Chivalrous Rake, Scandalous Lady

скачать книгу бесплатно


* * *

Maura led quite an uneventful life. She knew her gay society friends—apart from Deborah Cleveland, who was genuinely kind—tolerated her presence in their heady circle because their sweet looks and vivacity were heightened by her lack of such charming qualities. She had therefore found this family drama oddly exhilarating for, like her brother, she was enjoying a temporary elevation in status because of it. None the less, she was already regretting having impulsively taken the letter. The reason she’d gone to Theo’s study was not to speak to her brother—although she had planned to soon corner him about handing over her overdue allowance. She’d headed there hoping to see a very different gentleman.

Earlier that day, from the top of the stairs, Maura had overheard a visitor arrive and state his name to Manwell. Immediately she had been scandalised. Her brother had few friends and Maura knew that this reputedly wicked philanderer was not one of Theo’s usual cronies. As one transfixed by a dangerous reptile, Maura had settled silently on to a high step to spy on devilish Graham Quick through the banisters. Of course she’d heard of him, but never actually seen him as he socialised, for the most part, in places and with people innocent young ladies knew nothing about.

She’d observed a man of below medium height with an excessively spare frame, flamboyantly clothed, who was blessed with blond good looks. Being a young woman of plain appearance with no experience of stirring interest, let alone passion, in a gentleman, she’d found watching him, unobserved, whilst wondering, acutely thrilling. As she’d gazed down on the top of his flaxen head, she’d recalled hearing a whisper that even the members of the Hellfire Club couldn’t match Graham Quick for depravity.

After a moment the object of Maura’s frenzied imagination had tipped back his blond head to inhale snuff and spotted her. With a sly smile he peremptorily beckoned her to come to him.

From the moment he’d seen her Maura had been petrified. That thin, demanding finger had finally jerked her to her senses and she’d jumped up and fled in a jumble of skirts with her cheeks aflame and his rough chuckle following her along the corridor.

The sanctuary of her room had done nothing to calm her; in fact, once a safe distance had been put between them, Maura had begun to relish her adventure and to find Mr Quick irresistibly interesting. He’d looked wonderfully handsome with his fair face and angelic curls and nothing like a wicked libertine. She’d known that Theo’s visitor, once received, would be shown to his study and had, after a while, boosted her courage sufficiently to decide to go there on the pretext of needing to speak to her brother on a matter. But she’d tarried too long and by the time she’d tiptoed with hammering heart to timidly tap on the door, they’d gone out.

‘I suppose I ought to go home now,’ Maura murmured morosely. She still felt disappointed at having missed the chance to satisfy her curiosity about Graham Quick by seeing, perhaps conversing with him, at close quarters. She also now felt quite miffed that, having sped here to warn Jemma that the plot to marry her off was progressing very fast, she’d not even been offered a cup of tea for her trouble.

‘Oh…I’m sorry, Maura. Will you take tea?’ Jemma belatedly recognised her cousin’s mood and offered her hospitality.

‘Yes, please,’ Maura said immediately and sat down.

Having given the order to Polly for a tray of tea and cinnamon biscuits to be brought to the parlour, Jemma returned to giving the awful matter at hand her full attention. ‘I ought to write to Mr Crabbe and let him know that his prettily stated intentions towards me are unfortunately unwanted.’

‘No!’ Maura shot to her feet. ‘Please don’t do that. It will give the game away that you have seen this letter. Then I will be in trouble, for Theo will guess I have meddled in it.’

With an unsteady hand Jemma pushed back the stray wisps fallen against her pale forehead. Her fingers remained tangled in those chestnut tresses as she slowly walked to the window and stared sightlessly out on another glorious spring day. She certainly did not want Maura to pay for being a good and loyal friend to her, but neither did she want Stephen Crabbe to remain under any illusion that she might agree to marry him. She had hoped that the two gentlemen who had received a letter from Theo—and whose responses she had not known—would have had the sense to treat the matter with the contempt it deserved. Then the whole stupid affair might have faded away with no need for her to do anything at all. But now it seemed she had no option but to quickly state her case before Mr Crabbe paid her an unwelcome call.

Five years ago she’d stirred gossip because she had trifled with Marcus Speer’s affections and led him on like a common tease. Then she’d deserved the opprobrium for her silly flirtatious behaviour. On this occasion she’d done nothing to encourage a suitor’s attention. Once she’d broadcast the truth of the matter, her guardian’s motive would be rightly judged to be claiming the Bailey inheritance. As much as Jemma didn’t relish seeing Maura upset by her brother’s greed being exposed, she could see no other way to proceed.

Jemma’s troubled thoughts were interrupted as Polly arrived with the tea tray. Having settled on the sofa opposite her cousin, and handed Maura her tea, Jemma was surprised to hear a tap at the door and see Polly again hovering on the threshold.

‘A gentleman caller, Miss Bailey,’ Polly announced in her soft Devon burr.

The hand that clutched a teacup froze halfway to Maura’s mouth. Swiftly it was deposited back on its saucer, rattling together the crockery. ‘It’s Theo,’ she hissed, pupils dilating in fright. ‘He must have discovered the letter is missing. He’s guessed I’ve taken it to show you. He’s come to get it…and me…’

‘Shh, it is not him,’ Jemma soothed, quickly standing up. Polly was familiar enough with her mistress’s guardian to have announced him by his name.

‘Who is it Polly?’ Jemma’s heart had plummeted to her stomach. Had Stephen Crabbe come to visit without the courtesy of first sending a card, and before she had properly decided how she must attack such a delicate matter as rejecting him for a second time?

‘It’s a Mr Speer, Miss Bailey,’ Polly announced, her eyes suddenly alight with admiration, her lips compressed to hide a smile. ‘He’s waiting in the hallway. Shall I show him in?’

‘No!’ Jemma blurted in a gulp. ‘That is…yes, of course. Please show him in. No, one moment…’ She again arrested her servant’s departure, but gave Polly an apologetic look for the confusion. ‘Ask him to wait just a moment, please.’

Polly nodded and slipped away to do as she’d been bid. As she skipped along the corridor towards the vestibule she inwardly chuckled. She’d be in a dither too if such a grand-looking man came a-calling on her unexpectedly.

‘What do you think he wants?’ Maura whispered, her eyes as round as the saucers on the table. Now she knew that her brother had not come in high dudgeon to chastise her she looked quite comfortable perched on the edge of her chair, and agog with curiosity. ‘Surely he is not still furious at having received Theo’s letter? Do you think that he is here to again quarrel with you?’

‘I…I don’t know,’ Jemma croaked. And that was the truth. She had no idea why he’d come. The last time she’d been in his company his parting words to her had been that they should finish their conversation another time. She’d imagined it to be just an empty phrase tossed at her as a substitute for a proper farewell. She felt quite light-headed at the prospect of receiving him at home without knowing the purpose of his call. She knew too that she regretted having delayed her cousin’s departure with the offer of refreshment. Of course it was best for her reputation that she did not see him alone but—etiquette be damned!—she would sooner hear whatever it was he had to say in private. Closely following that thought came another to reassure her. Marcus Speer was a sophisticated gentleman. He would refrain from discussing anything of a delicate nature in front of Maura.

After a moment Jemma realised that she would be no better prepared to deal with the situation after ten minutes of brooding on it than she was now. In fact, it would be bad manners to make him wait. She recalled the glimpse she’d had of him pacing impatiently in the hallway of Theo’s house. She guessed Mr Speer was not a man who gladly wasted his time, and she didn’t want to annoy him for no good reason. Quickly Jemma went to the door, opened it and gestured to Polly, hovering in the vicinity, that she was ready to receive him.

Chapter Six

‘Will you take tea with us, Mr Speer?’

In her willingness to appear genial, Jemma realised she had barely allowed him to set one expensively shod foot in to the room before bursting out with her offer.

‘Thank you. I’d like that,’ Marcus replied lightly and, having allowed Polly to scuttle beneath his braced arm to fetch another cup and saucer, he proceeded to close the door.

Jemma then received a smile that made it clear he knew she was flustered by his unexpected visit. His amusement, though veiled, was aggravating enough to subdue some of her nervousness. ‘I should like to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Wyndham,’ Jemma plunged on thoughtlessly. A moment later she realised that an introduction was surely unnecessary.

Five years ago, for some weeks, Marcus Speer had paid regular calls to this house. Then her papa would receive him in his study and the two gentlemen would pass the time of day over a tipple before she was allowed to greet her visitor. Her father’s sister, Aunt Cecily, would then act as chaperon whilst Marcus sat with the ladies to politely take tea. There had been occasions when the weather had been clement and they’d gone for a drive in his fancy phaeton. She remembered how she’d adored feeling the breeze catching at her bonnet as he set the horses to such a brisk trot that her elderly aunt would clutch doublehandedly at the side of the vehicle, her eyes clamped shut, her lips shivering in silent prayer. Delving into her store of memories, she recalled that Maura had enjoyed at least one exhilarating trip sitting beside her. Her cousin would have been present, too, when Marcus and his friends joined their party at an evening gathering. More recently her cousin had been invited to socialise in the Cleveland’s elite circle. As Deborah’s betrothed, it was likely that Marcus would accompany his fiancée and his future in-laws.

‘I believe we have already met,’ Marcus said amiably, confirming Jemma’s thoughts. ‘How are you, Miss Wyndham?’

His greeting to Maura had sounded relaxed and sincere and that pleased Jemma. Theo’s despicable behaviour didn’t seem to have coloured Marcus’s attitude towards all the Wyndhams. Of course, what he really thought of her she had yet to discover.

‘I’m very well, sir, thank you. Deborah has invited me to go with her party to the concert at Vauxhall later this week.’ It was rattled out breathlessly before Maura had fully recovered from the little curtsy she was making.

‘How charming,’ Marcus replied. ‘Do you like the pleasure gardens?’

An immediate nod answered him. ‘But I haven’t been for years, not since I made my come out. We were a small group on that occasion. Jemma was there, and Uncle John and my papa and Aunt Cecily. We—’ Maura dipped her head in Jemma’s direction, too engrossed in telling her tale to heed a cautionary glint in her cousin’s eyes ‘—we made our débuts during the same season, but were not as fortunate as Deborah has been in finding a husband…’ Her voice faded away. Maura’s enthusiasm to spin out a conversation with this handsome paragon had made her forgetful of how badly things had ended for Jemma, and for Mr Speer. ‘It’s a long time since we went to Vauxhall,’ she mumbled awkwardly, then gulped from her cup.

‘A very long time,’ Jemma endorsed with forced nonchalance. ‘I barely recall it.’ That fib caused Jemma to immediately blush and Marcus to slowly smile at his shoes.

Oh, she remembered that scented summer evening beneath the twinkling lights strung in the trees. And, from his sardonic reaction, she knew that he recalled the sultry night too.

With the assistance of his friend Randolph Chadwicke, he’d managed to manoeuvre her away from her friends and into one of the secluded walkways. He’d led her by the hand to a shadowy spot where boughs of whispering leaves almost disguised the sighs of secret lovers, but through the dense dark hedges could be glimpsed fragmented silhouettes. In her tender inexperience, it had seemed incredibly exciting, also reassuring to Jemma, to know that just a few feet away other young ladies were being wooed by handsome gallants. She felt her breath catch, her pulse accelerate with the memory of the sensual delight that Marcus had awoken within her.

Swiftly she began to collect the teapot and used china and put them back on to the tray. But the stimulating thoughts bombarding her consciousness would not be put to flight. She felt her breasts begin to throb, her legs to weaken and put a hand to the table as she swayed into it for support. She’d too generously allowed him to take liberties on that occasion just as she had at the Cranleighs’ ball.

‘How is your friend Mr Chadwicke, sir?’ Jemma turned from shuffling cups to blurt that out. ‘I don’t recall seeing him in town for quite a while.’ The question had been spontaneous, designed to eject memories of her bodice buttons being slowly slipped from their hooks and his fingers gliding inside…Of course the distraction was ill devised. The steady intense glitter in his silver eyes, the hard smile, made it clear he knew what was on her mind and how it had led her to remember his friend.

Marcus felt the tightening in his loins as he sensed anew tender flesh swelling to fill his palms, tasted again the sweetness of her novice kisses, her tongue-tip touching his with alternating ardency and wonder. He thought of Randolph too, and his welcome assistance in creating a diversion that evening. Then he wondered if the two of them might manage to remain friends for much longer…

‘I danced with Mr Chadwicke earlier in the week,’ Maura chirped up helpfully. It seemed to her that Mr Speer was taking rather a time to find an answer to Jemma’s simple question about his friend. ‘He was at Almack’s on Wednesday. He made a point of coming over and speaking to us. He danced with Deborah too. Oh, he is so charming.’

Marcus dragged his mind from memories that were making him feel increasingly uncomfortable. ‘Indeed he is,’ he drawled. ‘There, you have your answer, Miss Bailey,’ he said in a voice roughened by lust. ‘It seems Randolph is doing well.’

‘That is good to know,’ Jemma murmured, casting about in her mind for an innocuous topic of conversation. She could not find one. But she knew the matter of his betrothal stalked silently between them. The closest Marcus had come to referring to his fiancée was when he’d said that she and Theo were aware he was no longer unattached.

Now, with several mentions of his future bride’s name hovering in the air, Jemma knew she should say something to acknowledge Deborah’s position in his life. She would hate him to think that his impending marriage bothered her in any way. ‘I must offer my rather tardy congratulations on your betrothal to Miss Cleveland, sir.’ It was a light remark coupled with a sweet smile and then the tea tray, replenished with a fresh set by Polly, who’d whizzed discreetly in and out, again had her attention. Belatedly she recalled having offered him refreshment. She snatched at the pot and watched the stewed brew stream out of the spout. Jemma frowned at it; she feared the beverage might now be unpalatably strong and cool. She handed him his tea anyway with a polite, ‘Please do sit down, sir, if you would like to.’

Marcus took a seat and then a sip from his cup. His expression gave nothing away, but he placed the cup and saucer down on the table and looked at Jemma with rueful humour far back in his eyes.

‘Are you going to Vauxhall Gardens with the Clevelands later in the week, Mr Speer?’ Maura looked hopeful of hearing an affirmative.

‘I’m afraid not,’ Marcus replied.

‘Oh, that’s a shame.’ Maura’s small mouth twisted in disappointment. She peeked under her lashes at Jemma as though expecting her to contribute something to the conversation.

‘Will you be going to Vauxhall with the young ladies, Miss Bailey?’ Marcus asked.

‘I won’t, sir. I have been invited to the Sheridans this week,’ she truthfully told him, but omitted to pinpoint the exact day.

Mr Sheridan had dealt with her father’s bank affairs and had given her guidance on financial matters since John Bailey’s death. Once in a while he and his wife invited her to their neat villa outside Marylebone to enjoy cosy at homes with their growing family.

Jemma was sure she’d detected a hint of challenge in what had seemed to be an idle enquiry from Marcus. When he relaxed back in his chair, and continued regarding her steadily, she knew for sure he was keen to gauge her reaction. Jemma felt her indignation rising. He was obviously aware that invitations to join the Clevelands’ lofty circle did not come her way. Her parents’ openly adulterous marriage and subsequent divorce had put paid to her and her sisters becoming popular as débutantes. Never the less Monica and Patricia had found husbands to love them. But neither of her sisters had added to their infamy by acting like shallow flirts in their youth.