Sandra Heath (7 page)

“Well enough to succeed with you again?” she inquired, reaching up suddenly to link her arms around his neck. She molded her body to his and smiled into his eyes. “Oh, sir, how very impressive a figure you have, but then I knew that already, did I not?”

“I don’t deny our past encounters, but the crucial word is ‘past’. I cannot gainsay that you are a very beautiful woman, Amabel, but beauty should be more than skin deep, and with you it is most certainly on the surface only. You showed yourself to be spiteful, grasping, callous, and hard. Shall I go on?”

She flushed a little. “Such compliments. Will you also accuse me of lacking passion?”

“If I did, I’d be lying.”

“Yes, you would.” She searched his face and then smiled. “You haven’t ceased to desire me, Marcus, I can see it in your eyes. Would you be surprised that it is our future encounters that interest me now?” she whispered, putting her lips to his.

For a long moment he resisted, but then his arms moved around her and as he returned the kiss, Jane’s chagrin was complete. How could she and Kit hope to pit an innocent like Henrietta against such a creature? The dejected wraith acidly surmised that Amabel Renchester was an experienced Jezebel who had probably graced more beds than Rowley had desired sugared almonds!

Amabel moved familiarly against Marcus, and he could not help his body’s response. She drew away enough to slide a hand over the front of his silk trousers. “Oh, yes,” she breathed huskily, “I play the temptress well enough to succeed with you. I will come to you tonight, and you will not turn me away.”

Then she left. Light and noise from the ballroom swept briefly over the cloisters before the door closed behind her. Marcus exhaled very slowly, for this was a development he could never have foreseen. Many a thing, but not this.

Kit ran a hot finger around his neckcloth. “God’s teeth, that creature knows her business,” he muttered, and was rebuked by a swift rap on the arm from Jane’s closed fan.

“That’s enough of that!” She gave him a furious look.

He cleared his throat apologetically. “Oh, be reasonable, my love, what red-blooded fellow could fail to respond?”

“That, sirrah, is the difference between male and female. The male is not ruled by his head or his heart, just by his loins! You included!”

“But once I’d met you, beloved, I neither loved nor lay with any other woman,” he reminded her.

“That had better be the case, sirrah, for if I discover you were ever unfaithful, I swear I will—

“Chop off the relevant member? Yes, I believe you would, but I am safe in the knowledge that I have never betrayed you by so much as a single kiss.”

Jane melted a little. “Oh, Kit...”

“I will remind you of my ardor at the first opportunity,” he said softly, bending his head to kiss her lips. Rowley squirmed jealously, but again his muzzle was firmly held, this time by Jane.

Marcus rejoined the ball, but went through the door so quickly that the shades were caught unprepared, and found themselves shut out.

“Damn!” Kit exclaimed angrily, and gave Rowley a dire look. “Oh, if ever a cur was more trouble than it was worth, this one is!”

“It’s not his fault!” Jane cried.

“Maybe not, but he’s hampering us, I think you’ll agree.”

“I’ll stay with Rowley. You go into the ball to see what’s happening,” Jane suggested.

“And will you trust me to correctly interpret what I see and hear?” Kit inquired acidly.

Jane hesitated.

“You see?” Kit irritably drew his sword slightly, and then slammed it back into the scabbard.

Jane’s eyes filled with sudden tears. “Oh, don’t be angry, Kit.”

“Look, beloved, surely that pest of a spaniel can be trusted to stay quietly out here on his own?”

Rowley was wily enough to know he was the cause of dissent, and so picked his moment to whine pathetically. It was the last straw for Kit, who snatched him from Jane’s arms and placed him firmly on the floor. Then he pointed at the cloister ceiling. “Right, you odious fleabag, you get up there and you
stay
there.”

Rowley looked mutinously at him.

Kit drew his sword. “Do as I say!”

Rowley’s eyes widened, and without further ado he fled up a column to the ceiling, and retreated into a corner. Kit put his sword away, then eyed the dog. “If you move so much as an inch from where you are now, I swear I will spit you in a most painful way. Am I clear?” Then he offered Jane his arm. “Very well, my dear, let us sally forth and see what goes now.”

Jane looked wistfully up at Rowley, but slid her hand over Kit’s sleeve. “Very well, my love,” she replied, and together they glided through the closed door into the ballroom.

* * * *

Earlier, when Marcus had first arrived and the orchestra began to play Handel’s fireworks music, Henrietta’s faltering courage had failed completely. Seeing Charlotte glance around for her, she had withdrawn to the farthest end of the ballroom, rather than risk having to confront Marcus so quickly.

She took refuge in a corner in the small space between the wall and an extravagant arrangement of tall ferns, and from there watched as Marcus conversed first with Charlotte, then with his relatives. Suddenly the prospect of staying beneath the same roof as him was too much to bear. The abbey was simply not big enough! The best thing would be to leave tomorrow with Uncle Courtenay, but what would Charlotte say?

Distracted by her thoughts, Henrietta didn’t notice anything else until Amabel, and then a minute or so later Marcus, emerged from the cloisters. The conclusion was there to be drawn, and a jealous pang caught Henrietta unawares as she was confronted by the harsh fact that the Marquess of Rothwell could still breach her defenses. George’s kisses didn’t turn her blood to fire in her veins as Marcus’ had, nor did his caresses stir a desire so powerful that there was no thought of caution, only of ecstasy. Was Amabel now enjoying his embraces? A confusion of emotion engulfed her.

Marcus suddenly looked toward the corner where she was hiding. She released the ferns and drew back in dismay, but the shivering green fronds had revealed someone to be hiding behind them, and he began to walk toward her.

Jane and Kit emerged through the door and looked around for any sign of Marcus. They saw his tall, fair-haired figure heading for the fern-decked corner, and wondered what was of such interest. Reaching the greenery, he parted it and spoke abruptly. “Well, madam, we meet again.”

The ghosts were startled to realize he was addressing Henrietta, and they hastily took up positions from where she could not observe them. Then they watched what happened next.

Henrietta looked at Marcus in dismay. “My—my lord?” she stammered, her face aflame with embarrassment.

His gaze swept appraisingly over her. “You’re looking remarkably well,” he observed, as if commenting upon an elderly aunt who was in better health than expected.

“Your compliments were ever hollow, my lord,” she replied, managing to achieve a coolness that matched his, even though her pulse was racing unbearably just to be near him again.

His glance moved to her bandaged right wrist, and she felt it necessary to explain. “I fell while walking on the cliffs.”

“Indeed? How very unfortunate.” His tone suggested he wished she’d fallen right over the precipice. Next he glanced at her ring. “So Sutherton and his duns can rest assured of the imminent sharing out of the Courtenay fortune.”

The accuracy of the comment made her color still more. “That was uncalled for.”

“On the contrary, I think it very pertinent.” He caught her left hand suddenly and made a pretense of examining the ring. “A tasteless bauble; just what I would have expected of that coxcomb.”

“Are you intending to stay at Mulborough, sir?” she asked, snatching her hand away.

“Why? Do you fear my close proximity?” he asked softly, looking deep into her eyes.

“No, sirrah, I merely shudder at the prospect of having to endure your continuing contempt and rudeness.”

“If I am contemptuous and rude, madam, it is no more than you deserve.”

Henrietta’s breath caught in disbelief. “Than
I
deserve?”

“Naturally.” With a cool nod, he turned and walked away.

Jane was so indignant that she almost rushed impulsively after him to hit him soundly on the head with her fan, but Kit put a finger to his lips and pointed warningly at Henrietta, who might hear or see them at any second.

Henrietta’s heart pounded uncontrollably. The noise of the ballroom seemed suddenly to echo, and she felt so weak that she had to lean back against the wall. As she closed her eyes, the glint of candlelight on his fair hair remained with her, as did the ice in his frozen gaze, but beyond these there was a sweeter memory, that of stolen kisses, mirrored passion, and tender words...

Jane’s eyes filled with tears too, for she felt Henrietta’s pain as keenly as if it were her own. Shared blood carried shared emotions, and the phantom knew in those wretched seconds that Kit was right, Henrietta was in love with the Marquess of Rothwell. Pray God he was equally right about said marquess’ feelings. If so, all that had to be done was show Marcus that Henrietta—not Amabel—was the one for him.

Chapter Seven

The ball was over and the first glint of dawn lightened the eastern sky as the local guests drove home through a white carpet a mere three inches deep. No more snow fell for the moment, and the air was so cold and brittle that it seemed almost to ring. The sea was the color of lead beneath the lowering clouds, and curls of smoke rose from the chimneys of Mulborough as the men prepared to go out on the morning tide. The
Avalon
lay at anchor in the harbor, her gilded paintwork glinting in the changing light. Mulborough Abbey fell silent as everyone, servants included, retired exhausted to their beds.

Russell and Marcus didn’t feel quite ready to sleep, and so decided to play billiards for a while. It was at this point, with Henrietta already having gone to bed for the night, that Jane and Kit decided to retire for a while as well, for even ghosts need their rest. As they found an unoccupied bedchamber and settled down on the comfortable feather bed, Rowley went wandering around the abbey, leaving Kit to draw a more than compliant Jane into his arms.

Rowley’s nighttime ambles had but one purpose—to find sugared almonds. Old habits die hard, and the spaniel had been such an incorrigible sweetmeat thief when alive, that he couldn’t help going through the same motions now. His ghostly paws pattered along the deserted passageway toward the staircase, and then down to the ground floor, where a distant burst of male laughter caught his attention. He set off toward the sound.

The billiard table stood in the conservatory across the cloisters from the ballroom, and looked out onto the terrace, where the lanterns were now muted by the strange half light of snow and dawn. Inside, Russell bent at the green baize table to play the opening shot of their second game. As the ivory balls knocked pleasantly together, he leaned on his cue with a satisfied grin. “Your defeat is imminent, I fancy,” he said to Marcus.

“Overconfidence ever was your failing,” came the murmured reply as Marcus prepared to play.

Russell watched ball after ball slip obligingly into the pockets, and then sighed. “I fancy Lady Luck is with you tonight,” he said at last.

Marcus paused a moment. “To briefly change the subject, have you ever considered placing a boom across the mouth of the harbor?”

“A boom? Well, no ...” Russell became thoughtful. “That’s not a bad idea,” he said then.

“Even the simplest device can play havoc with any unwanted visitor, and will certainly hamper them long enough for you to use your cannon here. It is simply opened to let any friend in.”

Russell nodded. “I’ll give it some consideration.”

As play resumed, Rowley ambled into the conservatory, sniffing here and there at various interesting scents. Slowly he made his way to the table, walked up one of the ornately carved legs, and then sat on the cushioned rim to see what the two men were doing. A red ball rolled gently down the table, and halted right in front of him. Concentrating a little more than was his custom, the ghostly spaniel patted it with his paw. The ball rolled a few inches.

Marcus’ lips parted in astonishment. “Did I imagine that?”

“If you did, so did I,” Russell replied. Then he shook his head dismissively. “It must have been a trick of the light. Play on.”

But Rowley had warmed to the trick, and patted the ball again. Amazed, the two men watched its uneven progress along the cushion until Marcus picked it up. Rowley scowled invisibly at him, and then jumped down from the table to wander off again on his briefly interrupted search for sugared almonds.

Marcus examined the ball closely. “I see nothing untoward. It’s just an ivory billiard ball,” he declared at last, handing it to Russell.

Russell inspected it as well, and then replaced it on the green baize, “Perhaps we both had one brandy too many,” he said at last.

“Speak for yourself. I’ve only had two!”

“Two very large ones,” Russell reminded him. “Oh, let’s continue our play. If it happens again, we’ll call it a day and sleep it off.”

“Agreed.”

They played steadily for about a quarter of an hour, and then Russell asked Marcus if he had encountered Henrietta at the ball.

“Yes, I came face-to-face with the future Lady Sutherton. There was no bloodshed, so you may rest easy.”

“I think it’s a damned shame she’s marrying that maggot Sutherton.”

“Like cleaves to like.”

Russell was taken aback. “I say, that’s a little strong, isn’t it?”

“No.”

Russell put down his cue. “I think it’s about time you explained. What exactly happened between you two?”

Marcus hesitated and then placed his cue on the table as well. “I met her at a masked ball at Devonshire House last summer. I’d managed to ascertain who she was, but because she was a Courtenay I fear I introduced myself under a false name. Look, I really don’t want to talk about it. Suffice it that the whole sorry business is over now.”