The Notorious Lord (19 page)

She took Rachel’s arm and drew her towards the baronial fireplace, where the Duke of Kestrel was standing. Justin Kestrel professed himself extremely pleased to meet her and Rachel had no reason to doubt his sincerity. His manner was entirely devoted to making her feel at ease, whilst also making her feel she was the most delightful creature in the room. Rachel appreciated this whilst recognising exactly what he was doing. They chatted happily for a few moments, but Rachel was amused to note that when the Duke thought that her attention was not upon him, his gaze was drawn back to Lady Sally like a compass to north.

‘Justin, you have monopolised Miss Odell for quite long enough,’ Lady Sally said reproachfully, returning after a minute with another gentleman in tow. ‘I have brought your cousin James to make her acquaintance.’

Justin Kestrel bowed, a faint smile playing about his lips. Rachel had the strong impression that he was amused. ‘Then I concede gracefully, of course, Lady Sally,’ he said smoothly. ‘Miss Odell…James…’

He bowed and strolled away, and Rachel looked at the newcomer with sharpened interest. This was the only remaining Kestrel that she had not met, and he stood out like a sparrow in a family of peacocks. He was neat where his cousins were flamboyant, quiet where they were gregarious. He seemed colourless beside them and Rachel felt her heart warming to him. She felt drawn to someone who did not quite fit into their surroundings.

The orchestra struck up for a country dance and suddenly the room was vivid with excitement. Justin Kestrel came across and solicited a dance from Lady Sally. Deborah Stratton strolled past on the arm of her brother-in-law, Ross Marney, whilst Cory Newlyn was prising Lily Benedict away
from Sir John Norton with a skill that argued long practice. Rachel waited.

James Kestrel adjusted his cuffs and admired his reflection in the long mirror on the wall behind them. Finally he said, ‘Would you care to dance, Miss Odell?’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Rachel said.

James offered a decorous arm.

‘This is a very elegant occasion, is it not?’ Rachel said, when they took their places in the set. ‘Lady Sally entertains in great style.’

James looked around. His thin face wore a slightly disapproving expression as though there were an unpleasant smell beneath his nose.

‘It is a little raffish,’ he said, ‘but that is what one expects when one invites a group of pirates and adventurers to visit.’

Rachel laughed. ‘Pirates, sir?’

James primmed his lips. ‘There are those here who are little better than pirates. John Norton, for instance…’

Rachel looked round. John Norton was close to them in the set. He saw her looking at him and gave her an exaggerated wink. Rachel blushed and looked quickly away.

‘Sir John is bound to win the Deben Yacht race, then,’ she said lightly, ‘if he is a privateer. Do you sail, sir?’

‘Good lord, no,’ James Kestrel said. ‘It is quite ruinous to the complexion, Miss Odell. Rather like polar exploration. Norton got the most shocking frostbite on his last trip. Almost ate through his nose.’ James looked her over thoughtfully. ‘I hear that you have been quite the traveller, Miss Odell,’ he said. ‘I am happy to see that the sun has not taken its toll on your skin. I suppose that you carry a parasol?’

‘Always,’ Rachel said. Her lips twitched. ‘Even in a sandstorm.’

James nodded. ‘Very wise. One cannot be too careful. Too much sun and one ends up looking a shocking fright.’

The dance progressed and they all changed partners. With
a flash of surprise, Rachel found herself taking Cory’s hand for the next figure. His fingers closed strongly around hers and he gave her his heart-shaking smile.

‘Good evening, Rachel. You look very pretty tonight. The golden gauze suits you.’

He was appraising her with a lazy familiarity that nevertheless held echoes of some other, more disturbing emotion. Rachel felt her heartbeat increase. There was something in his eyes that made her feel acutely vulnerable. But this was all wrong—Cory was not supposed to make her feel like this.

She fixed her gaze on a point beyond his right shoulder. It was a mistake, as it brought Helena Lang into her line of sight. Helena was dancing with Lord Northcote, but craning her neck to watch Cory. Rachel felt deeply irritated.

‘Good evening, Cory,’ she said. ‘Are you enjoying yourself in such a…promising environment?’

She saw Cory’s grey eyes widen at the sarcasm in her tone, then he flashed her a grin.

‘I am having a splendid time, I thank you, Rae. Lady Sally’s guests are charming.’

‘They are indeed,’ Rachel said, feeling cross. She was not sure why she wished to provoke him, but the need to do so seemed to go deep. ‘And you seem to be enjoying them to full measure!’

Cory’s hand tightened on hers and she looked up at him instinctively. There was a quizzical look in his eyes now. ‘What is the matter, Rae?’ he asked ‘Did you eat a prune at supper?’

Rachel felt a little light-headed. She could sense herself drawing near to some precipice and felt strangely as though she was about to rush straight over the edge. It had something to do with the need to annoy Cory as much as he was angering her with his thoughtless attentions and careless kisses. She did not like to see him flirting with Helena Lang or Lily Benedict. She felt jealous and angry and confused.
Nor did she know what she wanted—Cory’s friendship or his kisses.

‘I am sure that you understand me,’ she said tightly. ‘You are…generous…in your attentions, are you not? One might almost say indiscriminate.’

Cory’s gaze hardened into challenge. ‘Can it be that you are jealous, Rachel?’ he asked mockingly. ‘I thought you professed to want no more than friendship from me?’

Rachel felt trapped. That was what she had told him. It seemed that it was increasingly untrue. And she did not know what to say.

They continued the dance in silence for a few seconds, but it was a quiet that was taut as a bowstring. After a moment Rachel shot an exasperated look at Cory’s face.

‘I believe we should have a little more conversation,’ she said, ‘just to pass the time. Unfortunately, this is a long figure.’

She heard Cory sigh. ‘Very well. Since you claim to dislike rakes, then let us speak of men of another sort. Did you enjoy James Kestrel’s company? I see that he was talking to you, whilst admiring his own reflection, of course.’

Rachel felt hot with annoyance. There was a strong note of sarcasm in Cory’s tone and it infuriated her. Despite her own initial disappointment with James Kestrel, she was not prepared to allow Cory to disapprove of him.

‘He seems a very sensible man,’ she said.

‘Ah. You admire good sense, of course.’

‘I admire it more than I like recklessness, certainly. A sensible man is not so unreliable as an adventurer!’

She heard Cory draw a sharp breath. There was an undertone of anger in his voice now. ‘You are quick to provoke me tonight, Rachel. I cannot but wonder why.’

Rachel glared at him. ‘You are quick to criticise Mr Kestrel, if it comes to that, Cory! I also wonder why.’

Cory’s mouth set in a hard line. ‘Very well. It’s true that I don’t like James Kestrel. He is a worthless man. He cares
for nothing but his place in society and the starch in his shirts.’

Rachel frowned. ‘I had heard him described as a worthy man, not a worthless one. I think that he seems very sound.’

‘You are mistaken.’

Their conversation had of necessity been conducted in low tones because the dance kept them in such close proximity to the other couples. Now, however, Rachel found her voice rising to match the frustrated fury inside her.

‘You cannot forbear to meddle, can you, Cory? You always know best! This is the third time that you have warned me away from a gentleman who admires me. Well, you are
not
my brother and if I choose to recognise sober virtues where you do not, and value them above your own more dubious qualities, then that is my affair!’

With a shock, she realised that the music had stopped and the other dancers were regarding them with some curiosity. With a tight smile, Cory tucked her hand through his arm and steered her to the edge of the dance floor. Rachel could feel the tense anger that vibrated throughout his entire body. She was almost certain that he was about to drag her into a private room and continue the argument there. It would have been in character; on the rare occasions that they had quarrelled in their youth they had argued the matter out until it was finally settled. This felt different, however. Rachel did not know why, but this dispute felt sharp and painful and damaging. She knew that she had to act quickly in order to prevent any further hurt being done.

Unfortunately, she did not get the chance.

The dance had ended now and James Kestrel himself was approaching them with Lily Benedict on his arm.

Lady Benedict’s eyes lit up when she saw the two of them.

‘Miss Odell! What good fortune. Perhaps we might exchange partners?’ She shot Cory a flirtatious look. ‘I know that you will not mind if I importune Lord Newlyn to part
ner me in the quadrille, for as the two of you are such good friends I do not scruple to split you up!’

Rachel struggled to quell her fizzing temper. She wanted to have put things right with Cory and she also felt a strong aversion to surrendering him to Lily Benedict. Then, as she hesitated, Cory smiled at Lily and said unforgivably,

‘Of course you may importune me with my very good will, Lady Benedict! Miss Odell and I are such old friends that we are quite run out of new things to say to each other. I shall hand her over to Mr Kestrel with pleasure. Perhaps he may entertain her more than I do.’

And, with a mocking bow to Rachel, he turned to Lily and drew her away.

Through a mist of outraged fury, Rachel watched them retreat. She and Cory might be very old friends, but he had never been anything but polite to her in public before. She stood frozen to the spot, trying to collect her thoughts whilst Cory walked away without a backward glance.

She thought that James Kestrel was also watching Cory and Lady Benedict as they took their places for the quadrille, but when she looked at him he was rearranging his cuffs and checking his neckcloth.

‘I am surprised that you wish to claim acquaintance with Newlyn, Miss Odell,’ he said censoriously. ‘He can be a ramshackle fellow. Does as he pleases and has no manners at all.’

A hot denial sprang to Rachel’s lips, but she beat it down. Her thoughts were in a turmoil. She had no notion why she would wish to defend Cory against criticism when she was so angry with him herself, but to hear James Kestrel condemn him just seemed to make her feel even more wretched.

‘Lord Newlyn and I have known each other for years,’ she said sharply. ‘He is like a brother to me, and, as you saw, shows a brotherly lack of respect on occasion. I do not regard it.’

She knew that she lied. Cory’s words had hurt her deeply
and a flame of anger was still burning hotly inside her as she watched him give Lily Benedict his undivided attention. She allowed James to take her arm and lead her over to one of the open windows, where the breeze did a little alleviate her heated feelings. Olivia Marney was sitting alone in the next alcove, drooping a little as she thought herself unobserved. Ross Marney was dancing with Lady Sally and Mr Daubenay, the artist, was standing a short distance away, sketching Lady Odell. A small, admiring group had gathered around them as Lady Sally’s guests watched the portrait grow.

James Kestrel flicked a minute speck of dust from his sleeve.

‘Would you care to meet tomorrow afternoon, Miss Odell?’ he asked, sounding a little bored. ‘If it is a pleasant day we could drive along the river.’

Rachel hesitated. She was disinclined to spend much time with James Kestrel, for she had quickly divined that his favourite subject was himself and nothing else could raise any enthusiasm in him. On the other hand she could not bear for Cory to think that she had turned Mr Kestrel away because of anything that he had said. It was a foolish and contrary reason to accept, and Rachel knew it. Nevertheless she nodded and forced a smile.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘That would be delightful.’

‘It may rain, of course,’ James Kestrel continued. ‘If it rains, I think we should postpone our plans. It would never do to undertake anything so foolhardy as to go out in the rain.’

‘No, indeed,’ Rachel agreed, visions of weatherswept excavations in the Shetland Islands before her eyes. ‘One could get most horribly wet.’

‘One of my best jackets was once damaged by rain,’ James said. ‘One of Weston’s finest creations. It never recovered from the experience.’

‘It sounds as though you did not recover either, sir,’ Rachel observed sweetly.

James’s pale eyes gleamed. ‘I did not, Miss Odell. Not only was the jacket ruined, but I took a shocking chill as well. I swear it took me a week to recover my spirits.’

Rachel found herself wishing that the chill had carried him off. She excused herself politely and made her way over to the group that encircled Lady Odell. Mr Daubenay was just finishing the drawing, with a flourish of his pencil and a triumphant exclamation. Rachel craned her neck to see. Daubenay really was very good indeed. He had made no concessions to the toll that time and weather had taken on Lady Odell’s face, but the finished effort captured all her character and spirit. Rachel was impressed. She had never been a portraitist herself, but she had once sketched her parents’ entire collection of Egyptian antiquities before they had lent them to display at the Egyptology exhibition at the British Museum.

‘Devil take it, man,’ Lady Odell exclaimed with great good humour, ‘do I really possess four chins? How damnably unflattering!’

‘I think that Mr Daubenay has captured you perfectly, Mama,’ Rachel said tactfully. ‘He sees through the outside and draws the soul.’

The artist beamed, clearly delighted. ‘You flatter me, Miss Odell.’

‘Not at all,’ Cory Newlyn’s voice said. Rachel jumped to see him looking over her shoulder. ‘Miss Odell is in the right of it, Daubenay. Perhaps you could sketch her next. What would you see, I wonder? Youth, beauty and a sweet disposition?’