One Night of Scandal (11 page)

Richard’s grip tightened for a second. ‘Take a risk,’ he said softly. ‘After all, you also told me this afternoon that you were drawn to me.’

Deb set her jaw. ‘I caught the measles when I was a child, my lord,’ she said, ‘but I recovered. It is in no way a fatal affliction.’

The warmth in Richard’s gaze threatened to overset her.

‘It is not a flattering comparison, ma’am,’ he said, ruefully, ‘but I take your point.’

His wry appreciation of her words made Deb feel ungracious. She almost apologised, but managed to stop herself in time. She cleared her throat and struggled to find a less personal topic of conversation.

‘I was about to ring a peal over my brother-in-law when you intervened in my place just now,’ she said. She frowned as she thought about it. ‘Whatever did you say to Ross, my lord, to send him hurrying to solicit Olivia for a dance?’

Richard laughed and sat back in his chair. ‘Why, I merely told him that if he did not snap up his beautiful wife, some other man would be there before him. It works every time.’

Deb looked enquiring. ‘What does?’

‘Challenging a man’s possessive instincts,’ Richard drawled. ‘As soon as your brother-in-law knew that I wished to dance with his wife, he was there to claim his own before I could approach her.’

Deb smiled slightly. She could not help but admire his strategy and it had worked splendidly well for Olivia. One had to give Lord Richard credit where it was due.

‘It was most kind of you,’ she said. ‘They have been at
daggers drawn all evening, so if you have manoeuvred a reconciliation I cannot but be grateful. At the least it spares me their bad temper in the carriage going home!’

Richard laughed. ‘I am glad that I was able to be of service, Mrs Stratton,’ he said. ‘I would like above all things to see Lord and Lady Marney settle their differences.’ He touched the back of Deb’s hand lightly. ‘However, I assure you that I would rather spend my time with you than with any of Lady Sally’s other guests.’

There was a ring of sincerity in his voice, but Deb hardened her heart to it. She smiled reluctantly. ‘You always speak very prettily, my lord.’

‘And you do not believe a word of it.’ There was a challenge in Richard’s voice, but beneath it Deb thought that she could hear an unexpected note of regret.

‘I believe one word in every two,’ she said, and saw him smile.

‘So you will not admit to jealousy, Mrs Stratton, and further you will not believe me when I say that
I
was suffering its pangs myself when I saw you with the charming Mr Owen Chance.’

‘Oh, Mr Chance is entirely delightful,’ Deb agreed, with deliberate obtuseness. ‘I am so glad that he has come amongst us. He is indeed an asset to Midwinter society.’

‘I rather doubt that,’ Lord Richard said with a whimsical smile. He glanced towards the ballroom door, where the tall figure of Owen Chance could be seen conversing with Lady Sally Saltire.

‘Did Mr Chance tell you about his profession?’ Richard continued.

Deb raised her brows, slightly surprised. ‘Should he have done? We did not speak of matters so mundane as business, my lord. We were far too busy chatting on things that were more interesting.’

‘I see,’ Lord Richard said. ‘Well, perhaps he did not wish you to know. Mr Chance is a Riding Officer.’ He turned back to look at her. ‘And as such he is not welcome in many houses in these parts.’

‘Because people are too snobbish, perhaps,’ Deb observed sweetly. ‘You surprise me, Lord Richard. I had not thought you a man to whom rank was important, but perhaps as the brother of a duke, you are conscious of such things?’

‘You deliberately mistake me,’ Richard said, smiling at her. ‘I believe that Mr Chance’s pedigree is as good as my own; if it is not, that makes no odds to me. What makes him an unwelcome guest is the propensity of the Riding Officers to frighten away our smugglers, Mrs Stratton. And then where will we get our brandy and tea and all our other commodities?’

Deb’s lips twitched. ‘Is smuggling then something in which you take a keen interest, my lord?’

‘The purchase of good French brandy is certainly an ardent pursuit of mine,’ Richard agreed feelingly. ‘I am sure we are all wishing Mr Chance in Hades!’

Deb laughed. ‘You are too harsh. A man should have a profession,’ she added, giving him a sideways look. ‘You said so yourself when you spoke to me about your time in the Navy. It is not beneficial to sit idly by all day with nothing to amuse oneself but brandy and a book of seventeenth-century poetry!’

Lord Richard gave a crack of laughter. ‘
Touché
, ma’am! Is that how you envisage I spend my days?’

‘I have no notion,’ Deb said lightly. ‘I did not mean
you
, my lord! I have never given any thought to how you spend your time.’

This was transparently untrue and she could see from the look on Richard’s face that he knew it. His dark eyes searched her face.

‘It disappoints me that you never think of me,’ Lord Richard said. ‘Perhaps in speaking of brandy drinking and poetry reading you were describing the activities of the Midwinter reading group?’

Deb laughed. ‘We do not care for brandy, my lord, although Lady Sally’s port is a fine vintage. As for the poetry, I confess I have read some of the book you gave me, and very pretty the verse is too.’

‘I am glad that you like it,’ Lord Richard said. ‘A great deal of it is very romantic, is it not?’

Deb’s lashes flickered as she looked down. ‘It may well be. However, I am more struck by the pastoral poems. I was reading the odes to the beauty of the sunset rather than Shakespeare’s sonnets.’

‘Perhaps you are afraid that too much romantic poetry would turn your own thoughts to love,’ Richard suggested.

Deb fidgeted. ‘Certainly not.’

Richard laughed. ‘I remember—you do not look for male companionship. I have the feeling that it seeks you out all the same, Mrs Stratton. How could it not, when you are young and beautiful, and have such a zest for life? It is asking too much of a man not to view that as a challenge.’

Deb sighed. ‘Your compliments are very polished, Lord Richard, but they fall on stony ground.’

Richard was looking at her thoughtfully and she felt a
frisson
of anticipation go through her. He leaned closer.

‘What would you say if instead of a compliment I issued a dare, Mrs Stratton?’ he said.

Deborah’s eyes opened very wide. Her curiosity was caught. ‘A dare, my lord? Of what nature?’

Lord Richard leaned closer still and beckoned her to draw near to him. After a second’s hesitation, Deb complied. Immediately she was distracted by an entirely new set of sensations. Richard’s lean cheek was close to hers and she
could smell his sandalwood cologne. Her gaze focused on his lips and she blinked and hastily cast her gaze down. She felt his breath stir a tendril of hair.

‘You told me earlier this afternoon that you did not believe I could seduce you,’ Lord Richard murmured, for her ears alone. ‘I dare you to let me try.’

Deb almost snapped the stem of her wineglass between her fingers, so great was her shock. Images, heated and provocative, raced through her mind. She looked up at Richard, saw the dancing flame in his dark eyes, and looked away quickly.

‘No! I cannot accept that dare.’

Lord Richard covered her hand with his again. ‘But you want to.’

Deb felt her fingers tremble beneath his and his grip on her hand tightened in response. She felt part-appalled, part-exhilarated. What was the matter with her that she was even considering accepting such a scandalous wager? This man was a rake and so dangerous that she should not even be giving him the time of day. He was particularly perilous to her, for a part of her responded to him in a manner that could only be considered reckless. And whilst these thoughts chased across her mind, she saw him watching her face and reading her thoughts as clearly as though she had spoken them aloud.

‘No…’ She could hear the reluctance in her voice and so could he.

‘My dear Mrs Stratton, you are so close to capitulating…’

A shiver ran along Deb’s skin, raising goose pimples. Richard was rubbing his fingers over her hand with gentle repetition, and this lightest of touches was enough to make her burn hot and cold at the same time.

‘Admit you are tempted…’

‘No, I am not,’ Deb said, firing up. ‘I am not in the least inclined to accept your suggestion.’

Richard released her hand and sat back in his chair. ‘Well, you responded to that challenge, at any rate,’ he said wryly. ‘I must remember not to do that again, unless I wish to achieve the opposite reaction to the one I was wanting.’

He drained his wineglass. ‘We should return to the ballroom, I believe. We are quite alone and no doubt the servants are waiting to clear the tables.’

Deb looked around and realised to her shock that all the other guests had finished supper long ago. The conservatory was deserted and, with its coloured lanterns and pools of shadow, it suddenly seemed a vastly different and very private place. The splash of the water mingled with the faint strains of music from the ballroom, but it seemed to Deb as though the silence was alive and waiting. The summer moonlight poured through the glass roof and sprinkled the tiled floor with silver. Richard stood up and offered his arm to her and she put her hand gingerly on it, as though just the touch of him might be unsafe, enough to trigger an elemental reaction. His arm was warm and hard beneath her fingers and it seemed a very long way to the ballroom door…

Her senses were concentrating so hard on Richard that she was not watching where she stepped. There was a patch of darkness between the pools of lantern light and she missed her step, catching her heel in the flounce of her gown. It was instinct on her part to hold more tightly to Richard’s arm to steady herself. And no doubt it was also instinct on his part to slide his other arm about her waist, drawing her hard and sure against him.

She thought that he would kiss her, but instead he held her close, his mouth against her hair, the warmth of his hands a shocking, heated seduction through the thin satin of
her dress. Deb’s cheek was against his shoulder and the mingled scent of sandalwood and his skin made her head swim. She could hear the beat of his heart beneath her ear. She felt warm and safe and protected, yet alive in every part of her being. In some strange way it felt even more intimate than his kiss and such affinity shook her deeply. She looked up helplessly into his face, felt his arms tighten about her and saw the intense desire darken his eyes. She fought the devastatingly strong urge to hold him close and never let go. This was madness.

Deborah freed herself from his arms and moved away from him, as though mere physical distance could break the hold he had on her.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, with a superficial brightness that suggested they had been conversing on the weather or the state of the roads. ‘I must go and mend my skirt.’

She made her way, a little blindly, to the ladies’ withdrawing room and found herself standing before the mirror, leaning on the top of the chest of drawers as though for support.

She stood there, trembling, staring at her reflection and wondering what was the matter with her.

Richard Kestrel had held her in his arms and she had taken both pleasure and consolation in the experience. In that moment she had felt cherished and loved as well as desired. She had known that Richard wanted her. The touch of his hands on her body had conveyed the depth of his need. Yet he had not kissed her, but had held her with tenderness as well as desire. It had been frighteningly tempting to give herself up to the embrace. No doubt if common sense had not reasserted itself, she would still be clasped in his arms, oblivious to the world, for all to see.

Deb tucked a wayward curl behind her ear and noted that her hand was still shaking. She knew it was the force of her
thoughts that raised this nervousness in her. For this was no mere attraction to a handsome man. What she felt for Richard Kestrel was far more insidious. He stirred longings in her that were buried very deep and had been denied for a very long time. He had awoken a need for the physical bond that she had expected from marriage but had never found, and he had stirred in her a longing for an emotional closeness that she had never experienced.

Deb folded her arms as though to protect herself from the coldness within. Until that moment she had not realised how vulnerable she was. For three years she had lived retired and imagined that she could spend the rest of her life in such a manner. And then Richard Kestrel had appeared and had made her face up to the folly of that particular belief.

So now she had a stark choice. She could abandon the precepts and principles that had governed her life so far in order to seek the delights of a love affair. She had no doubt that to become Richard Kestrel’s mistress would be to experience a heady bliss, a dream of physical fulfilment. Yet she was afraid, afraid that the emotional intimacy she craved would still elude her and ever more terrified that she would want too much and end up being hurt more deeply than she ever had been by Neil Stratton.

Deb stared hopelessly at her reflection. She was afraid of marriage and yet she longed for the solace of true love. She ached for physical satisfaction and yet she could not imagine it without tenderness. She rejected the advances of a rake and yet she ardently desired for him to make love to her. She was a mass of contradictions and, that being the case, she must play safe. She had no choice after all. She must protect herself against Lord Richard Kestrel and the perilous attraction she felt for him. She must enforce her decision with iron determination. She must not see him again.

Richard Kestrel walked slowly into the ballroom. He saw Olivia Marney watching his progress with her eyebrows raised like perfect half-moons. No doubt she had already seen Deb erupt through the door that led to the conservatory and had drawn her own conclusions. She met Richard’s eyes quizzically but with no censure. Richard smiled at her. He liked Olivia and thought Ross to be a complete fool when it came to the matter of his wife. Not that Richard was tempted to play Ross false. Olivia was lovely, but she lacked Deborah’s passionate flame.