A Regency Invitation to the House Party of the Season (9 page)

‘I do not think that would be a very good idea,’ Peter said.

‘Then you will lose Quinlan Court.’

‘Very probably.’

Cassie took a step towards him. She could feel her heart beating. ‘If I wanted you to stay…’ she began.

His gaze came up to hers. There was an expression in his eyes that made her throat ache. He waited.

‘You said that you had not been able to prove to me that you loved me,’ she said, and now her voice was not quite steady. ‘That is not true. You have proved it to me today.’ She looked at him, her gaze pleading with him to understand.

‘I should have let you speak for yourself,’ Peter said, with the ghost of a smile. ‘That, after all, was what I was trying to say.’

Cassie nodded. ‘Just this once,’ she said, her smile mirroring his, ‘I will forgive you. For who else would have spoken up for me and defended me and
understood
me so well as the man who loves me?’

She saw the vivid flash of expression in his face. The boots fell from his hand to crash on the floor and then he was across the room and was kissing her violently. He picked her up and practically threw her on to the bed, following her down into its embracing folds, tangling his hands in her hair, holding her head still so that he could ravish her mouth with feverish need.

Their clothes came off in a storm of ripping material and flying buttons. Peter’s hands were on her everywhere and her whole body lifted to meet his touch. The excitement and the urgency slammed through her and she pressed closer to him, a little shudder going through her as she felt the ruthless efficiency with which he removed the last layers of material between them. He pinned her down with his hands on her hips and his mouth was hot on her breast and when he slid inside her, her mind and body splintered simultaneously into
tiny fragments and she would have screamed aloud in ecstasy had Peter not covered her mouth with his own. It was over in a few, blinding, desperate, exquisite minutes.

They fell apart, panting, damp with exertion, and Peter tumbled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, muffled.

Cassie struggled to free herself sufficiently to see his expression. Her mind was still spinning and her blood pounding, but she was in no doubt that it had been the most blissful experience of her entire life.

‘Sorry?’ she said. A cold breath of doubt touched her heart. ‘Was it not meant to be like that?’ she enquired politely.

She saw his rueful smile. He looked heartbreakingly dishevelled and worried and so utterly delicious that she felt her insides melt to look on him.

‘No, my darling, it was not,’ he said. ‘The first time with one’s innocent bride is supposed to be slow and gentle and considerate—’ He broke off as Cassie gave an unladylike snort of laughter and rolled over, entangling the twisted sheet about her naked body.

‘Gentle!’

‘I know. I wanted you too much. I’ve always wanted you—from the very first.’

Cassie’s laughter stilled and she put a hand out and touched his lips. The expression in his face changed. He slid a hand around the nape of her neck and swiftly, inexorably drew her face down for his kiss.

‘Like this,’ he said, in the second before his lips touched hers.

Cassie held him to her as he kissed her, rubbing her hands over the smooth skin of his back, distracted by
the satiny feel of him under her palms. When he broke the kiss she pulled away a little.

‘Peter, should we not talk now?’

‘No,’ Peter said, and he took her mouth again before she could argue with him, kissing her until she was breathless. The hard, lean length of him was pressed against her and Cassie wriggled closer still, a gasp escaping from her as he pinned her down beneath his weight.

‘Peter…’

‘My love?’ He bent his head to her breast. The heat flooded through her, intense, pleasurable. Cassie gave a little moan.

‘Peter…’

His fingers slid up the soft skin of her thigh, slyly stroking, then slickly inside her. Cassie arched and squirmed as the sensation pulsed deep within her. She was tantalised, ravished, silenced. She turned her face to his in mute appeal, shifting her body eagerly to accommodate his until he answered the unspoken plea and eased himself inside her again, this time slowly and with utter tenderness. But then Cassie caught him to her and raked her fingernails down the hard muscles of his back and the whole thing became most ungentle and his gasp of urgent pleasure turned her feelings inside out. The sheer excitement and power of it sent her tumbling over the edge into absolute delight, pulling Peter with her as she fell.

And after that they slept for a long time.

Cassie awoke to find the sheets tangled about her in wanton disarray, her clothes scattered across the floor and Peter’s arm lying across her in careless possession. She felt so happy that she held her breath for a long
moment, afraid to burst the bubble. Then Peter turned his head on the pillow and opened his eyes and smiled at her.

‘Cassie? Sweetheart…’

‘We must get up!’ Cassie shot up in bed as she realised how late it was. ‘We have done this all the wrong way round. I never get things right!’

‘It felt very right to me,’ Peter murmured, holding her still. He pressed his lips to the damp skin in the hollow above her collarbone.

‘But we were supposed to get married first and now everyone will know what has been going on and we have missed luncheon and probably dinner as well.’ Cassie covered her face with her hands. In her mind was a vision of the entire population of Lyndhurst Chase lined up outside the bedroom door like a disapproving reception committee.

Peter took her hands gently away from her face.

‘My darling, you may have forgotten, but I have a special licence that has been hidden away in my pocket for two weeks—apart from the time it has spent in Lady Margaret’s possession, of course.’

‘Hmm…’ Cassie said. She started to feel a little easier. ‘I suppose that it would be a pity to waste it when you went to so much trouble to bring it in the first place.’

Peter leaned on one elbow and looked down into her face, smoothing the unruly hair away gently.

‘Indeed it would. And since I have just taken you without benefit of clergy, my love, I intend to remedy that as soon as possible.’ He kissed the side of her breast. ‘If you still want to marry me, that is.’

Cassie smiled radiantly into his eyes. ‘I think that would be rather splendid,’ she said. She pushed him gently away as his caresses threatened to distract her.
‘Let us make haste to find the vicar,’ she said, ‘and then perhaps we may think about doing this again—more slowly this time.’

‘We can certainly try,’ Peter said.

The wedding was a very private affair in the church at Lynd with Anthony and Eliza as witnesses, John and Sarah representing the rest of the family and Timms attending on behalf of the servants. As the solemn words of the marriage service were exchanged, Cassie saw Eliza give Timms one speaking look, then turn aside surreptitiously to wipe a tear from her cheek on the pretext of sniffing the bouquet of late summer roses that she was holding. Timms’s face was even more impassive than ever, his bearing stiff and soldierly, but beneath it Cassie thought that she sensed a certain emotion. She wondered whether Eliza would ever achieve that home and family for which she longed.

The wedding breakfast back at the Chase was a triumph of culinary expertise whipped up at a moment’s notice and later they all retired to the ladies’ sitting room to sit and chat contentedly about the day.

‘I am planning on holding a fireworks party up on the roof as part of our celebrations,’ Anthony said later, smiling at Cassie. ‘I thought it most apt, and a fine culmination to our house party.’

‘Great-aunt Harriet will be sick as a cushion to have missed the wedding and all your entertainments here,’ Cassie said mischievously. ‘You had best break the news to her gently, Anthony, or you will never hear the end of it.’

Anthony groaned. ‘She will hear of it soon enough, Cass. I had this letter from her only this morning.’

He passed a sheet of stiff paper across to Cassie. She immediately recognised the sharp, black writing:

‘I am astounded that you did not see fit to invite me to Lyndhurst Chase for your house party, Anthony. Such a breach of manners would never have occurred in my younger days, but I fear that your generation are sadly lacking in courtesy…I can only be charitable and assume that my invitation was sent and failed to reach me. On that understanding I am setting out for Berkshire immediately…’

Cassie giggled. ‘Oh, no! Great-aunt Harriet will be with us any day! How diverting. If one is looking for fireworks, look no further!’

‘Diverting is one word for it,’ Anthony said morosely. For a moment he seemed sunk in gloom, then roused himself a little. ‘Are we to enjoy your company for at least a short while before you take your wedding trip, Quinlan?’

‘A few weeks, perhaps,’ Peter said, ‘to give me the opportunity to organise something appropriate.’ He smiled at Cassie. ‘If you do not mind, Lyndhurst?’

‘Delighted, old fellow,’ Anthony said. He saw the way that Cassie was pulling on Peter’s arm, practically trying to drag him from the room. ‘Do not let me hold you up now, though,’ he said with a resigned look. ‘I imagine that the two of you will be wanting to…ah…spend some time alone. Better go before my cousin quite wrenches your arm from the socket, old chap, in her desperation to have you all to herself.’

‘Poor Anthony,’ Cassie said, as they went up the oaken stairs to bed. ‘I do believe today has been very hard for him. Did you see the look on his face when we were in church? I swear he must have been thinking of Georgiana, for he could not quite disguise his unhappi
ness. I wish—’ She broke off, shaking her head. ‘I want him to be happy too!’

‘I know,’ Peter said, stopping to kiss her. ‘You want everyone to be as happy as you are.’

‘Yes! For then there is poor Eliza as well.’

Peter put a finger to her lips. ‘You cannot manage everyone’s life for them, Cassie, no matter how you wish it! You can only let matters take their course. And who knows what might happen?’

‘I suppose so.’ Cassie snuggled closer. ‘And for tonight I am very content to concentrate on my own affairs.’

They had reached the door of their room and Peter carried Cassie across the threshold before putting her down gently. She turned up her face for his kiss, but for a moment he stood gazing down at her before he took a step back in an oddly formal manner.

‘Cassie,’ he said, ‘there is something that I must give you. I should have done it sooner but then, as you so rightly pointed out, we have done things the wrong way round.’ From the pocket of his jacket he took a battered little box and held it out to her. Cassie took it and opened it slowly, her eyes widening in wonder as she saw the sapphire ring that nestled in the velvet bed within.

‘It was my mother’s betrothal ring,’ Peter said, adding apologetically, ‘it is the only item of family jewellery that my father has not sold or pawned.’

Cassie slipped it on to her finger and smiled mistily at him. ‘It is very beautiful, Peter. It means a very great deal to me.’

‘I brought it with me,’ Peter said, ‘along with the special licence.’ He cleared his throat. ‘There is something else,’ he said.

Cassie’s eyes widened as she searched his face.

‘You may remember that you said a little while ago that you did not ask for my undying love, only my respect and regard?’

‘I remember,’ Cassie whispered.

‘Well, I fear that you have it anyway,’ Peter said. ‘My undying love is yours to do with as you will.’ He watched as the delicious smile lit her eyes and curved her lips and he felt a huge surge of love swell within him and almost crush him with its pure intensity.

Cassie saw it, too, reflected in his eyes. Her own were brimming with happy tears. She took a step forward and touched his cheek. ‘Oh, Peter, you idiot!’ she said. ‘I love you too.’

‘So romantic,’ Peter murmured, and then he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed and demonstrated his undying love for her in the most blissful and thoroughly satisfactory way imaginable.

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A
my Devereaux paused outside the door to the master bedchamber and listened. Nothing. Nor should there be. The master of the house was at dinner with all his guests. Amy herself had seen his valet below stairs not five minutes before, comfortably settled with a decanter of port. And since poor Major Lyndhurst had no wife to warm his bed, there was no one else who had reason to be in his bedchamber.

Still, Amy hesitated.

She put her hands to her huge, ugly cap to ensure it was still straight. A tiny wisp of hair had escaped just above her right ear. Ruthlessly, she tucked it away. No one must see her hair. Its silver-blonde colour was much too memorable. As were her violet-blue eyes, even hidden behind thick spectacles. Either might lead some of those above stairs to look
at
her, instead of
through
her, as they normally did. And that could be a disaster for her role as Amelia Dent, high-class dresser to the noble Countess of Mardon.

Amy’s heart was racing. She reached for the door handle and turned. It slipped under her damp palm. Good
ness, she was nervous. She rapidly wiped her hand on the skirt of her plain, loose-fitting gown.

Deep breath. Turn the handle. Walk into the chamber as if you had every right to be there. And if anyone should be there to challenge you, you have only to say that you are on an errand for your mistress and must have mistaken the room. Do it now!

In a trice, Amy was inside and had closed the door at her back. She let out a long breath. Although it was still light outside, the curtains were tightly closed. With no candles burning, there was only the light of the fire to see by. Amy stood for a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, then scanned the huge empty chamber. Everything was in immaculate order. Except that a tall screen stood between the door and the fireplace, no doubt to keep the draught from the Major while he took his bath.

Oh, heavens! What if the maids had yet to come to empty it?

With pounding heart, Amy moved swiftly towards the fireplace. She dared not search the room until she had checked the bath.

‘Good evening.’

Amy let out a gasp and stopped dead. There, standing in the bath tub in front of the fire, was a totally naked man.

‘Hand me that towel, will you?’

Amy could not move. Her throat was suddenly so tight that she could barely breathe. Her skin seemed to be on fire.

Every last inch of it.

‘Are you deaf, woman? The towel, if you please.’

For a long, dangerous moment, Amy could not tear her gaze from his naked body. Eventually, she forced
herself to bow her head and close her eyes against the sight. But the image was still there, engraven on her mind. The first naked man she had ever seen. Leashed power under smooth skin, shimmering with the last drops of moisture from his bath.

He had grown tired of waiting. With an oath, he stepped out of the bath and reached for the huge towel hanging in front of the fire.

But he made no move to wrap it round his naked body. Instead, he turned back to Amy, the towel dangling from his fingers. He looked at her searchingly, studying her scarlet face for a long moment and then allowing his gaze to roam slowly over her body. Even in the half-light, he was stripping her with his eyes. As if she were as naked as he!

At last, his eyes came back to her slightly bowed head. They were hard eyes. Assessing eyes. ‘Who are you?’ he snapped. ‘What are you doing here?’

Amy swallowed nervously, not daring to look directly at him. Her brain was refusing to function. She could not think. And she certainly could not speak.

He cursed again. More vehemently this time. Then, with a single supple movement, he put his hands to Amy’s shoulders and drew her towards him. She could feel the soft warmth of the towel against the skin of her neck. And the strength of his long fingers biting into the flesh of her shoulders through her coarse gown.

‘Perhaps this will restore your voice,’ he murmured softly.

And then he lowered his mouth towards hers.

Amy was too shocked to pull away. She felt, for a second, as if she were dreaming. A misty dream filled with the subtle scents of soap and clean skin. Then the dream burst into life. With vivid colour. And the warmth
of his mouth hovering just above her own. Amy’s parched lips seemed to open of their own accord, and she ran her tongue over her bottom lip.

‘No,’ he said softly against her mouth. ‘Tempting…but no.’ He put her brusquely away from him and busied himself with the towel.

Amy found herself staring at the floor with wide, unseeing eyes. What on earth had happened to her? Why had she done nothing to stop him?

The man now had his back to her. He was bent towards the fire, towelling his legs. She must have made a sound of some kind, for he turned his head to look up at her. His expression was a mixture of boredom and distaste. ‘For such a knowing piece,’ he said harshly, ‘you are remarkably tongue-tied. Do you make a habit of offering yourself to your betters? We are not all so easily taken in, you know.’ He straightened. Then he wrapped the towel around the lower half of his body.

At last!

‘I did not—’ Amy’s voice cracked. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard. ‘You are mistaken, sir. And your words are insulting.’ She risked one quick glance at his face.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Indeed?’

Stupid, stupid! No servant would ever say such a thing to a gentleman. Even when it was true! ‘I beg your pardon, sir, but you…you have done me an injustice. I did not do…what you suggested. My mistress is a visitor in this house and I…I mistook the room. I must go. My mistress will be wondering what has become of me.’ Amy turned for the door.

‘One moment.’

The urge to flee was strong, but Amy curbed it. She
did not turn back to him, however. She was afraid to meet those penetrating eyes.

‘We both know that your employer does not need you at present. She will have gone down to the dining room long since. Just who is this mistress of yours?’

‘The Countess of Mardon. I am her ladyship’s personal maid.’ Amy put as much pride into her voice as she could.

‘Are you, indeed? Well, well. And what is your name, pray?’

‘Dent, sir.’ Amy turned back to face him then. She must focus on the part she played. A high-class servant would not cower, even in the face of such an intimidating man. She straightened her shoulders, but kept her eyes demurely lowered.

His head was cocked slightly to one side as he assessed her. His long fingers were stroking his jaw absently. Even in the gloom, Amy could tell that he had not shaved for at least a week, perhaps longer. His wet hair hung almost to his shoulders. Who on earth was he? What was he doing in Major Lyndhurst’s chamber? And bathing, of all things?

‘I was not aware that another guest had arrived,’ Amy said politely. She was pleased at how calm she sounded. ‘Do you expect to make a long stay, sir?’

She had surprised him into a sharp laugh. ‘Why, if I did not know better, Dent, I should almost have thought you were a lady born. Many a débutante could do no better. I congratulate you.’

Amy felt herself blushing with embarrassment all over again. Or was it anger at her own hasty tongue? She could not afford to be unmasked. She had risked too much to come this far.

She dropped him a servant’s curtsy. ‘If you will ex
cuse me, sir, I have errands to fulfil for my lady. I apologise for having disturbed you. I hope you will…not feel it necessary to complain of me. I…I cannot afford to lose her ladyship’s good opinion.’ She tried to assume an anxious expression, suitable for a servant who feared to lose her place. It was just possible that even this man had a hint of chivalry in his nature. Somewhere.

He was surveying her with narrowed eyes. No sign of chivalry. None at all. ‘I shall not speak of this encounter to your mistress,’ he said slowly. ‘But I require something from you in return.’

Amy’s heart plummeted to her heavy-soled boots. So he was no different from the rest of the lechers in this house.

‘I require you to say nothing about my presence here. To anyone. Not even to Major Lyndhurst himself. Do you understand?’

‘I—Yes.’

‘And we have a bargain, Dent?’

Amy took another deep breath and raised her chin. She could feel his direct gaze on her face. She gave him a sharp nod. ‘Yes, sir. We do.’

In that moment, he smiled at her. Suddenly all the harshness in his face had disappeared. He seemed much younger, dashing even, in spite of that unshaven chin. ‘Then I suggest, Dent, that you return to your duties. Unless you would prefer to remain to help me dress?’

Amy gasped. And fled from the room.

It was only when Amy reached the safety of the Countess’s chamber that she saw the state of her cap. There were wisps of blonde hair everywhere! Amy muttered a very unladylike curse and set about putting her
appearance to rights, consoling herself with the thought that no one else had seen her.

He had seen her.

He knew who she was. Or who she was pretending to be. He could betray her secret.

But he would not. For she, equally, could betray his. For some unfathomable reason, the gentleman so nonchalantly taking a late-evening bath in the host’s bedchamber did not wish his presence in the house to be known. Why on earth could that be?

Amy racked her brains, in vain. It seemed a total nonsense. In fact, it was just one more unanswered question in a house that was full of them, a house that appeared to have swallowed her brother, Ned, without leaving any trace at all.

Carefully holding the breakfast tray level, Amy closed the bedchamber door with her shoulder and leant back gratefully against the panelling. ‘I must be all about in my head,’ she muttered, closing her eyes for a moment.

‘Dent?’

Careful! Someone else must be here! ‘Yes, m’lady.’ Amy straightened once more and moved across the room to the curtained bed. ‘I have brought your breakfast early, as you ordered, m’lady.’

Lady Mardon, looking deliciously flushed, was reclining against a heap of lace-trimmed pillows.

Her husband was talking quietly, standing by the head of the bed, dressed in only a thin silk dressing gown, and looking as if his almost naked presence were the most normal thing in the world. ‘And Anthony has planned a shooting party for today, so I shan’t be back till late afternoon, I suspect.’

‘Oh,’ responded his wife, sounding disappointed.

He smiled warmly down at her. ‘If you should feel a need to check up on us, you could always go up on to the roof. One can see for miles from there.’

The Countess looked up at him through her lashes. ‘Perhaps. If I have nothing more interesting to do…’

He grinned and ran a hand across the greying hair at his temple. ‘I should not dream of interfering with your plans, my dear. And now I will leave you to have your breakfast in peace.’ He bent to drop a chaste kiss on his wife’s cheek. ‘Enjoy your day.’ Totally ignoring the abigail, he strode round the bed and disappeared through the connecting door to his dressing room.

Amy swallowed hard. This was yet another unforeseen aspect of her position. For all his apparent nonchalance, it was clear that the Earl had just left his wife’s bed. Under his fine silk dressing gown, his legs and feet were bare. She dared not think about the rest of his body. Naked male bodies were…dangerous.

Lady Mardon craned her neck round the side of the bed to ensure the door was firmly closed behind her husband. Then she grinned nervously at her so-called abigail. ‘Lord, Amy! That was much too close for comfort. If I had thought for a moment how much deception I should need to practise…’

‘I know. You would never have agreed to do it.’ She placed the tray carefully across the Countess’s lap. Then, with a deep sigh, she perched on the edge of the bed and impudently stole a piece of toast. ‘Believe me, Sarah, if I had had the least idea of how difficult it would be, I should never have asked you to help me.’ She bit into the toast and chewed thoughtfully. ‘But you are not really
deceiving
your husband, you know. He doesn’t notice servants at all, unless they displease him. I swear
I could appear as myself tomorrow and he would not recognise me.’

The Countess gave a short laugh. ‘Yes, I think you’re right, Amy. But he’s not…not unfeeling, you know.’

Amy noticed that the Countess was suddenly blushing. Not surprising, perhaps. When Amy had first entered the room, Sarah had had the air of the cat who had stolen the cream. Sarah and her Earl clearly enjoyed the pleasures of their marriage bed. Whatever those might be.

The Countess’s gaze was now fixed on the tray. ‘It’s just that he…he has always been surrounded by willing servants. He takes them for granted.’

Amy reached for a second piece of toast. ‘So do most of the gentlemen in this house. But they have different ways of showing it. I prefer to be ignored, I think. Both above
and
below stairs.’

‘Oh, dear. You haven’t given yourself away, have you?’

‘No. Thank God.’ Amy knew that she, too, was now flushing. Guilt, of course. If Sarah only knew what had happened in Major Lyndhurst’s bedchamber…That unknown man was possibly the one gentleman in the house who might recognise Amy without her disguise. She swallowed at the vivid memory, at the way he had stared at her. He had been stark naked, but it was she who had been embarrassed. He was proud. Arrogant, even. It had been a shock to see him, of course, and yet…She had not thought a man’s body could be so beautiful. Her own body seemed still to carry the imprint of his touch. It was as if the warmth of his fingers was—

‘Amy?’

Forcing her thoughts back to the present, Amy said, ‘You would not believe the lengths I have had to go to
in order to avoid the wandering hands in this house, Sarah. Not always successfully. First, there was that loathsome man, Grant. He has gone, thank God, but his erstwhile employer is cut from the same cloth. I have just had another encounter with William Lyndhurst-Flint. When he saw that I was carrying your breakfast tray, he came up behind me and put his hand—’ She shuddered. ‘I would willingly have tipped your chocolate over his head. He is disgusting.’