Regency Debutantes (54 page)

Lottie’s pouted lips trembled, but she swallowed back the tears that threatened to fall. ‘I saw you take her out of the drawing room. And then Lord Ravensmede went and fetched you both back.’

‘Interfering villain! I fancy that I must be right in my supposition.’

‘Mama?’ Lottie’s still-watery eyes opened wide and round in bewilderment. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘No, you never do.’

Lottie’s lips began to quiver again. ‘But that mean cat has ruined my evening.’

‘She could ruin a whole lot more than that,’ said her mother ominously.

Fortunately the comment was lost upon Lottie, who continued unabated with her complaining. ‘Only see how Mr Dalton is looking at her, I’m sure he means to offer for her instead of me. Oh, I shall never forgive her if he does. How I wish she was living back here, then you could box her ears and none of this would ever have happened.’ Lottie’s voice whined close to hysteria.

‘Calm yourself.’ Her mother moved a blonde ringlet from across Lottie’s cheek. ‘Unlike you, my darling, your cousin is a nobody.’

‘But Lady Maybury said Kathryn’s mother was one of the Overton Thornleys, and everyone was much impressed,’ she snuffled.

‘Elizabeth Thornley was a strumpet and her family disowned her. The Overton Thornleys wanted nothing more to do with her or her children. Why else do you think we were forced to take Kathryn into our home? Just because Lady Maybury has her in favour does not alter that fact. It was not so long ago that Kathryn was scrubbing floors and washing your linen. Hold that memory close. She may have tried to steal this evening from you, but I don’t mean to just stand by and watch that little bitch get away with it, or anything else for that matter, my dear. No. Cousin Kathryn may find she has a little surprise coming to her.’ Mrs Marchant’s hand turned to stroke her daughter’s bright golden locks. ‘Just you trust your mama, Lottie. I shall see that Kathryn gets her due, be very assured of that.’

‘Such a delightful evening, thank you, Nick. You may call on us tomorrow,’ said the dowager when Ravensmede’s town-coach halted outside her house in Upper Grosvenor Street.

‘I’d rather call on you now.’ Lord Ravensmede’s eyes flickered towards Kathryn before returning his grandmother’s gaze.

‘As you will,’ she said.

Only once they were all seated within the dowager’s drawing room did she speak again. ‘Kathryn, my dear, could you go and fetch me a suitably interesting book from the library? I’ve a mind to hear you read a little before I go to bed—that is, if you’re not too tired.’

‘Certainly, my lady.’

Lady Maybury waited until the door closed behind Kathryn before turning to her grandson. ‘Well, out with it. I take it you want to tell me what went on between Kathryn and her aunt.’

Ravensmede didn’t even comment upon his grandparent’s bluntness. ‘Anna Marchant had her pinned against a wall and was threatening her when I found them.’

‘Good gad! Little wonder the gel looked powder white when you brought her back through.’

Ravensmede looked directly at his grandmother. ‘I need to talk to her…alone.’

A white eyebrow arched high.

‘I would know exactly what Mrs Marchant was up to this evening.’

The faded green eyes held his. ‘You know that I should not allow it,’ she said quietly.

‘And you know I would not ask were it not so important.’

They looked at each other for a moment longer.

‘Very well,’ Lady Maybury uttered at last. ‘I need not say the rest.’

Ravensmede nodded, and dropped a kiss to the lined velvet cheek. ‘Thank you.’

When Kathryn returned to the drawing room, complete with book in hand, it was to find Lord Ravensmede standing by the unlit fireplace. Of Lady Maybury there was no sign.

She hesitated halfway across the rug, as if a little unsure of herself. ‘My lord…where is Lady Maybury?’

Ravensmede saw the pallor of her cheeks and the signs of fatigue around her eyes. ‘Sit down, Kathryn.’

‘I think she’ll like this one.’ She gestured to the small leather-bound book gripped within her hand. ‘It’s a collection of works by Lord Byron.’

He said nothing, just waited for her to sit down upon the sofa.

‘Perhaps I should check if she needs my assistance.’

‘Kathryn…’ and the word sounded like a sigh on his lips ‘…my grandmother has retired for the night. I want to speak with you before I leave.’

Her eyes widened. ‘I do not think that’s a good idea, my lord.’

He shrugged. ‘I disagree.’

She was still wearing the violet-and-cream evening dress. He noted how well the colour became her, how enticingly it fitted around her small bosom. The neckline was plain, the violet silk a fine contrast to the exposed smooth white curves of the tops of her breasts that rose and fell at such regular intervals. Suddenly conscious that he was staring, he dropped his gaze lower to where her fingers plucked at her skirt. He knew then the level of her unease. ‘You need not be afraid, Kathryn. I only wish to speak to you.’

‘What do you wish to discuss?’ A note of caution sounded in her voice.

‘That which happened this evening at your aunt’s.’

Her fingers tightened around the violet material. She swallowed. ‘There is nothing to say about that, sir.’

‘Oh, but I think there is, Kathryn.’ He watched a hint of panic flit across her face.

Silence stretched between them.

‘Kathryn.’ The word acted as a prompt, as he knew it would.

‘We…we had a disagreement, that’s all.’ Her focus shifted away to study the pattern on the rug.’

‘Then it must have been a very heated disagreement; she had you against the wall when I walked in.’

‘She was merely making her point, rather forcibly.’

‘She was threatening you,’ he said succinctly.

‘No…she was just—’

‘Damnation, Kathryn, why are you trying to protect her?’

She glanced up at him then and he caught a glimpse of guilt and embarrassment in her eyes, before her gaze skittered away again. ‘I-I’m not.’

‘Then you’re hiding something from me.’

‘No!’ The denial did not ring true, and he knew it.

The violet silk was suffering a thorough pulverisation beneath her fingers.

He leaned back against the mantel, rested his booted foot upon the fender, and watched her. ‘Your lying does not improve with practice.’

She rose swiftly from the sofa. ‘It’s late, Lord Ravensmede, and I have much to do tomorrow. Please excuse me, sir.’

He pushed off from the fender and moved swiftly to stand before her. ‘No.’

Indignation stared from the silver eyes. ‘I beg your pardon,’ she said stiffly. ‘It’s not seemly that we’re here, alone, at this time of night.’

Exasperation rose in Ravensmede’s throat. ‘It’s not seemly that you’re lying to me,’ he growled.

‘Lord Ravensmede,’ she said primly.

‘Miss Marchant,’ he countered.

She made to turn towards the door.

‘I did not excuse you.’ He saw the slight body stiffen. Felt a scoundrel for what he was doing. Knew he must do it for Kathryn’s own sake.

‘I can stand here all night, my lord, and there will still be nothing more to say.’

One step, and the distance between them disappeared. ‘Tell me,’ he said roughly. His hand closed around her arm. He felt her start beneath him, try to pull away. She looked up at him, fear blazoning in her eyes. Shock kicked in his gut at the realisation of just what she thought. ‘I’m not going to hurt you!’
by one he uncurled his fingers so that she was free. ‘God help me, I could
never
hurt you.’ They were standing so close that the hem of her skirt brushed the gleaming toes of his long black riding boots; so close that he could hear the whisper of her breath and smell her sweet scent. ‘Don’t you know that by now?’

Her eyelids fluttered shut.

Next to him she was so small, so slender. It pained him that she believed he could have struck her. ‘Forgive me if I frightened you, Kathryn.’

There was a catch of breath in her throat and then those beautiful eyes raised to his once more. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and her, words were so quiet as to scarcely catch his ears. ‘I didn’t mean to…’

‘Hush.’ With great tenderness he cupped one hand against her cheek and stroked a delicate caress across the silken skin. It seemed that there was a great stillness within him and a peculiar ache across his chest. It was a novel sensation for Ravensmede. Beneath his fingers her skin was warm and smooth. And her eyes clung to his like a woman drowning. She made him feel both powerless and omnipotent at the same time. ‘You need not tell me if you really do not wish to. I sought only to save you from the worst of your aunt.’ For all that he wanted to help her, he could not bear her pain.

Her eyes shuttered. ‘Oh, Nicholas,’ she sighed. ‘You, of all people, cannot.’

He touched his lips against her forehead, not kissing, just resting them there, trying desperately to give her some small comfort.

‘Aunt Anna said…’

He pulled back, rested his hands loosely, lightly, against her shoulders, and watched the hint of a blush stain those pale cheeks. Kathryn would not meet his gaze. ‘What did she say?’ he asked as gently as he could.

A deep breath. A tremor of tension beneath his palms. ‘She said that there were rumours.’

There was a sudden coldness in the pit of his stomach.

‘She implied that I…that we…’ Her hand moved to worry at her skirt. But his moved faster, catching her fingers back up and threading them through his own. ‘That we?’

‘That we have behaved improperly.’

Only the ticking of the clock on the mantel punctuated the silence in the room.

‘She wanted to question me on the matter.’

‘I see,’ said Ravensmede. His fingers pressed a gentle reassurance against hers. He controlled the anger rising within him, didn’t want to distress Kathryn any more than she was already.

‘And she’s right, isn’t she?’ said Kathryn quietly. ‘We haven’t behaved as we should.’

‘Perhaps I haven’t behaved entirely as I should, but you’ve done nothing wrong.’

Her chin came up and she squared her shoulders. ‘I’m every bit as guilty as you, Nicholas. I wasn’t unwilling.’ Colour flared in her cheeks.

His blood quickened at her bold admission, and his heart gladdened that she was not indifferent to him. ‘Your aunt can know nothing for certain; she’s fishing for trouble.’ But even as he said the words, Ravensmede thought of someone who most definitely knew enough to destroy Kathryn’s reputation. The fact that he had parted with a hefty sum to buy the woman’s silence did not make him feel any easier. Amanda White’s discretion could not to be entirely trusted. He could only be thankful that she had been persuaded to leave London for a while.

Kathryn sighed. ‘I only hope that you’re right.’

How could he reassure her? He traced his thumb against the inside of her wrist, slowly, intimately. ‘We shared a few kisses, Kathryn, nothing more. There’s nothing so very wrong in that.’ A few kisses…it sounded so innocent, but Ravensmede knew better. Kathryn Marchant’s kisses were fit to overwhelm a man’s mind. One taste of her lips was enough to snare a fellow for life. And even had that not been the case, even if her mouth had been
hard and dry and unyielding so that he never touched her again, he had already done enough to sully her name if the truth were to come out. He thrust the thought aside. ‘You said yourself it will not happen again…and now we are just friends.’ It was what she wanted, what she
needed,
to hear; or so he told himself.

Hurt flashed in her eyes, and then was gone so quickly that he thought he must have been mistaken. She stared down at her feet.

He squeezed her hands in what he hoped was an encouraging manner; struggled to ignore the smell of her perfume drifting up from her hair, and the tantalising touch of her fingers still entwined within his own. Ruthlessly he quelled the desire to wrap his arms around her and crush her to him. Loosening his hand, he took her chin between his fingers and gently raised her face so that he could look into her eyes. ‘I look after my friends, Kathryn,’ he said slowly. ‘I won’t allow Mrs Marchant to hurt you again.’

She nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

He could resist no more. Sliding his arms round her back, he pulled her into his embrace, and then just held her, with the softness of her curves pressed against him, and the smell of her filling his nose. She made no protest, just clung to him as he clung to her, her breath warm and moist against his chest. He dropped his lips to rest against the top of her head. And they stood there, as if they would merge together as one for all eternity.

In the days that followed Miss Lottie Marchant’s musical evening Kathryn heard nothing more from her aunt. It seemed that Ravensmede had been right in his assertion that Mrs Marchant had been untruthful about
the existence of injurious rumours, for, from the very next day following the event, it became clear that Kathryn had been taken into the bosom of the
ton.
Invitations to balls and routs and parties arrived at the house in Upper Grosvenor Street by the score, and all were extended to both Lady Maybury and her companion.

For the first time in her life people looked
at
Kathryn instead
of
through
her. There was definitely no danger of her being ignored. People who had previously not deigned to notice her were suddenly keen to be seen chatting with Lady Maybury’s protégé. She lost count of the number of requests she received from people asking her to paint their portraits. And a number of gentlemen took to calling in the hope of fixing Miss Marchant’s attention. It was akin to the past fantasies played out in her head, unreal in every aspect except that when she opened her eyes it did not vanish. Kathryn should have been happy, and, indeed, she was content of sorts. But something was missing, and that something left an emptiness within.

Since that night when he had held her so tenderly in Lady Maybury’s drawing room, Lord Ravensmede had been careful to avoid being alone in her company. He was a model of polite consideration. Indeed, Kathryn would have gone as far as to describe him as the very epitome of gentlemanly behaviour. But there was a new distance between them, as if he had withdrawn from her. It was the right thing to do, the proper thing to do. Especially for a viscount to his grandmother’s companion. So why did she feel a constant ache in her heart?