Helen Dickson (18 page)

Their eyes met and she nodded, accepting this. Without his protection she would never have got out of France, and now, alone and friendless in England, there was no one else whom she could trust and rely on like Charles.

‘You are right, Charles, and I can never express my gratitude enough. But not one of the people here tonight knows that and their speculation might be running along more unsavoury lines.’

‘Never concern yourself with what other people think, Maria. You’re enjoying yourself—that’s the most important thing, and,’ he murmured, his voice soft and seductive, his eyelids half-lowered over his eyes, ‘I am enjoying watching you.’

‘Then please don’t,’ she said, trying to ignore the surge of pleasure she felt at his easy compliment.

‘Why not?’

Maria lifted her nose primly, but a sweet smile curved her soft pink lips. ‘Because I have no wish to become the object of
too
much speculation, and I do not like being gossiped about.’

This was true. Almost every eye in the theatre was drawn to them, and Colonel Henry Winston was no ex
ception. Seated in a box full of his noisy and ill-behaved friends directly across from their own, he quietly seethed.

As if she could feel his eyes on her, Maria looked directly at him. The warm and pleasant sensations Charles had stirred inside her, her surroundings and the glittering crowd of people vanished in an instant. Instinctively her fingers clenched on the fragile sticks of her costly fan and she began to ply it with quick nervous movements.

Charles gave her a quizzical glance. ‘Is something wrong, Maria?’

She nodded, her face ashen. ‘Henry is here, in the box opposite, watching us.’

‘I know.’

‘You do? Then why didn’t you say something?’

‘Because I didn’t see the point and I had no wish to upset you. Ignore him and enjoy the music. He cannot hurt you.’

Charles leaned back in his seat, watching her rather than what was happening on the stage with a fascinated interest. Having shaken off her anxieties and not looking in Henry’s direction once, she was relaxed and her face glowed happily. She had a natural sophistication and he was amazed by the gracious ease with which she received those who came to their box wanting to be introduced, and the way she so effortlessly charmed each and every one of them—and he took note and would remember the gentlemen who admired and desired her, determined to avoid them in the future when he was with Maria.

Throughout his adult life and his liaisons with women, some of them had accused him of being everything from distant and unapproachable, to cold and
ruthless. He was ten years older and a thousand times harder than Maria, yet something about her softened him, and he had decided he liked being soft.

During an interlude, he leaned towards her. ‘The amount of interest you have attracted is hardly surprising,’ he murmured to her half-turned face. ‘You look stunning. At this rate there isn’t going to be a heart left intact when you’re through with them. By tomorrow morning, every eligible bachelor in London will be presenting their calling card.’

Maria was astonished at his high opinion of her effect on the gentlemen. ‘And what would you do, Charles? Send them all packing or choose one that you would deem suitable?’ she ventured daringly, enjoying herself enormously despite Henry’s glowering countenance from his box.

Charles lazed in his seat, studying her laughing face and sparkling eyes while he appeared to consider the matter. ‘I think if I were to do that, you would not approve of my choice.’

Maria turned her face fully and looked at him, and the dazzling charm of his lazy white smile did odd things to her pulse. The very air felt charged and crackled with life. It was a moment she would never forget. And beside her was a man who she scarcely knew, but whose face and voice, whose being, utterly captivated her. He had got right under her skin. Perhaps she should have been worried by this, frightened even. But all she could feel was a sense of expectation as if she was fully, abundantly alive.

‘I’m sure I can rely on you to defend my honour, Charles. You’ve done pretty well so far.’

‘By protecting you from Colonel Winston?’

‘Of course—and more.’

They were so engrossed in their light banter that they didn’t notice the expression of pure joy on Lady Osbourne’s face as she quietly observed them from behind. A tender smile curved her lips. She was already aware of the discreet interest Charles was showing in Maria. They had so much in common—their Indian backgrounds, both wealthy, their families honest and worthy. They were perfect for each other, she decided. Maria wasn’t in awe of Charles. What a handsome couple they would make. Charles was a hard, experienced man and Maria had courage and gentleness. Her spirit and warmth would gentle him.

The performance over, Maria allowed Charles to place her wrap around her shoulders; then, smiling at Lady Osbourne and placing her hand on his arm, she left the box. They spent some considerable time exchanging pleasantries with friends and acquaintances, and made their way slowly down the staircase to the lobby, almost empty now except for the footmen standing rigidly on either side. Charles sent one of the attendants for his carriage.

Maria went cold and shuddered with distaste when her eyes lighted on Henry waiting to one side in the foyer. His figure appeared fatter and taller than she remembered, his clothes and his curled wig having seen better days.

Henry fixed his lowering gaze on Charles, whose hand was placed possessively on Maria’s elbow. When at last he had thought he was on the brink of achieving
his goal, that the fortune he’d awaited for so long was about to be his, he had found himself trembling with anticipation, certain that he would have his reward soon; now he was to be thwarted of it by Charles Osbourne.

Charles had seen him, and he was not surprised when he stepped in front of them. Thankfully his mother was engrossed in happy conversation with a couple of friends and strolled on ahead of them.

‘You arrogant son of a bitch,’ Henry hissed, his voice vibrating with fury. ‘This is your doing, Osbourne. I blame you entirely. As to your intentions where Maria is concerned—or should I say your pretensions—she’d have to be addle headed to trust you.’

‘Have a care what you say, Winston.’

‘Do you expect me to ignore what you have done? Let me remind you that, where I am concerned, Maria is still my betrothed. My regret is that I did not travel to Dover and whisk her away there and then to her wedding.’

Charles gave a hard, low laugh. ‘After what she witnessed at your house, Winston—sights a gently reared young lady should never have to see—she may thank heaven that you did not go to Dover. Because of it, I have been able to save her from a fate she had done nothing to deserve, while as for you, I think you are best left to a future which seems altogether too repugnant for words.’

‘You have tricked me.’

Charles didn’t move, holding his stare.

Henry glared at him in outrage. ‘You’re nothing but a thief and a liar.’

Maria moved closer to Charles, certain now of what was to happen. When a man called another a liar, there was only one possible outcome. Honour had its price.

‘You’ve stolen her, damn you, and in doing so you have insulted me. It is too much and you will answer for it. I regret only that I am unable to kill you more than once.’

Henry’s voice sounded thick with anger, his manner dramatic, and his great bulk trembling with quiet rage, but he was making a visible effort to control his temper as their altercation was attracting unwelcome attention. Those still leaving the theatre paused to look, following every moment of the quarrel with eyes agog at the prospect of a juicy scandal to relate. Charles faced him with a faint, contemptuous smile, which only added to Henry’s rage.

‘You may be a superb shot, Winston, but this time I think that you may well find you have met your match. Does it not occur to you that I might possibly kill you?’

‘Never,’ Henry said simply. ‘I may be many things, Osbourne, but I am a fine marksman and a damned crack shot and you know it.’

Charles looked at him, his hard face wiped clean of all expression. Acceding to a demand for a duel, he nodded curtly. ‘Then I am at your service. I have known that this was bound to happen, sooner or later. I shall have my second call on you.’ Then he turned as if to leave.

Maria stepped between the two prospective adversaries in alarm. ‘No,’ she cried wildly, looking appealingly at Henry, unable to bear the thought that he wanted to spill Charles’s blood simply because she refused to marry him. ‘You cannot do this. I will not let you. This isn’t Charles’s fault, Henry. I made up my own mind not to marry you. I won’t let you fight over me. It’s madness. I do not care to have you slay one another.’

Henry glared at her. ‘I appreciate the ardour with
which you spring to his defence. What better proof do I need that you and Osbourne are lovers?’ He looked at Charles. ‘I can tell you the time and place, Osbourne, without sending your second,’ he said coldly, ignoring Maria’s plea.

Charles turned to Maria. ‘My mother is in the carriage. Go and get in.’

‘But, Charles—you can’t—’ Maria tried again, but his murderous voice stopped her cold.

‘I told you to go,’ he said between clenched teeth, and while Maria was willing to ignore his order, the look in his eyes made her quake.

Her chest heaving, she looked at his rigid face. ‘Please, Charles, promise me you won’t do anything rash.’ She watched him make a Herculean effort not to further frighten her and to agree with what she asked.

‘I won’t, Maria,’ he bit out. ‘Now go. I’ll only be a moment,’ he promised.

Maria felt physically ill when she turned away and walked to the carriage which stood in a line of others. In the cushioned darkness she abandoned herself to her anxiety, loathing herself for the trouble she had caused, and the hurt. What if Henry should wound Charles, or even…? Her mind shied away from the thought.

A short while later Charles climbed inside, his manner rigidly controlled.

‘Well?’ she ventured to ask in a small voice.

‘The matter is settled.’

‘But—what…?’

He fixed her with a hard glare. ‘Enough, Maria. The matter is closed.’

As the coachman cracked his whip and the equipage
moved off, Charles did not stir, but Maria could see his eyes glittering in the dimness of the carriage, narrow silver slits, luminous as cats’ eyes in the dark. In helpless misery she leaned back against the upholstery, listening to Lady Osbourne, who had been speaking to an acquaintance and had missed their altercation with Colonel Winston. But picking up on her son’s black mood, curious as to the reason, but preferring to remain in ignorance, she fell silent.

In bed Maria could not sleep, tortured as she was by what was to happen the following morning and with the terror that one or both men would be wounded or killed. She pulled the covers up about her and with her chin on her knees thought of Charles and the duel. How could she save him from Henry’s murderous intent? Although she did understand how humiliated Henry must feel by her rejection, along with his overriding jealousy and hatred of Charles.

She had a sudden vision of Charles’s bloodied body lying inert on the ground, and she shuddered as she stared into the shadows. Her heart was heavy and aching and a lump of harsh despair was growing in her thoughts.

With her boundless generosity, her heart contracting with contrition and guilt, she blamed herself entirely for what was to happen. It appeared Henry was a deadly shot, yet Charles had refused to defend his honour when Henry had accused him of stealing her from him, which was what he should have done.

Unable to settle, she got out of bed and wandered about like a lost soul until, unable to stand it any longer, she flung on her robe and went in search of Charles. She had
to speak to him, to plead with him at the cost of whatever scene might be necessary, in order to avert the duel, to stop the perilous assignation, or at best ask him to delope.

She was aware of some of the rules of duelling, and she knew that to delope meant an exchange of fire, when one or both of the participants would intentionally miss in order to fulfil the conditions of the duel without loss of life or honour.

Moving silently along the corridor, she stopped when she reached Charles’s rooms. A light shone from beneath the door, indicating he wasn’t in bed. Knocking softly on the door, to her surprise she heard him say enter. Slipping quickly inside his beautiful apartment, her feet sinking into the plush Flemish carpet, she quickly closed the door, for it would never do for her to be seen entering his room. Light from the candles caressed the satinwood furniture, and through open double doors on a dais was a large four-poster bed hung with rich damask drapes.

Charles was seated at a writing desk, writing intently, the long quill moving quickly over the paper. Maria looked at him, uncertain what she should do. She had come, in short, hurrying to meet the man she loved—and found a cool, impersonal stranger.

He looked up briefly, his face impassive, showing no surprise or pleasure at seeing her standing nervously across the room.

‘Charles—I—I had to come.’ The words came out in a faltering rush.

‘I know. I was expecting you,’ he said, his tone terse. ‘I won’t be a moment. Make yourself comfortable.’