the salon at one side having tall windows at both ends, one of which overlooked a private garden filled with the afternoon sun.

‘Stables beyond,' said Verne, watching her face for signs of pleasure. ‘Large enough for three horses and a phaeton. The house has only just become available, recently redecorated.'

‘I can smell the paint,' she whispered. ‘I like the flock wallpaper. And the oak floor, too. It would be a pity to cover it. Perhaps a small Turkish carpet in the centre.'

‘Want to see the other rooms? Through here. Dining room and breakfast parlour. A small study where you can do your accounts and letters. Kitchens are below.'

Their feet echoed in the unfurnished rooms, yet in Annemarie's vivid imagination each one took on the aspect of the private and personal London space that had so far only existed in her dreams, near enough to Cecily and within easy distance of her father, where she could either be alone or with those old friends she had avoided for so long. Here she could be mistress of her own home, as she was at Brighton, but with all the other amenities she had done without for a year and with the freedom from marble intruders in the form of dust-collecting clutter. Being the mistress of this man at the same time would be a small price to pay for such benefits. She might have to compromise. She might have to make it last longer than planned.

Upstairs, the wide landing led to several bedrooms and dressing rooms equipped with the latest facilities, marble-topped, gold-plated and mirrored. ‘It's a little palace,' she said, smiling at one of their many reflections.

‘Like it? Will it do? Would you like to see the other place I found?'

‘No. I mean...yes, I
do
like it. I don't need to see anywhere else. This has all I need. Thank you. Is it expensive?' She knew it must be.

‘I've told you,' he said. ‘I choose only the best.'

She did not expect him to tell her. The question was indelicate.

Two pigeons alighted on the windowsill outside, the female looking distinctly unimpressed by the male's strutting and bobbing. ‘Silly things,' she whispered.

‘He's trying to make himself agreeable,' Verne said.

‘Beware of men who try to make themselves too agreeable.'

Verne took hold of her shoulders as the female flew off, his hands sliding down to her elbows, along her forearms to take the gloved hands that rested beneath her high bodice. ‘I know,' he said. ‘You've enjoyed our sparring as much as I have, my beauty. I expect there'll be more. But just remember that I hold the reins.'

‘No white mules, then.'

‘No white mules. I shall not be made a laughing-stock.'

‘I was not serious, my lord.'

‘I am,' he said, turning her round, deftly.

She knew then by the glint of steel in his eyes that he had begun to understand some of her motives. Her question about the cost of the house had been a mistake, revealing what was on her mind. Except that it had now begun to matter rather less than it had at the beginning. His unsmiling mouth was close to hers. ‘Perhaps we
should
take a look at the other house,' she said. ‘Perhaps this is a little too large. Really...I wouldn't mind.'

He kissed her before answering, to reassure her. It was softly comforting, meant to ease her awakening conscience. The variety of his kisses astonished her. One for every mood and occasion. ‘Too late,' he said, touching the tip of her nose with his lips. ‘You and your sisters have been uncomfortable for far too long. I can offer one of them some space. Leave it at that.' He kissed her again, hungrily, as if kissing was easier than explanations. ‘Now, at risk of being thought too agreeable, how about that drive in Hyde Park? It's about time for the Prince's Military Review.'

She took his arm. ‘It's been a long time,' she said, studying the tassel on her reticule. ‘A whole year.'

‘And society has a remarkably short memory,' he said. ‘There are no questions to be answered. Just smile, that's all you need to do. Everyone will be watching the soldiers and the Prince's guests.'

‘Yes, of course.' She heard the sound of her own too-easy acceptance and knew she ought to have been making things more difficult for him, to test his resolve as she'd planned from the start. Once she was installed here, he would believe his access to the letters would be relatively simple, and she would have to keep him thinking so until she could choose a moment to tell him that, this time, he really
was
wasting his time, money and effort. For some reason, the thought did not give her the same pleasure it had only days ago.

I shall not be made a laughing-stock
, he'd said
,
words that challenged all Annemarie's notions of revenge and sent a cold shiver along her arms. By now, he would have understood more of the scandal involving Lord Benistone's beautiful wife and, by implication, their daughter and he would be thinking, as such men often did, that he would be the one to come to the rescue. He would think, no doubt, that with a little persuasion she would gratefully open up her heart and let him in, that all would be well, wounds healed, pride mended.

But that was not how it would be as long as Mama was still missing and sorely needed by them all. For Annemarie's heart to heal, she would have to know that Mama was safe and happy, and the way to find out was to throw herself back into society and search. Papa was too proud to try. It was entirely up to her. A year was too long for both of them and Lord Verne's intervention had opened up a way to solve several problems all at the same time. She rubbed the hair along her arms back into place, hoping that the price of revenge would not be beyond her means and that Verne's interest in the precious letters would not wane too soon. Had it already begun to wane? He had asked no questions about her proposed visit to Christie's with the portmanteau since their arrival. Ought she to stir his memory, just to find out?

* * *

By the time Verne's curricle arrived at the park through a sea of coaches, carriages and pedestrians, the Military Review was well under way and every open space was occupied by smartly uniformed troops and their mounted leaders, kings, czars and princes, generals and officers of state. To Annemarie, it looked as if the whole of London had turned out to see the colourful occasion in all its splendour, to cheer everyone in uniform except the Prince Regent himself, whose unpopularity must by now have been glaringly obvious to his royal guests. Hissing and booing, cat-calls and insults followed his every move, and although Annemarie understood the reasons for this as well as anyone, it made her sad and uncomfortable to see the poor man publicly reviled on what was intended to be a day of rejoicing. He had been forbidden, both by his father and by Parliament, from taking an active part in the offensive against Napoleon. Now, in his bid to thank the generals who had organised the victorious armies, the only thanks he personally received were grumbles about the too-lavish hospitality and gripes about the general discomforts of being on daily and nightly display in London.

Verne glanced at the gloved hand covering her lips and the frowning eyes above. ‘You are shocked, my lady?' he said. ‘I thought you'd—'

‘I'd what?' she replied, glaring at the hands holding the reins. ‘Be happy to see him so insulted, in public, and unable to stop it? Why doesn't someone take his part? He's putting on a good show for them. What more could he do?'

In fact, to entertain Londoners, the Prince Regent could have done little more when every park was busy with booths and fanciful structures from bridges to pagodas, temples and towers, mock battles and firework displays. Every blade of grass was worn away, the air reeked of smoke and food, and the noise had sent even the cows running away to greener pastures, depriving ordinary folk of their milk. The loud critics complained that laundry-women were neglecting their duties and that the expense of daily extravagances on this scale were not being met by his Royal Highness any more than his massive banquets were.

‘But you're one of his sternest critics, surely? Are you not?' he said.

‘I am, yes. But I cannot agree that humiliating the poor man in front of his guests is the thing to do. Making one's displeasure known is allowed, but this is altogether different. Let's go. I've seen enough.'

He did not at once turn the horses but, from a distance of several carriages, watched how the Prince, his friend, tried to ignore the hostility of the crowd and to pretend that the cheers were as much for him as for General Blücher, everyone's favourite. The fixed smile on the Prince's florid face was pitiful to watch, for Verne knew that he dared not venture anywhere in public on his own for fear of being attacked by mobs. ‘Would you care to meet him again?' he said.

Her reply came after only a moment's hesitation. ‘Yes. Yes, I would. This is unbearable. You knew how it would be, didn't you?'

‘It's always like this. He knows what to expect.'

‘Yet he's arranged for weeks of celebrations. He must be hating it.'

‘He does. Every minute of it, but he has courage, I'll say that for him.'

Annemarie could have countered this with some less praiseworthy attributes, but feelings of sympathy for the Prince and disgust at the rude behaviour of the crowds suspended any words of censure which, until now, had been the only ones to spring to mind.

Before she herself could question this unexpected compassion, the Prince's eyes, which had been searching the carriages for the sight of a more friendly face, suddenly found Verne's curricle. She noticed how Verne touched the brim of his grey beaver in salute and saw the Prince take in his partner, herself, reverting to a smile so explicit in its hope of an exchange that she found herself responding, in spite of all her earlier reservations. The merest dip of her bonnet and the smile cost her nothing, but the relief on the Prince's face made her feel that, to him, it had been beyond price.

The royal cavalcade moved on
,
prancing and wheeling, and Verne turned the horses' heads away through the crowds with only inches to spare. ‘That was well done, my lady,' he murmured. ‘He won't forget.'

‘From what I've heard,' she replied, returning a wave from a surprised acquaintance, ‘his Highness forgets such things quite easily, but remembers insults for years. I hope you're prepared to be dropped like a hot brick when your usefulness comes to an end.'

He smiled at her cynicism. ‘I'll try to remember your caution, my lady. Do you predict my usefulness ending any time soon?'

‘No,' she said. ‘I would not be so foolhardy. I'm sure you'll know as soon as I do.'

They could have been talking about their own relationship rather than the royal patronage, but now she had already begun to see matters in a different light and did not want his usefulness to end in the foreseeable future, let alone any time soon. She had hidden away for so long that the memory of being driven in flashy curricles by handsome blades had been stifled in favour of her bitterness and it had taken only one morning of shopping, a look at a new house and a drive past nodding and waving acquaintances to lift her spirits well beyond her memories of darker things. Not only that, but she had surprised herself as well as her escort by an unforeseen softening of her attitude towards one who, although still a sad character, was being given no credit whatever for trying to please. No matter how many times Annemarie would like to have given the man a good dressing-down, she still could not find it in her heart to rejoice at the public indignities the prince was suffering. She had not expected to care.

Whatever thoughts Verne harboured about Annemarie's pity for the beleaguered Prince, which he believed was as unexpected to her as it was to himself, he understood instinctively that it would be best not to press for an explanation. So he manoeuvred the curricle beyond the crowds to where she might take the ribbons more safely and there relinquished the matched pair of bay geldings into her hands with only the slightest of misgivings, taking into account the lapse of a whole year. He need not have been concerned about her proficiency for he could see that, as soon as she arranged the reins between her fingers and flicked the whip, catching its tail-end deftly, that everything she had ever learned about driving came back in one moment. Without feeling the need to offer any advice except, once, the word ‘steady' on a bend, he sat back with no more to do than admire yet another of this complex woman's capabilities.

As she had suspected, he had known many women, but loved none of them, having grown quickly tired of their predictability and of the ease of the chase, which to a man like him was more than half the excitement. This lovely creature had allowed herself to be caught, almost, with the intention of wreaking some mischief, and he was under no illusions who it was she intended to hurt most. Not after the betrayal she had suffered. His plan now was to play the same game, but to make her enjoy it too much to end it. The sooner he could show her how much more she had to learn, the better his chances of changing her mind, as she had just demonstrated was by no means impossible. What he must find out without delay was whether she had in fact discovered the theft of the letters, or whether she was pretending not to have done. And for this, he decided that Mrs Cardew would be the one to help.