Lady Jane (17 page)

It was close to midnight when Lady Sarah turned away from the baccarat table, the fizzing excitement she’d felt only a moment before suddenly gone flat, to be replaced by a feeling of nausea. She had lost a great deal of money and had only been able to give them her markers for it.

“Well, m’lady,” said a harsh voice in her ear, at the same time her upper arm was grasped none too gently. “Been having your bit of fun, I see. I make it close to four thousand pounds, what with tonight’s losses. Perhaps you’d like to join me in my private room for a glass of wine?”

She jerked her arm away. “No. I would not! Have my carriage brought around.” She turned away coldly.

The man’s eyes hardened. “Very well, Lady Sarah, if you will have it so. But I’m afraid I cannot extend you any more time. I’ll have my money tomorrow. Do you understand me?”

She stood there, her back to him for a moment, but then her shoulders slumped and she turned back to him reluctantly. “I can’t get it by tomorrow and you know it.”

“Then I will go to your brother.”

“No! I’ll—I’ll think of something. I’ll—”

“There is one other way,” he said with great deliberation. She looked up defiantly, daring him to say what she thought he was going to say. He smirked. “No. Not that. I saw you today in your carriage. In the Park. I’ve a fancy to meet your friend. Bring her here and I’ll consider the debt cancelled.”

Sarah felt such a gust of hope blow through her she was almost lightheaded. She smiled. “Lady Payton! Well, I don’t know if she plays, but I’ll get her here one way or another.”

She turned away with a careless little gesture of farewell. The man bowed and watched her walking away, his mouth twisting up on one side into a parody of a smile.

17

“I
think, dear
Lady Jane, that if you will but trust me in this I can assure you of an enjoyable evening. We shall go in domino, of course—I adore masques, do not you?—and be very merry. Very merry indeed!” Mr. Quint’s gay smile cracked the surface of his painted face in a most disconcerting way. Jane watched in fascination for a moment before she could pull her eyes away from this interesting spectacle. “Yes?” he said, cocking his head to one side coquettishly.

“Oh—I thank you, Mr. Quint,” replied Jane hastily, “but I fear Ranleigh Gardens will be just a little
too
gay for me.”

“But, dear madam, I will protect you, though of course you need fear nothing, I assure you. I’ve gone many times and never encountered any rowdyism. Just all boys and girls together for an evening of pleasure. You must allow me to know best about these things, m’dear.” He reached over to pat her hand, not at all in an avuncular manner. He allowed it to be a lingering, loverlike caress, clearly insinuating what he thought his position vis-a-vis herself to be.

Although Jane’s eyes brimmed with suppressed laughter, she sternly repressed her merriment at the ridiculous situation in which she found herself. He had called upon her every morning since the Medvers-Platt evening party, and his manner had become progressively more possessive with each visit. He would assure her that she might safely attend various evening parties for which she received cards since he would be there to protect her from unwonted attentions. He would advise her against receiving the visits of certain gentlemen he assured her were established rakes. Jane attempted to dampen his ardours, but since he had not made a definite declaration as yet, it was difficult for her to disabuse him of his hopes. When she consulted Lady Stanier that lady only laughed.

“Dear Child, he is harmless, I assure you. Poor old Alben. I think it’s more habit than anything else. He’s been out for an heiress since I was a girl myself. I think if he managed to capture one now it would frighten him out of his wits!”

“But it seems somehow dishonest to allow him to go on believing—” Jane protested.

“Darling, you cannot control what he believes as long as he says nothing—and he’s good value—accepted everywhere, you know, and if one needs a partner he’s always available.”

Jane had continued to receive Mr. Quint, but was unable to erase the traces of guilt she felt at the falseness of her position. This combined with pity for the old gentleman caused her to treat his attentions more kindly.

She could not know that Mr. Quint took her kindness for encouragement of his suit, and in a burst of extravagance, feeling himself very near his goal, had proposed this present scheme to visit Ranleigh Gardens, where he felt the air of romance and mystery would lend the proper atmosphere for his proposal. For, contrary to Lady Stanier’s opinion, he was determined to marry this wealthy widow. He was nearing seventy-five and weary of the genteel poverty to which generations of profligate Quints had reduced him. He knew that it was incumbent upon him to propose marriage in the very immediate future, before word got around of this unparalleled prize waiting to be captured. He was aware that once it had, he would have to fight his way to her door through hosts of suitors far more prepossessing and eligible than himself. He must be enterprising and awake in every suit if he was to snatch her from under their noses.

Now he bent upon her his most ardent gaze as he continued to caress her hand. Jane smiled gravely, and without a trace of maidenly confusion, removed her hand from beneath his and picked up her embroidery frame. She wished desperately for another caller to interrupt this uncomfortable, and boring, t
ê
te-
à
-t
ê
te. Even the dreaded appearance of Lord Jaspar Montmorency could almost be welcomed as a relief from the persistence of Mr. Quint!

Aside from this need, there was the need to know one way or another what Lord Jaspar intended. It was now five days since she had had the misfortune to come face-to-face with him at Mrs. Medvers-Platt’s, and not a moment had passed since then when she was entirely free of anxiety. At this point she was ready to write him and beg him to call. She was exhausted from her dread of disclosure and her desire to have it settled one way or another. Apart from this there were the distressing memories revived by the sight of him. Memories that set her body clamouring for the physical release she’d thought she had finally conquered. She tried, with little success, to swamp these disgraceful urgings by whipping up her anger at the probability that he was planning to ruin her life by disclosing her past.

When this failed she tried, in vain, to remind herself of his cowardice all those years ago. Her more practical mind would reply that he’d been but a green lad and had not come into his sister’s room that evening in pursuit of Jane Coombes, that she had most certainly put temptation in his way, and that she had without doubt repaid him in full for his temerity with her well-placed blow. Then, if that were not enough, she would remember that, dreadful as the sequence of events had been following their few erotic moments together, each step of it had led her to Sebastian, to those two years of joy, to her becoming Lady Jane Payton of Payton House and Larkwoods Manor, Kent, and mother of adorable Clinton.

The imagined scene of her trying to thank Lord Jaspar for attempting to seduce her brought an impish gleam of laughter into her eyes just as Crews appeared in the door of the drawing room, Lord Jaspar treading on his heels.

He distinctly saw the merriment in her eyes turn to apprehension at the sight of him. Crews had barely time to announce him before he was hurrying across the room to reassure her. She should not be frightened of me, he thought with dismay. Or perhaps she finds me physically repulsive and that look is disgust. He hoped he was not vain, but he had always been assured that he was a well-enough looking man, but then, he thought ruefully, there is no way to control the mysterious promptings that cause one to respond positively to one person and negatively to another regardless of physical aspect. But he could not bear for her to feel negatively toward himself.

She had jumped to her feet at his brisk entrance and instinctively held out her hand, not in greeting, but as though to ward him off. He took the hand into his own and bent to press his lips to her fingers. He straightened up and stood smiling warmly down into her eyes, still in possession of her hand.

“You said I might call. I have restrained myself as long as possible,” he said with devastating frankness.

Jane blushed at his candour and the warmth of his tone. She glanced wildly about and caught the eye of Mr. Quint who was looking on at this interruption with an expression of outrage. He read entreaty into the look she sent him and gallantly leaped to his feet

“Ah—er—I must say, Montmorency—I—”

Jaspar swung around in surprise at the sound of Mr. Quint’s voice, then nodded good-naturedly.

“Well, well. Good-day to you, Mr. Quint I hope you are keeping well.”

“Why should you think otherwise, sir?” asked Mr. Quint testily, scenting the condescension of youth to age.

“Why, indeed I don’t know why I should, Mr. Quint, when one has only to look at you to see that you keep very well consid—” Jaspar stopped abruptly as he realized the pit he was digging for himself. Mr. Quint pulled himself up stiffly, much affronted, but then prudently decided not to pursue this line of conversation.

“I believe Lady Jane would be much obliged to you if you would stop clutching her in that unseemly way,” he said icily.

Jaspar looked down in pretended astonishment, as though unaware that he still held Jane’s hand, or that she had been attempting to tug it free during his interchange with Mr. Quint. “Why—bless my soul—I had quite forgot.” He raised the hand to his lips again and kissed the fingers provocatively before relinquishing it Mr. Quint sniffed audibly in disapproval.

“Er—won’t you sit down, sir?” Jane said faintly, sinking back into her place on the sofa. Jaspar promptly sat down beside her, to Mr. Quint’s further outrage. He glared at Jaspar, who returned his look with one of bland innocence. Mr. Quint turned away from him deliberately and addressed Jane.

“My dear, it is settled between us then?” he said in a tone of what he hoped Lord Jaspar would take for great intimacy between himself and his intended bride.

A spirit of mischief got the better of Jane and she lowered her eyes coyly, “You must give me time to consider it, Mr. Quint. I fear it is all too sudden for me to give you my answer at once.”

Jaspar raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her and she had all she could do to stifle a giggle. Mr. Quint smiled in a gratified way at her response, preened himself, and rose to his feet

“I will await your answer with bated breath, my dear. Now, if you will forgive me, I will take my leave and hope that tomorrow we can have our little visit without any—er—interruption.” He made her a bow, nodded coldly in Jaspar’s direction, and strutted grandly out of the room.

Jane and Jaspar sat still as statues, not daring to look at one another until they heard the outer door closing after Mr. Quint. Jane flicked a glance at Jaspar and found him grinning broadly at her, but then, perversely stifled her rising hilarity. She gave him a reproachful look and reached primly for her embroidery frame. A silence lasted through two carefully set stitches, while Jane became more and more aware of him sitting so near her.

“Well, sir—” she began, much louder than necessary in her nervousness. She halted and then began again in a more normal voice. “I must thank you for your flowers. Quite unnecessary, of course, but very kind.”

“Dear lady, at the risk of contradicting you and being thought rude, I must protest that it is entirely necessary. Beauty must be acknowledged, even in so humble a way.”

She lowered her eyes to her embroidery frame again, more confused than ever. His reply was complimentary to be sure, but was it a shade too glib for sincerity? Was there not a sardonic edge to it? Was he attempting to disarm her into a feeling of false security to make his revenge the sweeter?

She felt it becoming difficult to breathe and realized she was allowing herself to give way to panic in a most cowardly way and forced herself to take a deep breath and look him squarely in the eye.

“I have not seen your sister in many days, Lord Jaspar. I trust she is well?”

“She has an iron constitution, madam, and is never ill.”

“How very fortunate. She was so very kind as to take me for a drive in her carriage some days ago.”

“Must have been a dead bore for you. She has no conversation beyond the latest
on dits
.”

“On the contrary, sir, she behaved charmingly and I enjoyed it very much.”

“I am happy to hear it. She can be a great trial to her family upon occasion, though I don’t believe she does so purposefully. She’s only bubble-headed and speaks without thought.”

“She seems—er—somewhat discontented with her life. Perhaps she is exhausted from her continual round of gaiety. Is there no one who could turn her thoughts in a more serious direction? Perhaps give her life more purpose?”

“Good Lord! Sarah? I doubt there is anyone could cause Sarah to have a serious thought. More hair than wit, that girl.”

“I don’t think you should speak so of your own sister to someone who is practically a stranger,” Jane retorted, rushing to defend Sarah now, though while in her company had found the girl as uninteresting as her brother seemed to. Nevertheless, she had pitied Sarah, and she thought Jaspar’s remarks heartless.

“Stranger? Are we strangers then?” he replied in a significant way, looking into her eyes.

She stared back, mesmerized, unable to look away, and experiencing again a rising panic at his words. Now, she thought. Now he will say it. With an abrupt movement she rose and walked away to the window. Aware that he had risen in surprise and was staring after her, she forced herself to turn about and face him.

“We m-m—were introduced,” she hesitated only a fraction over the word, “last week at Mrs. Medvers-Platt’s, sir.”

“Indeed. A moment etched indelibly on my memory,” he said fervently, but, to Jane’s ear, with more insinuation than flattery. Drat the man, she fumed impotently! Well, I’ll not give him best. I can be as enigmatic as he and he’ll get no confession from me.

“And met for the second time today,” she continued as calmly as possible, “which hardly forms the basis for a long-standing friendship. But we were speaking of your sister. She suffers, I believe, more than you care to acknowledge, from ennui. This can possibly lead her into reckless behaviour.”

“Truer than you know, dear lady. But, if you will forgive me, I would much prefer to discuss other matters.”

She felt as though an icy hand had clutched something in her midsection and went absolutely still for a moment. Then managed to falter, “Other—matters?”

“Yes. For instance, that figure of fun, Alben Quint. Am I to understand that you are taking his proposal under consideration?”

She raised her eyebrows in a simulation of well-bred shock at the unmannerliness of such an intimate question. He acknowledged her response with a look of discomfiture, but did not retract it. After allowing him time to feel the full force of her displeasure, she answered coldly. “You may understand what you like, sir.”

“But surely you cannot be seriously considering—” he began eagerly, but was interrupted by a soft rap on the drawing room door, followed immediately by Crews to announce, “Lady Sarah Montmorency, m’lady,” and that lady strolled in almost before the announcement was finished.