Intriguing Lady (16 page)

“Ashley has told me the same thing numerous times,” she quipped. “Now please, would you engage me in an interesting conversation? The man I believe to be the comte is making his way toward us, and I need a few minutes in which to compose myself for the confrontation.”

“I have often thought that the idiosyncratic behavior the majority of Englishmen display when waltzing is caused by the fact that they really abhor that particular dance,” Sir Nicholas said obligingly. “Most of them, I fear, prefer a romping polka or a swinging barn-dance, for these are things in which brawn and muscle tell far more than skill. And I believe that the English woman has a weakness for brawn and muscle.”

“Really!” Roberta exclaimed. “How very pompous you sound. I have a different interpretation. Allow me, if you will, to pursue the origin of the word idiosyncrasy.”

“I’m afraid time is against us,” Sir Nicholas murmured, forking some turbot into his mouth. “The comte is approaching.”

Roberta followed his example, so that when the comte stopped at their table, they both appeared engrossed in their food.

“My intrusion may seem unwarranted,” the comte said, addressing Roberta, “but Lady Jersey assured me that if one wished to make another’s acquaintance at a masked ball, it was perfectly acceptable to introduce oneself.”

Roberta glanced up, her fork poised above her plate, and inclined her head gracefully. “Monsieur le Comte!” she exclaimed, feigning surprise by letting her fork fall to her plate with a clatter.

“Mademoiselle Rushforth?” he inquired, seemingly caught off guard. “Can it really be you? What an unexpected pleasure.”

Roberta laughed and put a finger to her lips. “You have found me out,” she whispered, “but I trust my secret is safe with you?”

“As safe as it is with your escort,” he responded, finally acknowledging Sir Nicholas. “But I must demand a ransom for my silence.”

“A ransom?” Roberta giggled. “How ungallant of you, monsieur. What must I do to guarantee your silence?”

“Dance with me,” was the prompt reply.

Roberta looked hesitantly toward Sir Nicholas and smiled when he nodded. She pushed her plate away and rose.

“I will agree to just one dance,” she said, and followed the comte back into the ballroom.

“Who is your companion?” the comte inquired as he caught her to him. “He seems displeased about being here tonight.”

“He is,” Roberta confided. “He has informed me that he finds such affairs deadly dull. I cannot think why he accepted Lady Winthrop’s invitation. But because of his mood, I don’t think I should reveal his identity, for that would displease him even more, I fear.”

“I think I know him anyway. He is Sir Nicholas, isn’t he?”

“Oh! Please don’t let him know you have guessed who he is,” Roberta begged. “He—he is so stodgy, he would hate to know that he had been recognized.”

The comte looked down at her dress, and Roberta shuddered as she saw his eyes glinting through his mask in naked admiration.

“I’m amazed that he owns to any such scruples,” he said, “for the Sir Nicholas I know enjoys all female company. He even pursued my sister until I informed him I found him an undesirable suitor. His reputation, mademoiselle, in certain circles is most unsavory.”

“Sir Nicholas!” Roberta exclaimed in disbelief. “Why, I find him to be nothing more than a tedious bore. He is a friend of my uncle’s, you know, which is why I am forced to receive him. Do you know him well?”

“We maintain a nodding acquaintance,” the comte replied curtly. “Is he on intimate terms with your uncle?”

“An old friend, certainly,” Roberta answered. “They play chess together.”

“I hope you won’t consider my next piece of advice presumptuous,” he said, “but if I were you, I wouldn’t encourage his advances. He is not a man to be trusted. I am surprised your uncle allows himself to be used by someone of Sir Nicholas’s color.”

“My uncle enjoys his company. I merely endure it,” Roberta said. “But what has he done, precisely, to incur your dislike? I only ask,” she added hastily as she felt him stiffen at the question, “because you seem to me to be a man of extraordinary tolerance, and not one to take someone in dislike arbitrarily.”

The comte eyed her shrewdly before answering. “Perhaps I will tell you one day, mademoiselle, but not tonight. It is not a very pleasant story, and I see no reason to mar what is left of your evening.”

The music stopped, and it was with a sense of relief that Roberta disengaged herself from his grasp. She looked around to get her bearings and finally located Sir Nicholas, leaning against a pillar by the door.

“Thank you, monsieur,” she said as she started toward Sir Nicholas. “That was very pleasant.”

“May I suggest a stroll in the gardens?” the comte asked. Before she could reply, he had gripped her elbow. “They are very pretty, I am told, and we may just be in time to see the fireworks display.”

To her dismay, Roberta found herself being propelled toward the entrance. She experienced a moment of panic until she saw that Sir Nicholas had observed their departure. She nodded her assent. “I would like that,” she murmured.

It was an extremely pleasant, mild April evening, and as they left the heat of the ballroom, the night air came as a welcome relief. The well-lit pathways were crowded, and their progress was slow as they threaded their way through the clusters of people who had gathered to watch the evening’s entertainment. Pretending to admire the bushes and early blooms, Roberta stopped frequently in an attempt to give Sir Nicholas time to find them, but her panic returned as the comte guided her across a large expanse of grass into a dark, high-hedged area away from the glittering lights. There was no sign of Sir Nicholas.

“We will have an unobstructed view of the display from here,” the comte whispered. Roberta shivered as she felt his breath on her cheek. “You are cold,
ma belle enfant
?”
he asked in concern. He slid his arm about her shoulders, and she shivered again. He pulled her to him, and the soft caress of the silky fabric of his jacket felt like a snake.

“That’s—that’s not necessary,” she stammered, struggling to free herself. “I’m not cold, really, I’m not.”

But she was no match for his strength, and before she realized what had happened, he had pulled her around and caught her to his chest.

“You are so tantalizingly beautiful,
ma chérie
!”
he said thickly as he removed her mask. “I find you irresistible.” He brought his mouth down to her ear and nibbled the lobe.

Roberta strained against his touch until, with a sickening jolt, she remembered she was supposed to be encouraging him. She went limp in his arms and with the utmost distaste put a hand timidly on his shoulder.

“Monsieur,” she said in a breathless undertone, “this conduct is considered most unseemly in England.”

His response was to move his lips from her ear to her neck, and to her disgust, she felt his tongue against her skin.

“Please, monsieur, what if someone should come along? Without my mask, I’ll be recognized.”

“Ma belle enfant, no one will stray this far tonight.” His arms moved to the small of her back as his lips sought hers. She turned her head to avoid his kiss, and as she did so, she saw two people approaching. They were quite obviously drunk, for they were weaving a wobbly path and holding each other for support.

“Monsieur,” she said urgently. “Quickly, my mask.” He grunted in frustration but complied with her request as he, too, suddenly caught sight of the men. “I must see you again,” he said as he tied the strings behind her head. “Will you agree to a rendezvous?”

Her courage returned, now that she was no longer alone, and she nodded. “You cannot have forgotten that I have promised to go for a ride with you on Monday,” she said, pouting prettily.

“Indeed, I haven’t, but that is not what I meant.”

The rest of his conversation was drowned by the two drunks, who chose that moment to burst into song. The words of the ribald ditty were clearly audible, and Roberta blushed.

“I—must be getting back,” she said, quickly seizing the chance to flee. “I look forward to seeing you on Monday.”

She ran back over the grass, uncaring that the dewy dampness would ruin her satin slippers. She was never more glad to see the familiar figure of Sir Nicholas, standing in her path.

“Your cloak, Miss Rushforth,” he said calmly as he held her steady. “I think it is time we departed. We will leave by the side entrance. Mrs. Ashley is waiting for you in the carriage.”

She followed him without a word, thankful the darkness hid her agitation. He steered her along a narrow pathway and stopped abruptly.

“I would be grateful if you would refuse any more of the comte’s invitations to go cavorting in the dark.” His voice cut the silence like a sharp dagger. “You were lucky on this occasion that I had two men stationed outside the ballroom. If they hadn’t followed you, there is no saying what liberties the comte would have taken with you, especially as you were so careless as to leave your reticule, with your pistol inside, behind.” He removed his mask as he spoke, and Roberta saw the fury on his face.

“Then it’s a pity they took so long to come to my rescue,” she snapped, “for they were almost too late.”

Sir Nicholas reached out, and in one swift movement, pulled off her mask and crushed her to him.

“If it’s kisses you seek, Miss Rushforth,” he whispered savagely, “seek them from men who don’t represent danger.”

Roberta felt a sudden surge of anger ripple through her. But before she could think of a suitable reply, his lips came down on hers. She responded to his kiss with a passion that left her trembling, and she cried out in shame when he pulled away. The only sound that punctuated the ensuing silence was Sir Nicholas’s heavy breathing.

He started walking again, and Roberta followed blindly in his wake as she tried desperately to compose herself. They had almost reached the side entrance before he spoke again, and then it was to ask her what had transpired between the comte and herself on the dance floor.

In a subdued voice, she recounted the conversation she had had.

“You have done well, Miss Rushforth,” he commented. “I doubt he suspects anything, else he wouldn’t talk so loosely about his dislike of me. The next time you see him, try to introduce Mr. Lambert’s name into the, conversation, and watch carefully for his reaction.”

“I don’t think there will be a next time,” she replied through lips that still tingled from his kiss. “I don’t think I am equal to the task of persuading him to talk.”

Sir Nicholas gave a hollow laugh. “’Tis a pity, Miss Rushforth, that my earlier advice to you on the subject went unheeded. Your decision comes as no great surprise, and it will be my pleasure to inform your uncle later tonight.”

Roberta looked at him with loathing as he calmly unlatched the gate and propelled her toward Lord Bromley’s waiting carriage. She maintained a dignified silence without difficulty. The events of the evening had so befuddled her mind, she simply couldn’t find the appropriate words to express the anger she felt at his callous attitude. She wished she had the courage to retract her decision, but the thought of having to accept any more caresses from the comte was too revolting. Finally, she sighed in defeat.

Williams sprang to attention as they approached, and greeted them in obvious relief. Sir Nicholas extended his hand to help her into the carriage. But, with perverse delight, she allowed Williams to settle her instead. As she sat down, she braced herself for Mrs. Ashley’s onslaught about her forward behavior. Instead, in a voice filled with concern, the older woman asked if she were feeling better.

“Sir Nicholas told me that you were taken ill during supper.”

Roberta, momentarily stunned by this unexpected piece of thoughtfulness from Sir Nicholas, sighed. “It was the fish,” she responded. “I found it to be most disagreeable.”

Chapter 13

The next day, in an effort to stop her thoughts from straying to Sir Nicholas, Roberta decided to go for a stroll. However, after the events of last night, she felt reluctant to go alone, in case the comte waylaid her, and so she sought out Mrs. Ashley. She finally located her in the library.

“Ah, here you are!” she exclaimed as she peered around the door. “I was certain that you had retired to your room for the afternoon.”

With obvious reluctance, Mrs. Ashley put down the book she was reading and looked up. “What is it, Roberta?” she inquired mildly. “I was enjoying Mr. Burns. What a wonderful poet he was. Did you know that he was the son of a farmer?”

“You should talk with Lord Bromley about him, for, if I’m not mistaken, they were acquainted,” Roberta replied. “Which poem are you reading?”

“‘Ae Fond Kiss.’ And what a sad one it is,” Mrs. Ashley responded. “‘Had we never lov’d sae kindly, Had we never lov’d sae blindly, Never met—or never parted, We had ne’er been broken-hearted,’” she quoted in mournful tones. “It brings tears to my eyes.”

“The torments and pains of love,” Roberta observed wryly. “Why are you reading that particular poem today, Ashley?”

“I dreamt of you and Mr. Davenport last night. The dream brought to mind that you haven’t mentioned him for a while. Are you still nursing a
tendre
for him, perchance?”

“I think not,” Roberta responded slowly. “I must confess to some confusion as to how I was able to discern so clearly that I no longer cared for him. You don’t know, Ashley, but I saw him privately the other morning.” The older woman looked dismayed. “It was something I had to do,” Roberta continued hurriedly. “And I’m glad I did, for the meeting proved that you had been correct in all of your criticisms of his character.”