Scoundrel in the Regency Ballroom: The Rake and the Heiress / Innocent in the Sheikh's Harem

‘You kissed me!’ She flung herself to her feet. ‘And then you kissed me again, here in this very room.’

‘You didn’t put up much of a fight.’

‘Oh, how dare you. How dare you! You turn everything to your own account. I came alone here because I am alone. What relatives I have don’t even know I exist yet. I thought I was calling on a man my father’s age. You made it perfectly clear from the start that you didn’t think my papers existed, or if they did that they had long been lost. I’ve told you, time and again I’ve told you, that I led a sheltered life, yet you chose not to believe that either. You talked about the rules of the game, and not playing if you couldn’t pay, and no commitment, at every opportunity so that I knew—how could I not—that you would consign me to the ends of the earth if you found out that I was the type of female who could be compromised.’

‘That explains why you lied, it does not explain why you let me make love to you. The other day—in the barn—I gave you every opportunity to say no. Dammit, Serena, you know I did.’

‘Yes, you did,’ she whispered. ‘And I didn’t. I should have, but I didn’t. I don’t know what came over me. I was not thinking straight. I thought I could play to your rules, that I could indulge in what you call a spring idyll, but I realise that I am not, after all, the type to treat such affaires lightly. It meant nothing to you, but I discovered it should mean something to me.’

‘You left it rather late in the day to discover something so fundamental. There is a name for that type of behaviour, but I will not sully your ears with it.’

Serena recoiled as if he had hit her, but met his gaze resolutely. ‘I deserved that. I know how it must look, but it was not my intention to—I mean, it was my intention to—what I mean is, at the time I meant it. But afterwards, I realised that I risked throwing away my chances of future happiness with someone else. Throwing it away on someone who did not—would never—offer me what I want.’

‘Marriage, of course,’ Nicholas said disgustedly. ‘I should have known you weren’t really that different from the rest of your sex. Well, you’ll be able to take your unsullied pick now, Lady Serena.’

‘Yes, I will,’ she said, finally driven by hurt to goad him. ‘I’m not only titled, I’m vastly wealthy too, you know. An heiress and a lady—you’re right, I will be able to take my pick.’

Charles had been right. The perfect candidate, he’d called Serena, and that was before he knew all. That Frances Eldon had also urged matrimony on his employer in his latest epistle added fuel to the flames. ‘I hope you will be more honest with the poor clunch, whoever he turns out to be, than you were with me. Will you tell him that he’s taking a lying, scheming, card-sharping temptress to his bed? Will you tell him that he’s not the first to touch you? To kiss you? To make you cry out with pleasure? Or will you play the innocent virgin with him? I warn you, you will have to polish up your act a bit if you do. Respond to him as you did to me, and he will not believe you any more than I do.’

Serena flinched. ‘You don’t mean that, Nicholas. You know I wasn’t acting.’

‘I know that I am the one left aching with frustration, while you at least were satisfied,’ Nicholas responded crudely. ‘All I’ve been thinking about, day and night, is you, you, you. The vision of you lying there with your hair undone haunts me. And now it will always haunt me. I will never be rid of you,’ he said heatedly, grabbing Serena by the shoulders. ‘Don’t you see what you’ve done? Because I will never have you I will always be imagining what might have been.’

He pulled her towards him and kissed her roughly. His lips were hard on hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. She could smell the scent of his soap, feel his breath warm on her skin, sense the barely controlled anger in the tension of his fingers bruising the soft flesh at the top of her arms.

It was a punishing kiss, a possessive kiss, the hungry kiss of desire too long pent up. It was the kiss of a man intent on slaking his thirst. Then suddenly it was a passionate kiss. Unable to stop herself, Serena responded, kissing him back urgently, meeting fire with fire. Nicholas groaned, releasing his grip to slide his arms around her, pulling her close into the hard length of his body. Then abruptly she was free. ‘It would have been better for us both if your father had left his papers with a lawyer.’

‘You wish we had never met?’

‘With a passion.’

‘Don’t be like this, Nicholas, don’t let us part on such terms.’

‘For God’s sake, what other terms can there be?’

‘We are both overwrought. You think I have deceived you, but I have not. I’m the same person I was when first we met. A title does not change who I am. I admit, I did not tell you the whole truth, but I did not lie to you. And as to what has happened between us—you have not broken your rules. Your conscience is clear, you did not take anything I was not willing to give, and thanks to the arrival of your tenant, I did not give you enough to be truly compromised.’ She managed a watery smile.

Her willingness to absolve him from the blame he suspected he deserved melted Nicholas’s anger, leaving him feeling strangely empty. He saw she was making a valiant attempt not to cry, and felt guilt perch like a brooding raven on his shoulder. ‘Go and pack,’ he said gruffly, struggling to resist the desire to pull her back into his arms. ‘I’ll pick you up at noon tomorrow.’

‘Don’t be foolish, Nicholas. I’ll hire a chaise. I won’t be more than a night on the road.’

‘It is you who are being foolish. It’s too dangerous for you to travel alone with only your snoring Madame for company, and Charles told me yesterday that I’m no longer persona non grata in London, since my duelling opponent is well on the road to recovery.’

Serena coloured. ‘Madame LeClerc is gone ahead of me.’

‘Then that settles it. There have been a spate of robberies on the London road. A highwayman, Hughes says. It’s not safe.’

‘I’ll hire some outriders,’ Serena said stubbornly.

‘Serena, I insist. If you don’t agree, I’ll simply make sure you can’t hire your own chaise in the village. One of the advantages of being the local landowner.’

‘That’s not fair. Nicholas, it’s better if you don’t, really…’

He took hold of her hand between his own. ‘I could not be happy with you travelling alone. Indulge me in this. We both need time to order our thoughts, and I to cool my temper. You are right, we should not part on such terms. We deserve better.’

Her conscience warred with her desires, and her desires won. She could not resist the temptation of a few more days of his company. ‘Very well.’ Refusing his escort on the grounds that he too must attend to his packing, Serena departed Knightswood Hall.

It was only when she had gone that he realised she had still offered him no explanation for her willingness to make love to him.

Chapter Six

The air in the public room of the King’s Arms, the tavern owned by the legendary heavyweight Thomas Cribb, was stifling. Acrid wood smoke from the roaring fire hung heavy, despite the grimy windows flung open wide to the street. The pungent aroma of unwashed human bodies mingled with the smell of spilt ale and cheap spirits.

Jasper Lytton paused on the threshold, wearing the habitual sneer that marred the handsome lines of his countenance. Of late the place had become overrun with the hoi polloi, so much so that even the distinction of being invited to partake of daffy within the sanctity of Cribb’s own private parlour was become a dubious pleasure. He raised his quizzing glass to survey the room. From the window embrasure a thin man beckoned with a long white finger. Jasper joined him reluctantly.

‘I th-thought you weren’t going to turn up, Jasper. I’ve been here an age.’ The man spoke with a slight stammer. He was young and elegantly dressed, but dissipation was already taking a heavy toll, thinning his hair, etching a deep groove on either side of his mouth. The pale eyes were bloodshot. His hand shook as he reached for the decanter to top up his glass, filling Jasper’s at the same time.

‘God, Langton, you look like hell.’ Jasper lolled on the hard wooden seat, watching his friend’s hand tremble with malicious pleasure. Though Langton could give him at least five years, and he himself drank harder and gamed deeper, no one would take Jasper for the senior man.

‘S-so would you, in my position. Well, do you have it?’

Jasper shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to meet the other man’s gaze. ‘No, not yet.’

‘You promised! I need it back immediately. If I d-don’t have it—God, you know what these people are like.’

‘Only too well, I introduced you to them myself, remember?’ Watching his friend gulp down the fiery liquid, Jasper felt a minute twinge of guilt. It wasn’t as if the five thousand he owed Langton was such a great sum, but it was a debt of honour. Introducing Hugo Langton to his own moneylender of choice had been intended as a stalling tactic, nothing more. Carefully reaching into his jacket pocket, Jasper withdrew a small roll of notes. ‘There’s two hundred here on account. I’ll get the rest soon. I just need a run of luck.’

‘Or your cousin to bail you out,’ Langton muttered, snatching at the money.

Jasper’s smile hardened. ‘That’s unlikely. Nicholas made it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t be towing me out of the River Tick again.’ The bitter memory of that last uncomfortable interview with his cousin still rankled. Why couldn’t Nicholas see that paying off Jasper’s debts for him was simply advancing money that would be rightfully his in the very near future anyway?

‘How long is it now until the great day?’

‘Less than three months.’ He’d be lucky to hold his creditors at bay that long. There were bailiffs at his lodgings. Duns at his club. Damn Nicholas, why was he making him wait?

Across the table Langton emptied the dregs of the decanter into his glass. His hand no longer shook. The rough liquor gave him courage. When he spoke his voice was free from its stammer. ‘Three months, and you’ll be a rich man—provided your cousin doesn’t get leg-shackled in the meantime.’

Jasper’s thin lips tightened. Waving an imperious hand at the beleaguered landlord for more brandy, he quelled the panic that threatened to overwhelm him every time he thought of the consequences were his cousin suddenly to announce his nuptials. ‘He wouldn’t do that,’ he said grimly.

The fierce look that he drew forced Langton to cower back in his seat, all thoughts of teasing banished. ‘If you s-say so. I merely thought…’

‘What have you heard?’ Jasper asked sharply.

‘Just a rumour. Came from Charles Avesbury, if you must know.’

‘Avesbury,’ Jasper exclaimed. ‘He said Nicholas was to be married?’

‘Well, not as such. But he did see the lady in question. Said the two of them were smelling of April and May.’

Jasper scowled. ‘We’ll see about that.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Never you mind.’ Jasper pushed back his chair. ‘I have business to attend to.’ Swatting the landlord’s arm from his shoulder, Jasper indicated, with a careless nod of the head, that the new decanter was Langton’s responsibility. Without a backward glance he strode for the door of the inn, casually kicking a flea-bitten terrier from under his feet.

‘Business,’Langton mused, pouring himself another glass of brandy. ‘Dirty business, if I’m any judge.’

At mid-morning the next day Nicholas’s travelling chaise and four arrived outside Serena’s lodgings. After a curt greeting, he stood by the chaise, watching as she supervised the loading of her luggage, admiring the graceful figure she cut in her woollen travelling cloak, the gold of her hair glinting under a poke bonnet.

Yet another sleepless night had taken its toll on Serena’s mood. She had expected Nicholas to be angry, but had not anticipated he would feel quite so betrayed. Castigating herself for not having been truthful with him from the start only served to make her feel worse, however, for she could not ignore the fact that only by doing so had she come to know him so intimately.

As her dressing case and jewellery box were stowed inside the chaise, Serena wearily acknowledged the truth of the matter. She had fallen in love with Nicolas Lytton, plain and simple. No wonder his touch set off such extreme sensations. No wonder she felt a fizz of excitement every time she looked upon his handsome figure. No wonder she felt as if the sky was falling down when she thought of a future without him. She loved him. She wished with all her heart it had been possible, just once, to make love with him. Now her only consolation was that he had no idea of how she felt. And that was how it must remain, for if ever he had an inkling of her feelings—knowing Nicholas—he’d probably see it as another form of entrapment.

He helped her into the coach, his expression unreadable. Serena disposed herself beside her boxes as he took the seat opposite. The coachman pushed shut the door and they were away. She leaned back against the squabs and closed her eyes. She was exhausted, but sleep would be impossible with Nicholas sitting so close that his knees brushed hers. He was angry still. She knew better than to try to coax him out of it, could only hope that at some point on the long journey ahead his mood would mellow. Today should be a time for looking forward to whatever her new life would bring. She had an uncle, an aunt, perhaps even cousins. She was rich. She was in the fortunate position of being able to suit herself, neither beholden to an employer nor dependent upon a husband. The future was hers to define. Yet she could not bring herself to think about anything other than the brooding man sitting impassively opposite her. As they left High Knightswood behind, Serena fell into a troubled doze, her head resting awkwardly on her shoulder.

Nicholas watched, torn between frustrated desire and guilt. A surfeit of brandy last night had failed to prevent their last conversation replaying over and over in his mind. Serena was right, she had not really deceived him. He had asked Frances Eldon to investigate her because he knew her story was not the whole truth. And she was, unfortunately, right about his willingness to be deceived. He wanted her so much that he had deluded himself. Had failed to examine closely the inconsistencies in her story, the apparent contradictions in her character. It was a bitter pill to swallow, that she had also ultimately saved him from breaking his own damned rules. He had not compromised her, but he could not stop imagining what it would have been like if he had.

This morning he had an aching head and an unusually active conscience. Time would cure the former. The latter, having little experience of, he was less sure how to tackle. He owed her an apology at the very least. She had every right to reproach him for the things he had said yesterday, but she had not. He still couldn’t understand why, if her claims to innocence were the truth, she had allowed him such liberties. It didn’t make sense. He wished to hell she hadn’t. He wished to hell she’d allowed him more. He wished—he didn’t know what he wished any more. The only thing of which he was certain was that he was not ready for Serena to quit his life.

As the horses slowed to turn into the yard of the posting inn for the first change, Serena was startled into wakefulness. Reaching up to straighten her bonnet, she smiled at Nicholas, an unaffected smile, forgetting for a moment all that had gone between them.

‘We should take some refreshment while they put the horses to the traces,’ he suggested.

She nodded her agreement. ‘Coffee would be most welcome.’

Nicholas helped her down the step, calling imperiously to the landlord to see to her request. It was late afternoon, the day dull and damp, not actually raining, but the smell of rain was in the air. Serena stretched her aching limbs, removing her gloves and reaching up to rub the stiff muscles on the back of her neck. She looked over to find Nicholas watching her, and smiled tentatively.

‘I must apologise for my overreaction yesterday,’ he said stiffly.

She put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t say any more. We both spoke in haste. Let us cry friends and forget about it.’

‘Friends with a woman,’ Nicholas said with a rueful smile. ‘That will be a first, but for you, mademoiselle—Lady Serena—I’ll try.’

The ostlers made the final adjustments to the tackle holding the four new horses to the chaise, then they were back in the carriage and on their way. The atmosphere was restored—almost—to the easy camaraderie of Knightswood Hall.

Lulled by the motion of the coach, Nicholas slept fitfully. Dusk approached and darkness began to fall. Serena was cold despite the rug she had tucked round her knees and the swansdown muff enveloping her hands. Outside she could hear the pounding of horses’ hooves, the occasional snatch of conversation between the two coachmen. Once, she heard the hooting of an owl.

Opposite her, Nicholas stirred restlessly against the squabs, one leg stretched forward, resting against her knees. She longed to sit beside him, to pull his head on to her shoulder, to smooth his silky black hair away from his brow, to feel the warm, reassuring heat of his body against hers.

In an effort to distract herself, she stared out at the night sky, where a waning moon could just be seen through the scudding light cloud. Surely it could not be much longer before they stopped for the night? She was stiff and sore from the journey. Nicholas mumbled, shifted in his seat, and quieted again. The sharp crack of a shot startled her from her reverie.

The coach jolted forwards as the horses reared at the noise, throwing Serena from her seat. Strong arms clasped her, preventing her from falling. A solid wall of warm muscle supported her. A reassuring voice asked her if she was hurt.

‘No, no, I’m fine. Nicholas, I think I heard a shot.’

He pulled her up on to the seat beside him and held her close as the coach slowed to a stop, feeling in his pocket for his pistol. ‘I didn’t hear anything—are you sure?’

‘Yes, it was quite unmistakable. Nicholas, do you think…?’

The words died on her lips as the door was wrenched open. A man stood framed in the doorway, his body muffled from head to toe in a black frieze coat, a large handkerchief wound up over his face so that only his eyes showed. The muzzle of his pistol pointed directly at Serena’s head.

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