A Regency Earl's Pleasure: The Earl Plays With Fire / Society's Most Scandalous Rake. Isabelle Goddard
Christabel came down to breakfast the next morning still looking pale, but unruffled. She’d spent a difficult night, unable to sleep with any ease. Her mind had for hours refused to stop its constant churning of the past week’s events, but finally she had found some repose. Her decision was made. She had allowed herself to be manipulated, to be too easily swayed by feelings she should never entertain. From now on she must ignore Richard’s behaviour and concentrate on her own. With great severity she reminded herself that she was the only person responsible for her actions. If she could hold to that determination, she would cope with what lay ahead. Sophia’s chatter had alerted her to Sir Julian’s return to town and she knew that it would not be long before he renewed his proposal. She must be ready.
She saw that her mother had taken note of her pallor and was looking at her with gentle concern. ‘Bel, are you well enough to pay that morning call on Lady Blythe?’
‘I feel a good deal better, thank you, Mama, and I will be happy to go.’
It was a lie, for Domino was likely to be present and the thought of meeting the girl so soon after the disasters of the picnic troubled her. But she needed to appear unconcerned and calm in the face of any suspicions her mother might harbour.
Lady Harriet looked relieved. Her daughter seemed not to have been so badly affected by yesterday’s events as she had feared. And she had a mountainous collection of letters awaiting her attention. Christabel’s offer to attend on Loretta Blythe was most welcome.
‘Perhaps Sophia would care to accompany you?’ her mother suggested tentatively.
But Sophia instantly forestalled that notion; she was far too busy this morning organising her steadily increasing wardrobe. Christabel was more than happy to go attended only by her maid, and a walk to Curzon Street would be a pleasant escape from the house. The rain clouds, which yesterday had appeared out of nowhere, had vanished entirely and in their place was the deepest blue covering and a spring sun already climbing the sky and warming the world it shone on.
She sauntered slowly along the tree-lined pavements with Rosa by her side. The slightest of breezes washed over her, catching at the primrose ribbons in her hair and twisting them in and out of the soft tendrils of auburn that framed her face. With each step on this glorious day she felt herself walking away from discord and entering a place of deep calm. The night had brought counsel. Whatever the truth of Richard’s relationship with Domino, it was their affair, not hers. It was immaterial, too, whether the passion he’d poured on her was genuine or simply feigned as part of his plan to punish. Certainly those moments by the lakeside, moments scorched into her consciousness, had not appeared feigned. He had seemed as fevered, as impassioned, as she.
‘Curzon Street is the third turning on the right, Miss Christabel,’ her maid reminded her. ‘What number is Lady Blythe’s?’
‘Number Twelve, I believe,’ she answered absently.
No, it wasn’t important whether or not he’d meant the caresses he’d lavished on her—what was important was how she reacted to them. And so far her reactions had been far from laudable. Twice in the last few days she’d been overcome by desire for a man who should mean nothing to her. The old Christabel, rebellious and passionate, had risen again and exploded into the ardour of yesterday’s embrace. But she was no longer the girl she’d been and instead must be true to her new life. How could she have allowed herself to behave in that fashion when she was as good as promised to another man? And such an upright man who would never give her cause for concern. He would never find himself locked in a fervent embrace with a lover from his past! The unlikely image made her smile.
‘This day is meant for smiling, is it not?’
A male voice cleaved through her thoughts. Richard was there, in front of her, doffing his curly-brimmed beaver, grey eyes smiling and flecked by the sun’s rays. As always his Hessians were polished to a blinding finish, complementing a pair of immaculate, close-fitting cream pantaloons clearly designed to display his legs to advantage. She forced herself to remember the vows of just a few minutes ago.
‘It is a most beautiful morning,’ she agreed, trying to keep her voice steady and her gaze neutral. Trying very hard not to think of their last encounter, their last few minutes together.
A difficult silence began to develop.
‘At least we can be certain that today we won’t receive a soaking,’ he said mildly in an attempt to break it. ‘I trust you suffered no ill effects from yesterday’s downpour.’
‘Indeed, no,’ she responded quickly, relieved at this unexceptional topic of conversation, ‘though I felt very sorry for the Wivenhoes. They had taken so much trouble over the arrangements only to see their plans ruined.’
‘Forces of nature can’t be gainsaid.’
His remark had been lightly meant, but it was not the most felicitous, he thought. A force of nature had destroyed the icy reserve which for years had defended Christabel, and he was responsible. He was not proud of that. In the night watches he’d argued himself into never-ending circles. It was essential that he prove her base, yet she was the woman who warmed him, excited him, entranced him. His plan was a clever strategy, he told himself, yet he felt shame in its tawdriness.
The image of Christabel’s abject unhappiness haunted him, knowing that he was its architect. It turned out that her unhappiness was his also. Yesterday by the lakeside he’d wanted to take her into his arms and kiss the tears away one by one. And he had taken her in his arms. More than that, he’d felt every beautiful curve of her and his heart had sung. When he’d caressed her, she’d responded as ardently as he could ever wish. He could have taken her there and then, he was sure—hotly, urgently, beneath the sheeting rain. What was that but inconstancy! He had surely proved what he’d set out to, proved that she was incapable of being true. By rights he should feel free, released from her spell, so why did he not?
In truth, in the deepest recesses of his heart, he could not believe her a false woman. She had been disloyal once, in a lifetime of loyalty. So why had she behaved so much out of character and to such devastating result? During the endless night, watching the shadows darken into unrelieved blackness, watching the dewy light of dawn creep gradually into the four corners of his room, he too had come to a decision.
He had to know why she’d betrayed him. He had to hear it from her lips. If he could understand that, then he was certain that he would finally be able to lay the past to rest.
Silence stretched between them once more and again he was the one to break it.
‘Are you on your way anywhere in particular? May I escort you?’
‘Thank you, but I’m very close to my destination. I am to pay a morning call on Lady Blythe.’
‘Then let me offer you my arm,’ he said briskly, nodding dismissal to Rosa. ‘You may return home, your mistress will not need you.’
Before Christabel could protest, her maid had begun retracing her steps to Mount Street.
She did not take his arm, but stood facing him on the narrow pavement.
‘That was high-handed, Lord Veryan. It is my prerogative to dismiss my maid.’
‘I’m sorry if you disapprove. I have no wish to quarrel with you.’
‘That would certainly be a change,’ she returned acidly. His arrogance had helped her regain her poise.
‘I hoped that I might speak with you alone.’ His tone was level, giving no hint of what he might be feeling. And for a moment he appeared unwilling to go on, unable to find the words he needed to broach the topic burning so brightly in his mind.
‘Shall we walk on?’ The movement seemed to act as a release. ‘After yesterday, you see, I’ve done some thinking,’ he