My Wayward Lady (14 page)
Harriet paid no attention except to nod and smile now and then. She was happy at her sister's pleasure in the evening, but at the moment she wished to be alone with her thoughts, to revisit her waltz with Lord Chalfont and examine all its unexpected revelations, the most disturbing of which was that she had enjoyed their dance very much indeed. Although Harriet had waltzed often enough with a variety of partners, she had never before been so aware of the intimacy of the dance. This time, however, she had been intensely alive to the closeness of her partner. The warmth of the marquess's hand on her waist through the thin material of her gown had almost felt as though he were caressing her bare skin, and though he held her at the proper distance, she had had the not entirely unpleasant sensation of being crushed against his broad chest. Odd how she had never really paid the slightest attention to men or their physiques until she had met the Marquess of Kidderham, and now Harriet found she could hardly take her mind off his tall, powerfully built body.
He had moved superbly with the assurance of a natural athlete. No padding was needed to enhance the massive shoulders. In fact even the dark broadcloth of his jacket did 128
My Wayward Lady
by Evelyn Richardson
not quite conceal the muscles that rippled underneath it as he had held out his arms to lead her onto the floor. It did not help either that Harriet had been privy to the comments of the ladies at the Temple of Venus. It was difficult to know precisely how many of them had seen him in what state of undress, but they had all pronounced him to be a splendid specimen of the masculine sex. Kitty even going so far as to describe in some detail his expertise at lovemaking. Harriet blushed in the darkness at the thought. Ruthlessly she tried to push all treacherous thoughts of Lord Chalfont from her mind and concentrate on the rest of the evening instead, but she was not entirely successful, for the remainder of the Countess of Rotherham's ball had been something of a blur. She had been conscious of the marquess's returning to Alicia's side and had then spent an entire set of country dances nodding occasionally to her partner while wondering how it happened that a gentleman as lively as Lord Chalfont appeared to be betrothed to the coldly perfect Alicia De Villiers.
Of course, theirs was an agreement of some duration between the two families, but this was an enlightened age and few parents now were so gothic as to force their children into marriages they did not want. Perhaps the Marquess of Kidderham wanted this marriage; after all, Alicia was undeniably beautiful. But Harriet could not picture the laughing, teasing, provoking man she had come to know spending the rest of his life with Alicia. Why, he would be bored within a minute while she would be thoroughly disgusted by his irreverent view of life. 129
My Wayward Lady
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Harriet had tried to keep herself from looking for the two of them as she whirled around the dance floor with one partner after another, but her curiosity had gotten the better of her and her eyes had followed the two of them everywhere.
Alicia had looked as lovely as usual in a white lace dress over white satin slip ornamented with knots of pale blue ribbon and pearls. It was the perfect gown to set off the delicate complexion and dark hair, while the touches of blue complimented the blue of her eyes. There was no doubt that she drew envious looks from the women and admiring ones from the men; however, as far as Harriet had been able to tell. Lord Chalfont had remained unmoved by such dazzling beauty.
His behavior to his betrothed had been everything that was correct and attentive, but he had looked like a man performing a ritual while his mind was elsewhere. Harriet did not think she was being presumptuous in thinking it, but it did seem to her that the marquess had appeared more animated in conversation with her than he was at any time with Alicia. Well, it was assuredly none of her affair, Harriet thought as she alighted from the carriage and followed her sister up the stairs, nodding absently at the footman who sprang to open the door. Undoubtedly the two of them deserved one another. The Marquess of Kidderham would get a compliant wife whose manners were too perfect to allow her to take notice of the women he might consort with and who could be counted on to be the perfect marchioness at all times. In return, Alicia 130
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would have a wealthy husband whose rank and style would strike envy in the breast of every female in the
ton.
It would have astounded Harriet to know that at that very moment someone else was also comparing the charms of Alicia De Villiers with those of Lady Harriet Fareham and Alicia, toast of the
ton,
was coming off second best. Having tossed down one glass of brandy handed to him the moment he entered his chambers by Richards—batman, valet, and general factotum—Adrian had thrown himself into a comfortable chair in front of the fire and was now well into his second glass. It always took at least two glasses before he was able to recover his equanimity after attending these
ton
affairs with Alicia, where somehow he always seemed to feel like one of the trained horses at Astley's Amphitheatre being put through its paces. While Alicia never actually demanded anything of him, she always conveyed the sense of her high expectations for his behavior. If perchance he happened to fall short of these expectations, she never was so vulgar as to reprimand him; instead, she would wear a look of hurt disappointment or of pained resignation as though she knew very well that he would never measure up to her exquisite sensibilities, but she accepted this as a cross she had to bear. Actually, when he stopped to consider it, Adrian did not think he was all that bad. Other women appeared to like him well enough. He grinned as he thought of the lascivious looks Sally Jersey had been tossing in his direction all evening or the subtle way Lavinia de Montfort had kept lessening the space between the two of them as they had waltzed together. 131
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These women certainly had not objected to him—far from it—
but somehow Alicia always seemed to find him lacking. Lord Chalfont told himself that he did not care, that to him the petty rules and overly refined manners of the
ton
were ridiculous. Long ago, disgusted by this pettiness, he had left the fashionable world behind and gone in search of real challenges and real life. Still, it irked him that Alicia assumed her views to be so vastly superior to his without even bothering to discover what his were. The fact that she would have thought it vulgar to discuss anything deeper or more personal than the latest fashions or
on dits
only made it worse. Undoubtedly she would have been horrified at the intimacy of his latest interchange with Lady Harriet. Adrian took another swig of brandy and chuckled as he remembered the look on Harriet's face when he had implied that she should be concentrating on trimming bonnets rather than trying to improve the lot of Mrs. Lovington's ladies. She had been outraged, and rightly so. What a little fire-eater she was, and how lovely she had looked this evening, all liveliness and energy, her eyes sparkling with interest as they surveyed the dance floor. How refreshing her expressive face was and what a contrast it offered to the carefully assumed masks of boredom and indifference that everyone else wore. He wondered if she would be in the park the next morning or if he would have to wait until Tuesday for her visit to the Temple of Venus, if she came at all. His face darkened as the picture of her struggling with Sir Neville came back to him. Damn the man for the nasty piece of work that he was, and for the look of distress he had brought into those dark blue 132
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eyes, and into the eyes of all Mrs. Lovington's ladies. Adrian had the uneasy feeling that they had not seen the last of the man, but he was bound and determined that Sir Neville would cause no more trouble for the ladies of the Temple of Venus, or Harriet, for that matter.
Funny, he felt more protective toward her than he did toward Alicia when of the two of them, Harriet obviously possessed a great deal more courage and more resources. But she was vulnerable in a way that Alicia was not. Her passion for life, her interest in and concern for others were indicative of a warm heart that could most definitely be hurt. Adrian doubted very much if Alicia cared enough about anything to be affected in such a way. Yes she might be annoyed or disgusted by events or people who did not conform to her rigid idea of propriety, but she would never be personally involved enough to suffer the way Harriet would. Adrian took a last swig of brandy and set the glass down with a snap as a grim vision of the future rose before him—
escorting the ever fashionable, always beautiful Alicia to one
ton
party after another, endlessly replaying the scenes of this evening with the same people, and nothing to vary it except that a different color would be all the rage, or there would be a new way of tying a cravat or a slight variation in waistcoats. And why was he condemned to this life of stultifying boredom? It was all for the sake of a woman who cared very little, if at all, for who Adrian Julius Chalfont was as a person, but was very concerned about what the Marquess of Kidderham represented to fashionable society. Adrian sighed. How had he gotten himself into this dilemma? How had he, a 133
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man who had thrown himself single-handedly into the breach against the French at the Battle of the Pyrenees, been unable to tell a mere woman that he had no wish to marry her and become yet another accoutrement in her perfectly ordered existence?
Adrian's features were set in such grim lines that even the flickering firelight failed to soften them or warm the bleak expression on his face. He knew the answer to his question lay in his damnable sense of honor, the same honor that had refused to give quarter to the French, that had driven him to dismount in a hail of fire at Waterloo to rescue a wounded comrade, that made him abide by an agreement made years ago between two ancient families.
Oh yes, he would abide by it, but how was he going to be able to bear the thought of endless dull evenings spent at Alicia's side as her ever attentive escort with the only hope of satisfaction being more evenings spent at the Temple of Venus? At the thought of Mrs. Lovington's select establishment, the image of Harriet's bright face rose again before him. Just the idea of her, her refusal simply to accept the role life had cast for her made him feel better. Why most women in her station would not even have recognized women such as Bessie, Kitty, Fanny, Violet, and the others, much less cared enough to help them. But then, Harriet appeared to be intrigued by anything and everything. He remembered reminiscing about the war with her brother Charlie while she sat silent on her horse, blue eyes bright with interest. Even at the Countess of Rotherham's ball where one bejeweled beauty closely resembled the rest and the turbaned dowagers 134
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were virtually indistinguishable from one another she had looked around her with wide observant eyes alight with curiosity. She, like he, had been bored with the idle chat of ballrooms, and had readily dispensed with it in favor of more serious conversation which Adrian had thoroughly enjoyed. The marquess lay back in his chair shutting his eyes wearily. He might be condemned to the enervating existence of a member of the beau monde, permanent consort of an incomparable, but it was reassuring to know that people such as Harriet and his few close friends from the army did exist, that there were others besides himself who occupied their minds with something besides the cut of their coats or the latest rage in bonnets. And at least he would be able to see one of these people very soon. After all, Tuesday was not so very far away. A smile smoothed out the harsh lines of his face as the Marquess of Kidderham drifted off to sleep in his chair.
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As luck would have it, Adrian was not forced to wait until Tuesday to see Lady Harriet for he encountered her in the park the very next morning. Feeling hemmed in and confined by the suffocating rituals of society so vividly brought to mind by the previous evening, and suffering from the general restlessness incurred when one accustomed to an energetic existence is forced to suffer long periods of inactivity. Lord Chalfont was up betimes the next morning and looking forward to the peace of a deserted park. He had barely had time after entering it to feast his eyes on the vast green expanse when he caught sight of another horse and rider followed at a respectful distance by someone who could only have been a groom. Adrian did not need a second glance to know that the solitary rider was Lady Harriet. There was no mistaking the straight little figure or the powerful black horse she was controlling with such ease.
Even though he had been looking forward to seeing her again, the marquess was himself surprised at the current of excitement that ran through him the moment he recognized Harriet. It had been a long time since anyone's presence, even that of the most beautiful and wanton of his female admirers, both in and out of the
ton,
had inspired that son of reaction in him. Adrian felt his senses quicken in expectation—expectation of what he did not know, but Harriet was bound to provide something of interest and amusement; she always did, and it was always a surprise. 136
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He dug his heels in his mount and hurried to catch up with Brutus and his mistress as they indulged in a highly improper gallop across the thick carpet of grass.
Harriet heard the pounding hooves behind her, but instead of reining in her horse, as any respectable young lady would, she leaned over Brutus's neck and urged him to put forth even greater speed. The hoofbeats behind her increased in rhythm, but she refused to look back until the powerful gray shoulders of Lord Chalfont's Trajan were equal with Brutus's. Somehow Harriet was not surprised to discover the identity of her pursuer. Even though men were accorded far more latitude in society than women, few men would have joined her in such an undignified dash across the park, and even fewer would have been abroad at such an early hour after an evening of revelry. She could not help wondering if Lord Chalfont had capped off an evening spent dutifully escorting his betrothed with a rousing visit to the Temple of Venus. Hastily she suppressed such a thought as being none of her affair, though she could not help but wonder. Certainly Alicia was a cold fish if there ever was one, while Mrs. Lovington's ladies were a lively bunch and more likely to appeal to someone who possessed the zest for amusement and adventure that the Marquess of Kidderham apparently did. He definitely looked to be full of energy and ripe for anything this morning. The golden eyes looking down at her were alight with enjoyment of the day, the exhilaration of their gallop, and something else that Harriet could not quite identify, a warmth that seemed to be especially for her. How could that be? Surely she was mistaken.
