The Rake's Mistress (18 page)

‘Lucas,’ Justin Kestrel said from beside them, and his voice cracked like a whip, ‘I am persuaded that you would not wish to draw any further attention to Miss Raleigh in such a public place.’

They both jumped and Lucas released Rebecca’s wrist.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. His gaze still smouldered. He backed away and sketched a bow. ‘You will excuse me. I shall be better off in the card room.’

Justin Kestrel offered Rebecca his arm. ‘I believe,’ he said smoothly, ‘that Lucas is finding the experience of unrequited love more trying than he had imagined, Miss Raleigh.’

‘I am also finding it rather difficult, your Grace,’ Rebecca retorted, trying to quell her shaking.

Justin laughed. ‘Lucas can be very determined when he wants something sufficiently.’

‘As can I,’ Rebecca said. ‘I have not forgotten that once my stay here is complete I shall be returning home.’

She had not forgotten, but she was finding it increasingly difficult. The more time that passed the easier it seemed to believe that she belonged here and, worse, that she belonged with Lucas. She had to hold on to the truth at all costs, and the truth did not include a future with Lord Lucas Kestrel. It was as simple as that.

‘So, Miss Raleigh,’ Lady Sally said, ‘what do you think of
The History of Miss Harriot Montague?
’

The eyes of the reading group were fixed on Rebecca. It made her a little nervous. Although Rachel Newlyn and Olivia Marney had both been extremely friendly to her, Chloe Ducheyne and Helena Lang were, as far as Rebecca could tell, gossiping quizzes in the making, and Lily Benedict was without a doubt the most spiteful creature that Rebecca had ever had the misfortune to meet. She clutched the handsome brown morocco edition in her hand and tried not to feel as though she were back in the schoolroom.

‘I find it improbable,’ she said. ‘So many abductions and kidnappings, and adventures and pirates! I doubt that anyone could survive so much excitement.’

‘I fear you are of distressingly practical disposition, Miss Raleigh,’ Lily Benedict said, smiling her feline smile and regarding Rebecca through half-closed eyes. ‘I suppose you do not believe that such brigands truly exist?’

‘I am sure that they do,’ Rebecca said crisply, ‘but that they are nowhere near as romantic as the heroes of literature.’

Lily Benedict gave a tinkle of laughter. ‘I am certain that no dyed-in-the-wool villains could withstand your sternness, Miss Raleigh. They would wither beneath your pitiless regard!’

‘Surely Miss Raleigh’s point is correct,’ Rachel Newlyn interposed. ‘In literature one may allow one’s imagination full reign, whereas in life—’

‘In life one never gets swept off one’s feet by a handsome hero!’ Lily Benedict said. She tittered. ‘Oh, but of course that was exactly what happened to you, Lady Newlyn! I forgot! And to Miss Raleigh herself, if Lord Lucas Kestrel has his way! Will he have his way with you, Miss Raleigh?’

There was a sharp intake of breath around the circle. Some, such as Rachel and Olivia Marney, were looking disapproving of Lily Benedict’s blatant malice. Others were looking intrigued.

‘I have a very cousinly regard for Lord Lucas, Lady Benedict,’ Rebecca said. ‘However, I assure you that it is no more than that.’

‘You looked extremely close, if not cousinly, at Lady Sally’s ball,’ Lily Benedict said. ‘And I must confess that it is difficult to see Lord Lucas as anything other than a very attractive man.’

‘Even attractive men have mothers, sisters—and cousins,’ Rebecca said drily.

‘Lily,’ Lady Sally interrupted, ‘much as I enjoy a good gossip, I do believe we are here to discuss Miss Harriot Mon-tague’s romantic trials and tribulations rather than those of anyone else.’

Lily Benedict waved one white hand dismissively. ‘I merely ask what everyone else wishes to know, Sally—is Lord Lucas Kestrel caught in a parson’s mousetrap? If so, it would be a good joke for the man who has broken half the hearts in London!’

‘You exaggerate, Lily,’ Lady Sally said calmly.

‘I beg your pardon. A quarter of the hearts in London, then.’

‘That woman is as unpleasant a creature as one could ever find,’ Rebecca fumed as she and Rachel walked back to Kestrel Court after the meeting of the reading group. ‘I cannot believe that we are engaged to dine at Midwinter Bere this evening! Justin and Lucas seemed anxious to fulfill the obligation, whereas I fear every morsel of food will stick in my throat!’

Rachel nodded sympathetically. ‘It is only because they hope for the opportunity to search
Midwinter Bere house,’ she pointed out. ‘Lady Benedict rarely entertains because her husband is an invalid, and since Sir John Norton does not appear to have the engravings in his possession, suspicion inevitably falls on her.’

‘The idea is foolish,’ Rebecca said shortly. ‘What, is Lady Benedict to entertain us to dinner with her engraved crystal sitting on the table? Surely even she would not be so arrogant as to parade it when she must know she is under suspicion?’

Rachel grimaced. ‘She is intolerably proud and it may well be that arrogance that brings her down.’

Rebecca kicked in vicious and unladylike fashion at a pile of autumn leaves drifting down from the bank. ‘It cannot be too soon for me!’

Rachel smiled and tied the ribbons of her bonnet more securely beneath her chin. ‘You seem most put out by Lady Benedict’s spite, Rebecca,’ she observed. ‘I know that she is a wicked scandalmonger, but I wonder whether her barbs have upset you because they have so much truth in them?’

Rebecca cast her a sideways glance. There was nothing but concern in Rachel’s face; none of the curiosity that she had encountered from the ladies of Midwinter, none of the envious speculation.

‘I am sorry,’ she said, with difficulty. ‘You have been the kindest of friends to me, Rachel, and I know that I am very bad at confiding.’

Rachel gave a little elegant wave of the hand. ‘You need confide nothing if you do not wish, Rebecca. Once before I said that I would stand your friend if you needed me; I merely wanted you to know that the offer still stands.’

Rebecca nodded. ‘Thank you, Rachel. You are most kind.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose I
am
a little liverish because I am finding it difficult to remember that I dislike Lucas Kestrel. He is very good at making me forget it.’

Rachel laughed. ‘Oh, dear—must you keep reminding yourself?’

‘I think so,’ Rebecca said. ‘He did deceive me.’

‘And has been most sincerely repentant on the subject.’

‘And I am supposed to be spurning his advances.’

‘As part of a pretence, perhaps, but in real life?’ Rachel frowned. ‘If you like Lucas, Rebecca—if you can forgive him—I would suggest that you give him a chance to redeem himself. It is a melancholy thing to punish both of you when you might be happier together.’

Rebecca clasped her gloved fingers together tightly. ‘It is not so simple, Rachel. I love Lucas. I loved him even when I was angry with him. In
fact…’ Rebecca hesitated ‘… I was probably so angry because I loved him so much, if that makes sense.’

‘Perfect sense,’ Rachel said sagely. ‘I see. You love Lucas, but you are not certain if he loves you too.’

Rebecca shrugged dispiritedly. ‘I know that there are those who hold that love is not essential for marriage, but I am not amongst them.’

‘Nor I,’ Rachel said. ‘It is a melancholy thing to settle for second best.’

‘So I believe,’ Rebecca said. ‘Which is why it is easier for me to keep Lucas at arm’s length.’

Rachel looked unconvinced. ‘I do believe that Lucas cares for you a great deal, Rebecca. One only requires to watch him with you to realise that.’

Rebecca blushed. ‘Liking and wanting someone are different from loving them, Rachel.’

‘I understand that. What I am unsure of is whether Lucas does.’ Rachel glanced quickly at Rebecca. ‘Please do not misunderstand me. Lucas has not confided in either Cory or myself. Having known him for a little, however, I would say that he has been caught off guard by his feelings for you, Rebecca, and may not yet have realised quite how important they are. Men,’ Rachel said, with a little sigh, ‘can be rather slow in recognising these matters.’

They had reached the place where the path to Midwinter Royal split from that to Kestrel Court.

‘I will not come back for a cup of tea,’ Rachel said, ‘for Mama is expecting me back to help catalogue some artifacts she has found in the burial field. We shall see you tonight at Lady Benedict’s dinner, Rachel.’

Dinner at Midwinter Bere was every bit as bad as Rebecca had anticipated it would be. Lily Benedict had elected to place Justin Kestrel on her right and Lucas on her left, putting Rebecca at the very bottom of the table between her husband and John Norton. It was extremely unusual for Sir Edgar Benedict to be present at any social occasion and he sat in his Bath chair, a huddled figure smelling strongly of old, musty clothes and cloying illness, and said not a single word. Occasionally his hooded gaze would sweep the assembled throng like a malignant crow until he would bend his head over his food once again, speaking only to the assiduous servant who was by his side throughout.

That left Rebecca to the tender mercies of Sir John Norton, who seemed delighted to be squiring her for the evening and told her many, protracted tales of his Arctic exploration and his sailing prowess. Rebecca listened and smiled in all the right places and noted that the crystal on the table was
very fine, seventeenth-century Dutch workmanship, but that it certainly was not the glass engraved by her uncle for the Midwinter spies.

It was later, when the ladies withdrew after dinner, that she saw something that made her heart leap into her throat and made her wonder whether there was, after all, someone in the Benedict household with a closer connection to her uncle than she had supposed. On a pedestal in the shadowed alcove by the library door was a tall glass vase with an exquisite engraving of a sailing ship on it. It was certainly the work of George Provost’s workshop. Rebecca’s heart started to race. She could not see the detail of the vase clearly in the dim light, but it roused her curiosity and made her wonder whether there were any other pieces in the house.

She allowed the other ladies to stroll on ahead of her, then slipped unseen into the library. It seemed as good a place as any to start. It was a gloomy chamber that seemed to fit all too well Sir Edgar’s melancholy personality, and whilst there were various pieces of sculpture on plinths about the room, there were no other pieces of engraved glass. Rebecca, aware that she could not be missing for too long, heaved a sigh and retraced her steps into the hall. She looked again at the engraved vase. It was most definitely her uncle’s
work, which meant that someone in the household must have placed a commission for work with George Provost at some time. She had no recollection of it having been made, but that was not extraordinary. In her uncle’s heyday the engraving workshop had been inundated with orders.

Deep in thought, Rebecca rounded the corner of the corridor and walked straight into Lucas. He grabbed her above the elbows and held her hard. He looked absolutely furious.

‘I have been searching for you everywhere. What the
devil
do you think you are doing, Rebecca?’

Rebecca was stung by his tone. ‘What do you think I was doing? I was
trying
to find the engraved glass. I thought that to be the purpose of our visit!’

‘You do
not
go off wandering about on your own!’ Lucas shook her slightly. ‘Good God, Rebecca, have you understood nothing? This is dangerous work!’

Rebecca was shaken by the savage undertone in his voice. ‘I am perfectly aware of that, Lucas,’ she said, with dignity, ‘and I do not think it adds anything to the secrecy of our situation for you to stand upbraiding me in the corridor. Anyone might hear you!’

They stood glaring at one another. There was the sound of a door closing, footsteps, raised
voices. Rebecca tried to move away but, quick as a flash, Lucas’s arms went around her hard and his mouth came down on hers in a ruthless kiss.

Rebecca could not move, could not break free, and did not want to. The moment Lucas had touched her she was lost, knowing this was what she had wanted through the long, lonely nights when she had lain alone in her bed, tormented to know that Lucas was so close to her and yet so far away. Her body trembled and went soft with acquiescence and the kiss eased at once. Lucas bit down gently on her full lower lip then rubbed it with the tip of his tongue, teasing, dipping inside her mouth and then retreating. It melted her and made her reach blindly for him. In return he moved his mouth over hers with a thoroughness that had her sighing. She had forgotten about their audience until there was the sound of gentle laughter close at hand and Lady Sally Saltire spoke from out of the shadows.

‘I do believe,’ she said, and the amusement was clear in her voice, ‘that your cousin has overcome her indifference to Lord Lucas, Justin!’

Rebecca jumped as though scalded, but even then Lucas was slow to let her go, releasing her with every sign of reluctance. Justin Kestrel and Lady Sally were standing a mere ten feet away, Lady Sally looking speculative and Justin looking
quite blank. Rebecca could not tell whether he approved or not.

Lucas drew her close to his side. It was difficult to resist the reassuring protectiveness of his gesture.

‘I wondered,’ Justin said in measured tone, ‘whether you were ready to depart, Miss Raleigh? It is a shame to cut the evening short, but I think it wise not to tax Sir Edgar’s strength too much.’

The journey back to Kestrel Court was conducted in simmering silence. As soon as they were through the door, Lucas murmured an apology to his brother, caught Rebecca’s arm and bundled her though the door of the drawing room.

‘I do not believe that we had finished our conversation,’ he said pleasantly.

‘No!’ Rebecca spun around. She was feeling edgy and vulnerable. ‘You will not use kissing me as…as an excuse for loitering in corridors, Lord Lucas!’

‘You were the one who was loitering,’ Lucas said, a gleam in his eyes. ‘I could not be certain who was about to come across us and needed to provide a good reason as to why we should be standing in the shadows outside Lady Benedict’s library.’