Hope's Betrayal (21 page)

"George!"
His mother grinned, "keep your voice down."

Like a ship in
full sail, ostrich feathers streaming out behind her, Mrs. Wainwright was
making straight for them in the company of an aloof-looking gentleman.

"Lady Ryevale,
Captain Huntley. May I introduce Mr. Oswald."

Her Ladyship
looked bemused. "Of course. Mr. Oswald, are we acquainted?"

The man bowed
regally. While not handsome, he had a ruggedness of feature which could be
taken as attractive, and he held himself with the confidence of arrogance.

"I pray my
forwardness does not offend, but I asked Mrs. Wainwright to introduce us,
because I am, or rather was, a friend of your late husband."

"Isn't that
wonderful?" Mrs. Wainwright chirped. "You must have so much to talk
about."

"Indeed."
Mr. Oswald turned smoothly to their hostess. "I appreciate your time, Mrs.
Wainwright, when you have so many guests to attend. Pray, do not let me detain
you."

"Oh, well,
if you're sure. I should see that Annabelle is alright."

"My gratitude
and thanks." Oswald bowed in such a way which meant Mrs. Wainwright was
dismissed.

"Lady
Ryevale, again, apologies for being forward, but I recognised you across the
room and felt compelled to speak."

"Any friend
of my late husband, is a friend of mine." She frowned. "I don’t
recall you at his funeral."

"Alas, I
was abroad when word of Charles’s passing reached me."

Lady Ryevale
exhaled and seemed to relax. "Delighted to meet you."

"At your
service." His voice was low and melodic, but with a slightly oily quality
to Hope's ear. It seemed the Captain felt the same for he shifted in his seat.

"You were a
good friend of my father's, Mr. Oswald?"

"I knew him
when we were both very young at Eton together. Alas, time meant we saw little
of each other in Charles’s latter years…to my eternal regret."

"I feel as
if we've met…recently." George frowned.

Hope fancied Mr
Oswald faltered momentarily, before resuming his debonair smile.

"I
have…had… a brother, who looks…looked… like me. He died recently. Perhaps it is
him you recall?"

"I am sorry
to hear of your loss, my condolences."

"Thank
you." The awkward moment passed and Oswald studied Hope in a way which
made her toes curl, and then turned to Her Ladyship. "I didn’t know you
had a daughter, Lady Ryevale."

"Miss Tyler
is a friend of the family."

"Oh,"
with growing comprehension Oswald looked from George to Hope and back again.
"Then are congratulations in order?"

"Miss Tyler
is my mother's companion." George's voice caught.

There was a
fleeting darkness behind Oswald's eyes which made Hope wary.

"My
apologies, it's just you seemed so …close." Oswald, arched a brow and
continued conversationally. "I see, Captain, you have been in the
wars."

"Fell foul
of smugglers."

"Ah!
Smugglers.Terrible problem along this stretch of coast."

"Where did
you say you are from?"

"I didn’t.
I'm visiting from the Southwest."

There it was
again—that crack in the good humour, a hint of menace. Hope's skin prickled,
there was something jarring about this man which she couldn’t pin down; a
hawkish look, a sharpness not wholly softened by the ingratiating smile.

After a fashion,
Oswald cleared his throat.

"Lady
Ryevale, would you do me the great honour of this dance?"

Her Ladyship
fanned herself, "Goodness, you flatter me. Thank you for the kind offer,
but I'd rather not dance thank you, the crush you understand…and my advanced
age." She said artfully.

"Stuff and
nonsense. You are as lovely now as when Charles first told me he'd found the
woman he wanted to marry. But if you refuse to dance, then perhaps Miss Tyler
would agree?"

Hope didn’t need
to look at Captain Huntley to know he was scowling.

"I…that
is…it's not my place to dance."

Oswald's
predatory eye strayed back to Hope. "Surely, Lady Ryevale, you wouldn’t
deny your companion one dance—with an old friend of your husband?"

"Hope
dear," Lady Ryevale patted her hand, "Dance with Mr Oswald, for my
sake."

Not five minutes
earlier Hope had been watching the dancers with envy, her foot tapping beneath
her gown but now, with reluctance, she took Oswald's arm. Luckily, it was a
country dance and any fear of not knowing the steps rapidly dispelled. Oswald
took her hand and bowed as if she was a lady. In fact, Mr Oswald cut a fine
figure, for a tall man he moved with surprising grace, and Hope began to enjoy
herself.

As she waited in
line, clapping in time to the music, she felt eyes boring into her back. She
turned and her heart jolted, for Captain Huntley was watching her with a
thunderous black look. But then the line of dancers moved up one, and she lost
sight of him. Soon it was her turn to promenade with Oswald, and amidst
concentrating on the steps and the muddle of couples, she forgot about Huntley,
until the final chord struck and Oswald escorted her back to her seat. Surreptitiously
she studied the Captain, outwardly he had regained his composure, but for an
angry vein ticking at his temple.

"My
compliments, Miss Tyler, a most enchanting partner." Oswald placed a
lingering kiss on Hope's fingertips.

Huntley grew
dangerously still.

"A shame
you cannot join the fun," Oswald caste a pitying glance at him,
"Watching must be so tedious, especially for a man like yourself who lived
for action."

Hope suppressed
a gasp.

"I am not
the invalid you presume, Mr. Oswald." Huntley rose to his feet.
"Miss. Tyler, would you do me the honor of this next dance?"

Hope found
herself trapped between the two men.

"Actually,
I am a little hot and would prefer not." The idea of dancing with Huntley
did indeed make her feel flushed.

"It seems
Miss Tyler prefers my company." Oswald said nonchalantly, as if taunting
Huntley. With the two men almost nose to nose, Hope squeaked.

"Actually,
I feel better now. I'd be delighted to dance." She slipped her arm through
Huntley's and discretely nudged him away.

From the first
few steps George knew this was a mistake; his injured leg made him clumsy as he
staggered and limped around the floor. Several times he trod on Hope's feet
which she took with good grace and ignored.

"Do you
want to sit down? Because if you do, truly, I'm feeling rather hot." She
whispered after he nearly fell a second time.

"No, of
course not." George hated being petulant and yet he couldn’t help it. Hope
was dazzling, her hair bobbing around her glowing cheeks, and yet all he wanted
was for the dance to be at an end so he could sit down like an old man. Well,
he wouldn’t give in. Neither spoke for the duration of the dance, and after an
eternity the final chord was struck. Huntley placed his hand in the small of
her back, but there was no respite for Huntley as he noticed Oswald deep in
conversation with Lady Ryevale. The last thing he wanted was more of that
unctuous man's company.

"Damn."

"What was
that?" Hope asked.

"Nothing."
George thought quickly. "How about refreshment?" His heart hammered
against his ribs, on impulse he changed direction, steering Hope toward the
door. She looked startled, but didn’t object.

"Well, I am
a little thirsty."

"Good."
Intent on keeping Hope away from Oswald, he didn’t notice her perplexed expression.

With Hope's arm
tucked in his, they made for the supper room. It had taken all Huntley's
self-control not to punch Oswald and the depth of his possessiveness shook him.
Only now, at a safe distance from him, was blind jealousy loosening its grip.
Huntley glanced at her shining face and his heart took flight. It seemed Hope
had got under his skin. Compared to her, other women were insipid, vapid
creatures. In her, he saw strength and integrity, and for once he didn’t care so
much what the world thought. The feeling was liberating.

They limped
along. The supper room was located at the far end of the corridor, and as the
pain grew worse, the distance felt like the ends of the earth. Then, without
warning, his leg buckled. Hope held onto his arm and stopped him from falling
but with each step, the pain grew more intense. Biting his tongue, they
continued. He stumbled again, this time an occasional table broke his fall.

"Lean on
me." Hope looped his arm around her shoulders, threading her other arm
around his waist.

"Thank
you."

"Quick. In
here while no one's looking." Hope pushed opened a door. It was utter
relief to tumble into what was a dimly-lit room. They both leant, panting, with
the closed door to their backs. Huntley glanced around at was appeared to be a
small library or study; book-lined walls and a globe beside an armchair. The
light came from the full moon, spilling in through the open curtains.

"How are
you feeling now?" Hope asked.

"Ashamed.
Foolish. Useless."

Her gaze slid
over him, her eyes large and luminous.

"You are
none of those things—but brave, courageous and honorable."

He reached for
her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss into her palm. A new pain
assaulted him, centred on his heart, and every bit as excruciating as physical
pain. With regret, he released her hand.

"George?"
She spoke his name with such tenderness, he was momentarily undone. The dome of
her breasts strained against the low-cut bodice and did peculiar things to his
sanity. She was sheer temptation—but one he would not yield to. With unintended
gruffness he turned aside.

"We should
go. To enter a private room together…. your reputation."

But Hope didn’t
move, instead he recognised the stubborn tilt of her chin which meant she was
going nowhere.

"Not until
you tell me what I've done wrong."

She continued to
stare with wide, dark eyes which seared into his soul.

"Was it
because I danced with Oswald?"

Huntley’s heart
twisted. "Well, it wasn’t so much a dance, as a seduction."

Her brow shot
upward. "I beg your pardon?"

"The way he
looked at you was positively indecent."

With a glare
Miss Tyler replied. “It wasn’t my fault Mr. Oswald was attentive.  In no way
did I encourage him."

"But you
danced with him all the same." He knew he was being childish but couldn’t
help it.

"But Lady
Ryevale insisted! And, I refused a second dance!"

A slow look
dawned across her face. "You aren’t jealous, are you?"

George wanted so
much to laugh, but instead the fight drained away. Denial was useless, his face
told Hope everything she needed to know.

"Oh
my!" Her hand covered her mouth.

"We should
leave," he whispered, she nodded weakly but neither moved. Stillness
settled around them. The world contracted to the space between them, each
conscious of the other's labored breathing. A wash of heat flooded Huntley’s
body and he tugged at his collar.

“By gads it’s
hot.”

“Is it?” All
innocence, Hope smiled. “Actually, it's a little chilly.”

How could he not
have noticed? She was shivering, goosebumps raised on her skin. He shook off
his jacket, and with a tenderness he didn’t know he possessed, placed it around
her shoulders. Close enough now to smell her salty skin, he stood in front of
her, pulling the coat closed. More than anything his lips craved the waiting
warmness of hers, and he saw in her eyes she knew it.

"You would
tempt a saint."

"And is
that such a bad thing?"

"No,"
he sucked in a breath. "But I accuse you of loose morals, and then do the
very thing I condemned you for."

"I know you
didn’t mean it."

“I have no right
to expect you to trust me, but the truth is…” His throat constricted.

“Yes?” There in
the window, her skin caressed by moonlight, and sadness filled her face. When
she spoke, her words broke across him like ice water. “But you fear soiling
your reputation because I am a bastard?”

His world spun.
“No! It’s not that at all!”

“Then what?”

“My dearest
Hope. What I see is your honesty and integrity —the qualities I live my life
by.  I was a tongue-tied idiot, who could not admit to feeling …jealous. There!
I’ve said it. I saw you with Oswald and couldn’t bear it, that’s why I dragged
you away and that’s why I so badly want to kiss you.”