The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) (33 page)

To Helena’s immense relief, the guests soon began to arrive for dinner, and she was pleased to see that the visitors from London and the local gentry mingled well. Malcolm moved about the room graciously, greeting people with a relaxed courtesy that put everyone at ease, while Rowena stepped into the role of hostess, happily greeting friends she had not seen in some time. Helena procured a glass of sherry and allowed herself to relax, glad to slip into the background. It had been, all in all, an interesting day.

“Don’t drink that too quickly. You need to have your wits about you tonight,” said a teasing voice in her ear. She turned to see that Malcolm had made his way to her side.

“Are you implying I cannot hold my liquor?” she asked with dignity.

“I daresay you could drink me under the table.” Malcolm grinned down at her. “But I rely on you to be the voice of reason this evening.”

Helena marveled at his ability to move from one role to another. Even though she had been trembling with passion in his arms not two hours before, there was nothing amorous in his attitude; he was clear-eyed and evidently eager to put their plan into action. Yet it had only been minutes since he greeted his guests with the lazy assurance of a bored aristocrat. It came, she supposed, from the life he had led. If only she could know which Wroxton was real.

“I promise not to become—what was the phrase Arthur learned from you? As drunk as a wheelbarrow,” she said tartly.

“Good girl.” He looked up. “Now I must play the host. I count on you to keep your eyes open and let me know if aught appears amiss.”

Helena nodded, and he moved away, once again mingling with his guests. She forced herself to do the same, greeting friends and allowing herself to be introduced to the strangers from London. She saw Damaris across the room, laughing at some story Arthur was telling her, and she made her way in their direction, but Estella flitted over to her on the arm of a very bored and handsome gentleman.

“Miss Keighley, may I present Lord Queshire?” she said.

Helena found her hand possessed by his lordship, as he bowed over it with great elegance. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Keighley. Mrs. Lacey tells me this evening is your doing. May I compliment you on an extraordinary endeavor?”

“Thank you, Lord Queshire,” Helena hesitated, not quite knowing what to make of his lordship, whose shirt points were so high he had difficulty turning his head.

“I had no notion the ladies in Kent were so charming,” he continued, glancing briefly at the white expanse of her chest. “Had I known I might have visited Folkestone earlier. You must honor me with a dance later this evening.”

“Certainly, my lord,” murmured Helena.

Lord Queshire bowed again and strolled away. Estella remained for a moment. “He is not so amusing as Malcolm,” she murmured, “but he is nonetheless quite talented in the bedroom. Still, I envy you, Miss Keighley.” With a wink, she followed her new paramour.

Rowena, a questioning look in her eye, replaced Estella. “Whatever does she want with you, I wonder?” she asked.

“Nothing at all,” said Helena hastily, remembering Malcolm’s words about Rowena’s tenacity. “She was simply being polite.”

“Mrs. Lacey rarely does things just to be polite,” observed Rowena. “I wonder—“

“She wished to introduce me to Lord Queshire,” interrupted Helena. “Should you not be tending to the guests, rather than gossiping with me?”

“My dear, I feel as though I am stealing your thunder. You did all the work, while I am serving as hostess and taking all the credit.”

Helena shook her head. “I have no desire to greet guests and talk to strangers,” she said. “Furthermore, in this situation you are the only possible hostess, as you belong to Wroxton Hall. I am a mere interloper.”

“Do not say so,” protested Rowena. “You are always welcome here.” She glanced at Malcolm. “I did have hopes—but that is neither here not there. But I must go.” She whisked away, leaving Helena relieved to be alone.

Catherwood announced that dinner was served, and the group moved to the dining room, chattering merrily. As she was far from the highest ranking lady present, Helena found herself on the arm of Sir Jason Partney, a handsome young man who was a bit of a dandy, and had been included in the party at Rowena’s suggestion to help make up the numbers. Helena amused herself by unobtrusively observing the large number of fobs and seals that hung from his elaborate waistcoat as they proceeded, while feeling grateful that she would be seated a safe distance from Malcolm.

At the table, the rector of a neighboring parish, who was better known for his hunters and pack of hounds than for his sermons, was seated on her other side. However, even this could not disturb her equanimity, for she was well aware that Mr. Wycherman required only an open ear and a closed mouth from his dinner partners, being far more interested in repeating hunting anecdotes than actual conversation.

Dinner, to Helena’s relief, went off without a hitch, and she kept her attention strictly on her dinner partners, not even stealing a glance at the earl. The ball began promptly at ten, and Helena had the pleasure of noting that the guests from London were as amazed by her handiwork as were the locals. Dozens of candles in the sparkling chandelier lit the salon, which resembled nothing so much as a garden brought indoors. Helena stood to one side as Malcolm greeted his guests, feeling a glow of pleasure at her accomplishment. She looked up once and caught Malcolm’s eye, and he smiled at her warmly.

The next arrival, however, was Lord Denby, and Helena felt her stomach tighten at the sight of him. This was no mere party; tonight would put an end to her travails with the free traders, Denby’s harassment, and quite possibly her friendship with Lord Wroxton. She should, she thought, be far happier with the idea than she was.

“You have quite set the neighborhood by the ears,” said a friendly voice next to her, and she jumped, turning to see Damaris next to her.

Helena chuckled. “It was a great deal of effort, but I do believe the result is worth it.”

“It’s beautiful.” Damaris looked her up and down. “As are you, my dear. Tell me, how do you and the Wicked Earl go on?”

Helena glanced over at Malcolm, who was bowing politely over Mrs. Cuthbert’s hand. His impeccable evening dress became his figure well, but the image of him in her room that afternoon was very much in her mind’s eye. “We are—that is to say, we shall—I mean, of course we do not—“

“I see,” said Damaris dryly. “Things are much the same as they were before.”

“I suppose they are.”

The musicians struck up a country dance, and Malcolm stood up with his sister. Lord Brayleigh had solicited Helena’s hand for the first dance, and Arthur came forward to claim Damaris as his partner. As the couples lined up, the well-dressed throng glittered in the candlelight, and the scent of the flowering trees lingered in the air. It seemed as though the old house welcomed the return of society within its walls, as the sound of the musicians filled the room with cheer. When the dance ended, Mrs. Cuthbert took her aside to compliment her.

“For, my dear, you have done something truly splendid here. The whole neighborhood is abuzz with talk. Do you think Wroxton means to spend more time in Kent?”

Helena glanced over to where Malcolm stood, looking, to her mind, far too much as ease. “I don’t know,” she replied. “He does not share his thoughts with me.”

“That is not what I’ve heard,” said Mrs. Cuthbert slyly. “Oh, look my dear, he is coming this way now. I’ll make myself scarce.”

“You need not—“ began Helena, but Mrs. Cuthbert had basely abandoned her, as Malcolm bore down on her.

“I believe the next dance is a waltz,” he said, smiling down at her. “Will you do me the honor of standing up with me?”

“I promised this one to Arthur,” said Helena.

“Then he will be disappointed.” Malcolm’s voice brooked no denial, and he led her out onto the floor. He put one hand on her waist, clasping her hand lightly with the other, and swept her into the dance. Helena noted with a touch of pique that his lordship, of course, waltzed expertly.

“It is quite daring of you to allow the musicians to play a waltz,” he said. “While it is now acceptable in London, I believe it still considered somewhat shocking in the countryside.”

“The populace expects nothing less from the Wicked Earl,” replied Helena, as lightly as she could. She could feel the strength of Malcolm’s thighs through the silk of her dress, and she found her mind wandering to other things. Which, she reflected, was precisely why certain matrons found the dance so improper. She looked up at him, wondering if he felt the same things, but his face was impeccably bare of emotion.

“You have outdone yourself, Helena,” he continued. “The county will talk of little but this evening for a month to come. I have to thank you again for your efforts.”

“It was all done in the service of catching the freetraders.” Helena kept her voice even. If he could pretend there was nothing between them, she could play that game as well.

“Ah yes, the freetraders.” Malcolm looked down at her pensively. “Denby is here.”

“I saw him arrive.”

“I promise you he will not trouble you again after tonight.”

“He does not bother me now. But I will be glad to have our plot finished and done.”

“Will you?” Malcolm’s hand tightened briefly on her waist.

“I will,” she assured him, looking away from his questioning gaze.

“We will discuss this again at another time. For now, beware of Lord Denby. Del, Brayleigh and I are keeping an eye on him. When he makes a break for it, be sure we will know. We will make a show of leaving for the card room, and then follow him.”

Helena nodded. “I understand.”

Malcolm smiled. “Don’t be sorry that you will miss the capture. It will be very uncomfortable riding around in the dark, and, I hope, very little of substance will occur. With any luck, Denby and his men will be rounded up without a fight.”

“I know,” said Helena meekly. “I will remain here and make sure you are not missed.”

“You are oddly obedient,” teased Malcolm. “I wonder what has come over you.”

“I simply wish Denby to have his comeuppance.”

“Ah. You shall have that indeed. I promise.”

The music came to a close, and they stopped. Malcolm glanced down at her, seeming as though he wished to say something, but her partner for the next dance stepped up to claim her. The next hour passed in a whirl, as the company danced, gossiped, and sipped the excellent champagne from Wroxton’s cellars. Helena stood up with Mr. Delaney and Lord Queshire, in addition to any number of men she could later barely recall. It seemed the evening was enchanted indeed.

Helena finished a particularly energetic reel with Mr. Wycherman, and glanced around the ballroom trying, as she had throughout night, to ascertain whether Denby and Malcolm were still in the room. She saw neither among the dancers, and so strolled to the supper room as she continued her search. Picking up a glass of champagne, she peered over its rim at the glittering throng. Noting that Brayleigh was also absent, she felt almost sure that the plot was afoot, but peeked into the card room to be sure. It was possible that Denby and Brayleigh were there, and Malcolm who, as host, could not politely desert the dancers, had merely checked on some arrangements, or gone to answer the call of nature.

Not spotting her quarry at the tables, she drifted back to the Green Salon, stopping to converse with an acquaintance here and there. When she reached the tall French doors, flung open to allow the summer breeze to cool the dancers, she slipped out onto the terrace, slowly strolling across it to the ornamental balustrade.

The long summer twilight was just slipping into true darkness, and the scent of roses from the garden beyond hung on the warm summer air. Two large urns, filled with enormous, night-blooming moonflowers, which seemed to glow in the faint light of the stars flung across the moonless sky, marked the stairs leading from the terrace to the garden. Helena paused as though to admire their beauty, while glancing around the terrace to make sure she would not be seen leaving the party. She put a hand on the rail, meaning to run down the stairs and dash around to the servant’s entrance, when someone emerged from the shadows, grabbing her from behind and covering her mouth with one hand. She struggled, but her captor was taller and far stronger than she, and pushed her up against the urn with his body.

“Did you notice that this urn is filled with moonflowers?” she heard Denby’s detestable voice whisper in her ear. She could not make a reply, but none was needed, for he continued. “I picked a handful of them just now, and if you scream, I will stuff them in your mouth and force you to swallow them. I can do it before you can be rescued, you know. It is not a pleasant poison, and can easily be lethal, as I’m sure you realize. Nod if you understand me.”

Infuriated, and heavy-hearted for putting Wroxton and the others in jeopardy, Helena nodded. Denby held her against the urn with one hand, and she felt him pull something out of his pocket. A second later, he had tied a gag over her mouth, and soon after, had also tied her hands behind her back. He gripped one of her arms and pushed her forward to the stairs.

“You’re coming with me,” he grunted. “Bulkeley got wind that there was something afoot; it seems that a great many additional excisemen were suddenly in Folkestone this afternoon. But with a hostage like you in my hands, I don’t think the preventives will be willing to do much to stop me from moving my cargo tonight.”

Helena heard the smirk in his voice, but could not deliver the shattering insult that hovered on her tongue, so she contented herself with making their progress as difficult as possible, lurching and tripping her way across the terrace. Her captor shook her roughly. “You clumsy fool, make haste; if you continue so, I will sling you over my shoulder instead.”

Being forced into such intimate contact with her enemy seemed unbearable, so Helena ceased her efforts to force him to stumble, settling for slowing their progress as much as she could get away with. Her long skirts and thin, leather-soled slippers made progress truly difficult as Denby dragged her through the garden and around the edge of the lawn. Behind the thick branches of the pleached
allée
one of his men stood, holding two horses.

“You have two choices my dear,” said Denby with a coarse laugh. “Since I cannot trust you not to attempt an escape if you ride pillion in comfort, I can either tie you over the rump of my horse, or you can ride before me, with your hands bound.” He untied the gag as he spoke, so she could answer, but retained a tight grip on her upper arm.

Helena was mortified by the thought of either option. Allowing him to tie her over the back of the horse would be humiliating and exceedingly uncomfortable. Having her head down so long might also leave her weak and dizzy, and unable to escape if the opportunity arose. However, riding before Denby would subject her to close contact with him, a thought that made her shudder. But she would arrive at the meeting site fully conscious, and in the best position to be, if not of assistance to her friends, at least no more of a liability than necessary.

“I will ride before you,” she finally said. “But you must tie my hands in front of me, so I can grasp the mane to balance myself.”

Denby snickered. “Very well. Though you might enjoy leaving them as they are; I could hold you tight against me, and you might find yourself with a pleasant surprise. You may find I compare favorably with Wroxton.”

Helena blanched, but said nothing, and Denby made a signal to his servant, who held the horse as the baron re-tied Helena’s hands in front of her and gagged her once again, then lifted her onto the front of the saddle. She shuddered as his fingers lingered on her calf as he positioned one of her legs over the pommel, and she quickly moved to grasp the horse’s mane so he would have no excuse to touch her again. He laughed again as he mounted and leaned up against her back.

“Unfortunately for your delicate sensibilities, there is no way to avoid this,” he whispered in her ear. “You are being repaid for all the slights to which you have subjected me.”

Helena swallowed her anger as best she might; fury might make one strong, but it was not conducive to clear thinking and she needed to keep her wits about her.

Denby directed his horse onto the gravel drive, and started at a trot towards the road, his man following. Behind them, the bright lights of Wroxton Hall lit the dark night, and the music of the ball could be heard drifting towards them on the night breeze.