Helen Dickson (25 page)

Maria watched him from her love-drugged eyes as he covered her nakedness with the covers, her body still warm from its contact with that magnificent, virile body of his. Blankly she focused on him, his words bringing her back from that dangerous bewitchment. ‘Marry? Charles—I don’t understand…?’

‘You might be carrying my child,’ he told her.

She opened her mouth to deny the assertion and then discovered that she could not.

‘So, my love, you will have to reconsider my proposal. We shall be married, and as soon as possible.’ He spoke with the arrogance and certainty that said it would do her no good to argue.

Charles frowned as he heard his own declaration. That wasn’t what he had intended to say. It was as if he had contrived what had happened between them to persuade her to reconsider his proposal. But it was far from the truth. He had wanted her like hell and been unable to resist her. But now the words had been said, he had no intention of calling them back. In fact, he discovered that he was glad that he had said them. A cavalier attitude of reckless determination filled him with a sense of hope, of his life suddenly taking an unexpectedly enticing and longed-for turn.

He kissed her again with all the possessive pride of a man who had taken his woman to enchantment and would do so again at the earliest opportunity.

‘I am going to leave you now, though I would dearly like to stay.’ He smiled. ‘My mother would be scandalised, and I dare not risk gossip among the early-rising
maids. You have a reputation to maintain. I’ll see you at Gravely when I get back from France—with Constance. Hopefully we will only be parted for a little while.’

Maria was not to be so easily won over. Immediately her body tensed in defiant pride and she propped herself on her elbow. ‘Nothing is changed, Charles. Did you really think that after making love I would accept your suit?’

‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I am determined you will be my wife. I hoped at this point I would have persuaded you to say yes.’

‘I will not marry you, Charles. I have told you.’

‘And if you are with child?’

‘If I am, I will consider what to do then. This changes nothing. Why will you not accept that?’

‘Because I cannot stop thinking of you. Of the time we spent together. I cannot stop thinking of the times when I have held you and kissed you,’ he said, his voice low and fierce and wrenching to hear. ‘I remember many things, Maria—how soft your lips were—reluctant at first, and how quickly they responded to my own. When you were in my arms I remember how you filled my senses until I could not think.’

‘Please don’t say these things,’ she whispered.

‘Why? Because you felt the same and for some insane reason you don’t want to be reminded in case it weakens your resolve to stand against me for God knows what reason? If you felt this way, then why didn’t you stop me?’

‘I couldn’t,’ she confessed. ‘We both lost control so neither of us can be blamed for what we have done. I knew what the result would be, yet I could not stop myself from doing it anyway.’

‘You want me, Maria, admit it, and when I get back I will make you see it. I am determined I will.’ He kissed her once more and reluctantly left her.

Only then did Maria begin to feel as if she was coming back down to earth again. Quieter and colder without his presence, the slow reaction to all that had happened began to sink in.

She struggled to forget about the other woman, to let her body lead her back to pleasurable thoughts of Charles and what he had done to her, and found herself wondering if he compared this with what he had done with
her.
And so she was very unhappy and she just didn’t know what to do about it.

I
n a state of frenetic restlessness, Charles went to his room, and, unable to think of going to bed, paced the carpet in an attempt to ease his frustration, trying to make some sense of why Maria was being so unreasonable. He was completely baffled by her behaviour. What had happened between the time when she had left his room on the night before the duel until he had returned from Green Park? It didn’t make sense.

Something elusive nagged at the back of his mind. He thought back to the duel, going over every detail, everything that had been said, missing nothing. When Charles had left the grove he had returned to the house in the carriage, nursing his injured arm, preferring to leave the carriage at the stables to avoid being seen from the house by his mother, who would be sure to ask awkward questions.

He remembered the grooms had been getting ready to start the day—in fact, one of them had been rubbing down one of the horses. He frowned. Rubbing it down?
A horse wasn’t rubbed down unless it had been ridden. But who, at that time in the morning, had been riding out? The thought bothered him.

The following morning when he was setting out for Dover he sought out the groom and questioned him, stunned when he was told it had been Miss Monkton who had ridden out, and that this same groom had accompanied her.

‘Where? Where did she ride?’ Charles demanded.

‘The Park, Sir Charles. Green Park.’

‘And did you stay with her?’

The groom shifted uneasily, thinking he was about to get a ticking off for neglecting Miss Monkton. ‘No. She told me to wait and rode off.’

‘Did you see anything—anyone else?’

He shook his head. ‘But I heard a couple of shots. I was just about to go looking for her when she came back.’

‘I see.’

Not wishing to waste any more time, Charles mounted his horse and rode out of the yard to begin his journey, as confused as ever. If Maria had witnessed the duel, why the hell hadn’t she shown herself, or told him? Why the secrecy? Thinking back to their bitter confrontation, when he had told her he would find someone else, someone more amenable to a proper offer of marriage, she had replied that she was sure he wouldn’t have any difficulty in doing so. Recalling how forcefully she had spoken, he frowned.

That was the moment he remembered Georgina, how his sister had run to him when he had been shot, and how intimate that scene must have looked to someone look
ing on, who didn’t know that the woman in his arms was his own sister.

Suddenly every piece of the bizarre puzzle began to slot into place. If Maria believed Georgina was his mistress, if she actually believed that, it explained why she had behaved as she had. Naked pain flashed across his handsome features as he rode his horse hard. When she had refused his proposal, it had been her pride she had been trying to save, for Maria wasn’t the kind of woman who would share her husband with a mistress.

Maria left for Gravely after an early breakfast. Rain was falling out of a leaden sky as it had been doing for the past week, turning the roads into quagmires of mud and making the journey extremely hazardous at times. She was relieved when the coach turned down the road to Gravely, although she looked in alarm at the sight of the narrow wooden bridge spanning the stream.

For three days as the rain continued to fall, she was on tenterhooks as she waited for Charles. She was unable to think of anything other than the night she had spent in his arms, one minute thinking of the joy she had felt, and the next filled with recriminations at what she had done.

She should not have let him into her room, into her bed, but he had put his hands on her, allowed her to feel the warmth and masculine vigour of him. His lean dark face with its oddly slanting smile had bewitched her and she had felt her flesh warm with what could only be called desire as her hands had felt the ripple of muscles on his chest, lean and yet strong. She had
wanted the night to go on for ever, for she had experienced a strange languor, warm and sweet and deep, holding her in a most unusual need to be carried wherever he fancied taking her. From that moment she had gloried in it, in him, despaired over it, and known it was too late to draw back.

It was noon on the fourth day when a mud-spattered coach came up the drive and drew to a halt in front of the house. Maria saw it arrive from an upstairs window. Her heart leapt. She descended the stairs in a rush, smoothing her hair and arranging her skirts in place. Crossing the hall, she flung open the door. It was Charles, it had to be—and, please God, Constance.

When the occupant heaved his corpulent body out of the coach her heart missed a beat. The cause was not surprise, but an unpleasant sensation more akin to revulsion.

It was Henry.

Maria saw the bloated features set in an expression of boredom, the heavy chin supported by the folds of the high muslin cravat. Her proud, disdainful green eyes met and held those of the man she had once thought she would marry without flinching. She was discovering agreeably that now she was face to face with him, the vague fear that had haunted her ever since their encounter at his house, and again at the theatre, had melted away.

Considering the turmoil within her, she managed to retain her poise. ‘Henry. This is a surprise. I did not expect to see you here.’

‘I am on my way to Portsmouth to visit friends and from where I intend to take ship for India.’

‘Gravely is a long way from Portsmouth,’ she said, her tone telling him he was not welcome. ‘I think you must have lost your way.’

Her sarcasm was not lost on Henry, but, having come with a purpose and not wishing to rouse her antagonism, he chose to ignore it. ‘I came to pay my respects—and perhaps to talk a little, if you please.’ Taking out his handkerchief, he dabbed the rain from his florid face peering out from beneath his elaborately curled wig, which was getting wetter by the second.

‘I don’t please, Henry, and I wonder at your audacity in coming to my home after what you have done,’ Maria replied disdainfully, reluctant to ask him inside the house. ‘You fought a duel with Sir Charles with no honour in it, thinking you were man enough to take him on.’

Henry smiled, not in the least ashamed of his cowardly conduct when he had fired before the call. ‘A man must survive by whatever means he can.’

‘By cheating?’

‘I have proven myself to many gentlemen in my time, Maria—and ladies,’ he added casually. ‘I have no doubt as to my abilities. I can be most caring to one with your charm and grace.’

‘Spare me your flattery, Henry. I congratulate myself on having made a lucky escape. I would prefer it if you left. We have nothing to say to each other.’

‘And I was looking forward to a delightful
tête-à-tête,
’ he countered sardonically.

‘Then I must disappoint you.’

He laughed softly, breathing heavily. ‘I see you cherish some prejudice against me, Maria. I can only
suppose Osbourne must have put them into your head. I do believe he takes me for some kind of criminal.’

‘What I think is neither here nor there. However, I may say that I have seen nothing in your behaviour to cause me to change my mind.’

‘As you rightly say,’ Henry agreed smoothly, ‘that is neither here nor there.’

‘I suppose that since you seem to have something to say to me, you may come inside out of the rain. But then you must go. I have no wish to prolong this interview.’

Henry followed her inside. Maria’s nerves had suffered so much as she awaited Charles that the sight of Henry awakened no other feeling in her than one of profound irritation. However dangerous he might be, she had reached a degree of indifference where she was wholly beyond fear.

When they reached the drawing room she stood and assessed him closely. Too many years of dinner-table excesses had increased his girth to considerable dimensions. Being also a pompous, rather grandiose character, he was an impressive figure in his sky-blue knee breeches, fancy waistcoat and buckled shoes, high stiff collar and folds and flounces of his neck linen. He reminded Maria of a portly—if somewhat grotesque—colourful bird of paradise.

‘I understand you are to return to India.’

‘I am. My departure from the Company was somewhat—unfortunate, you understand—my finances embarrassed.’ As he moved about the room his eyes took in his surroundings, appreciatively lingering over the Indian artefacts. ‘You have some interesting things, I see. Your father was obviously a connoisseur.’

Maria faced him squarely. ‘That will do, Henry! You did not come here for idle chit-chat. Say what you have to say and go. What do you want? Money?’

Henry smiled at her under drooping eyelids. ‘Of course I want some money. Why not? I know you have plenty—too much for you to spend. For me, matters are a little different.’ He gestured to the room about them. ‘You’ve got all this. Such a grand place. ’Tis a pity you have so much and I so little, and I can’t help thinking if it weren’t for Charles Osbourne, the two of us would be together now.’

‘My change of heart had nothing to do with Charles. Having met you again, I would not have married you—never in a thousand years.’

Henry’s protruding eyes were cold and unemotional, his smile sardonic. Looking at him, Maria saw everything that Charles had said of him was true, and she felt the soul that animated this man was a chilling quagmire of selfishness, cruelty, deceit and wickedness. It was a soul its owner would sell to the devil without a qualm for a handful of gold. She no longer had any illusions about his character and it was not surprising that he should stoop to such depths as to try to extricate money out of her when they were no longer betrothed.

‘You are despicable, Henry. To think that my father believed you to be worthy to be my husband.’ Her expression was one of disgust. ‘You sicken me and you won’t get another penny out of me.’

He stiffened, watching her warily. ‘Another penny?’

She nodded. ‘Twenty thousand pounds, to be precise.’ She was conscious of a certain satisfaction as she observed that Henry seemed disappointed. No doubt he
had expected her to recoil. This cold indifference must be disconcerting for him. She smiled. ‘Yes, Henry. Charles told me he gave you twenty thousand pounds to get rid of you, and now you have the audacity to come to me asking for more.’

He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘What of it?’

‘He should never have given you the money in the first place. Naturally I reimbursed him. I pay my own dues, but had it been up to me you would not have got a penny piece. The duel was not fought in the spirit of gentlemen. I know you fired before the call, intending to kill Charles. Where was your honour then, Henry?’ she sneered. ‘Thank God you missed and he didn’t die. You, alas, are still alive.’

‘True, but one cannot live without money, Maria, and money is important to me.’

‘I have already gathered that. I think twenty thousand pounds is enough for you to live the life of a lord in India for a long time.’

‘You think so? To finance a lifestyle to which I have become accustomed and lacking the pedigree and status of a nobleman, I have learned to recognise the value of impressive packaging.’

‘Then earn it, Henry.’

‘You owe me. Are you not forgetting something, Maria? If my memory serves me correctly, we were to be married. We had an arrangement—a contract was signed by both me and your father.’

Maria’s eyes glittered with a coldness that should have chilled him to the bone. ‘I released myself from it, if you remember.’

‘I didn’t. Another twenty thousand pounds would be
compensation enough for the time I’ve spent waiting to marry you. There have been many women I could have made my wife while I have been waiting for you to come of age.’

‘I don’t doubt that, and I am certain that if one had been as wealthy as me, Henry, you would have cast me off without a thought and married her.’

‘You have vast sums at your disposal. It is true I wanted to marry you for the wealth that would be yours on your father’s demise. Unfortunately, things went bad for me in India and I find it quite natural to turn to you for money. Give me what I want and I guarantee that in your turn you will be left undisturbed.’

Incensed by his gall, Maria did not flinch before the barely concealed menace. She permitted herself a small, contemptuous smile. ‘For how long? Until it runs out?’ Henry’s eyes narrowed to thin slits and began to glitter dangerously. His face was flushed and she knew the greed of money was paramount to all else. ‘The idea that you can try to gain a reward for all the years you have been betrothed to me is despicable. You are only concerned about what you can reap from this affair. I will have none of it.’ She moved a little closer, looking him squarely in the eye. ‘You won’t get anything from me.’

Henry wondered at the spine of steel the wench had found. His own was pricked by little barbs of apprehension, for he was convinced she meant every word she said. Determined to batter down her bravado, his smile was unpleasant. ‘You’ve a hard heart, Maria, but I know you will. You know, you make me almost sorry for my conduct in the past. You’ve turned out to be a comely wench. No man could help but desire you.’ He let his eyes
dwell appreciatively on her face and caress her long, graceful throat, the proud curves swelling beneath the low-cut bodice of her gown and the tiny waist. There was no softness in his gaze, only the calculating greed of a horse dealer looking over a filly he wished to purchase.