“Go to the devil, Sir Sebastian Sheringham,” she whispered, “go to the devil and take your vile mistress with you!”
His face became still. “What did you say?”
“I said go to the devil and take your mistress with you!”
He was silent for a moment, and it was a silence which frightened her a little, as it spoke volumes of his anger. “And the name of this mysterious lover?” he asked softly, holding her gaze.
“Why do you still pretend, sir? What point is there in it?”
“I pretend nothing, madam!” he snapped.
“Very well, I will say her name if it pleases you. I speak of Petra, Countess of Lowndes, our dear and kind hostess tonight, the woman who hypocritically pretends to be my friend when all the time she is my most bitter enemy. She has worked tirelessly to put an end to our match, her resourcefulness is quite astonishing, but then she loves you and has no intention of allowing anyone else in your bed but herself!” She gazed defiantly at him.
“Petra is not my mistress,” he said coldly, “and she never has been.”
“No?” She gave a mirthless laugh, which was jerked into silence as he again seized her wrist, this time twisting her arm back so that she was pressed close, her face within inches of his.
“Petra is not my mistress,” he repeated, his tone clipped, “nor has she pretended anything at all where you are concerned. She has offered you friendship and you have spurned it time and time again. Damn you, Bryony St. Charles, damn you for all the insults you’ve dealt her and damn you for what you’ve just said! You’re not fit to even breathe her name!”
“How dare you,” she whispered, “how
dare
you defend her even now! You said tonight that you had never meant to offend or upset me, but you’ve done nothing else since the moment you decided to marry me! You don’t care about me in the slightest, you care only about yourself—and your precious mistress! I despise you, Sebastian Sheringham, I loathe the very sound of your name! You’re a liar, sir, you’ve lied to me from the outset, and you’re lying even now. The thought of becoming your wife begins to fill me with dread,” she said in a trembling voice. “I think I would be better off selling myself to the highest bidder than being your despised chattel.”
He still held her close and now he pressed her even closer, his fingers hurting and his eyes dark with something she did not know. She could feel his breath against her face as he spoke, his voice low, measured, and almost without expression. “The highest bidder? By that I presume you mean my cousin Felix.”
Color leaped to her face. “No!”
“I believe that you are now the liar,” he said softly, “for I know my cousin too well, I understand his every sly move, and I know his purpose in pursuing you. Oh, don’t deny it, for I am not a fool, I
know
what he is about! Don’t be fool enough to believe any sweet promise he may whisper into your trusting, gullible ear, for he won’t honor anything. Liskillen will be saved if you marry me,
not
if you trust Felix Calborough. You’re going to be my wife, Bryony St. Charles, nothing will ever change that. Look at me, damn you, for I mean every word I’m saying.”
He took her chin in his hand, forcing her face up toward his. “So, the thought of being my wife fills you with dread, does it? I wonder if you have even
begun
to think of what it will really be like? Perhaps I should give you something to judge by.”
Before she knew it, he had suddenly pulled her into his arms and was kissing her on the lips. He took his time, his lips moving sensuously over hers, his embrace pressing her very, very close against his body. It was a skilled kiss and there was nothing she could do to escape from it. Slowly, oh, so slowly, he let her go, and she turned weakly away, leaning her hands on the table, her head bowed.
“Haven’t you anything more to say?” he asked softly.
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered.
“That’s as well, because you’re going to be Lady Sheringham and from this moment on I expect you to act the part, is that clear? You showed earlier tonight that you’re quite capable of conducting yourself like a lady, and so I’ll no longer tolerate outbursts such as those you were guilty of tonight. I’ve been honest with you all along, my only crime being that perhaps I haven’t told you everything, but if your behavior during the past few minutes has been anything to judge by, then my decision not to tell you was the correct one. Now, then, I will say this once more, and only once: Petra isn’t, and never has been, my mistress.”
She turned accusingly. “Then why does everyone say that she is?”
“Do you believe everything you’re told?”
“I believe there isn’t smoke without fire.”
He gave a short laugh. “Really? I seem to remember you claiming a singular lack of fire when the smoke of your liaison with Carmichael was clouding the issue. I accepted your word then, Bryony, and so the least you can now do is accord me the same courtesy. You need me, madam, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that your father and Liskillen need me. Don’t be beguiled by the likes of my cousin, for to trust in him would be to take too grave a risk. Dare you take that risk, Bryony?”
Slowly she shook her head. “No.”
“I trust you mean that, for if you do not, if you have even half a mind to believe him, then you will have tried my patience beyond endurance. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, then let us rejoin the assembly.” He offered her his arm.
They proceeded from the room, but she was horribly close to tears. His kiss still burned like fire on her lips, and her heart was beating wildly in her breast, but no one could have told anything from her calm exterior: she appeared quite composed and at ease.
They returned to the ballroom, where the first person they saw approaching was Felix. Sebastian’s hand rested warningly over hers. “Remember what I said,” he said softly, and then he bowed to his cousin. “Good evening, Felix, how fortunate that we have survived this long before having to encounter you.”
Felix smiled coldly. “Good evening, Sebastian, I trust things are not going smoothly for you.” His eyes flickered toward Bryony.
Sebastian smiled. “Oh, but they do, cousin.”
“How unfortunate, but at least you will have no objection if I ask the prospective bride for the next dance.”
“No objection at all,” replied Sebastian, relinquishing her hand.
Her heart sank as Felix drew her fingers to his lips and then led her onto the floor. “Please,” she said in a low voice, “I would much prefer not to dance.”
“Oh, come now, let’s not make another disagreeable scene, you’ve been at the center of enough already. Besides, what harm can a dance do?” The orchestra began to play a
ländler
and as they danced he leaned closer again. “I take it that in spite of everything, the great match still goes on?”
“Yes.”
“One wonders what you have to do in order to offend him once and for all.”
She colored. “It’s none of your concern, sir.”
“I’m making it my concern.”
“Please don’t.”
“Oh, how you entreat with those wonderful green eyes. Small wonder my cousin refuses to part with you.” His fingers tightened over hers then. “I love you, Bryony,” he said suddenly, “I love you and I’m prepared to pay the price you have set upon yourself. Maybe you will not stoop to being a duke’s mistress, but will you also refuse to be his wife?”
She halted, looking at him in complete amazement. “What did you say?” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the music and conversation all around them.
“I said that I will do the right thing by you, Bryony St. Charles: I’ll make you Duchess of Calborough, if that is the only way I may possess you.”
Confused, she stared at him, but then she gradually became aware that they were attracting attention from those nearby, and she drew instinctively away without having said a word to him. Something made her glance across the crowded floor, straight into Sebastian’s watchful eyes. Her breath caught and her cheeks colored guiltily, although she had done nothing for which she should feel guilt.
Sebastian turned away from her then, making his way up onto the orchestra dais. She watched him whisper to the leader and immediately the music stopped and there was a buzz of conversation as everyone turned to see what was happening. The whispers died away into an expectant hush, and Sebastian looked toward Bryony, beckoning to her. “I think it appropriate that you join me,” he said, extending a hand, “for I should not make this announcement alone.”
Her heart seemed to stop. He was going to end the match! And in public! He had seen her with Felix and believed wrong of her again! She walked in a daze, hardly aware of the guests parting before her. Her hand was trembling as Sebastian assisted her up onto the dais, leading her to the very front, where he stood at her side to address the sea of faces before them.
“My friends,
talk
of my betrothal to Miss St. Charles has gone on for long enough, and the time to set a date for a formal engagement has arrived. It has been agreed that tomorrow night at the Polwithiel summer ball, Miss St. Charles will wear my ring for the first time.”
There were immediate cheers and everyone began to clap. Bryony felt quite numb and confused. He wasn’t declaring off? He intended the betrothal to take place the very next day? She stared blindly at the smiling faces below. She was fleetingly conscious of Delphine, her eyes huge and her lips unsmiling, and Petra, her fan moving busily to and fro before her lowered eyes; and she saw Felix, his gaze fixed coldly upon Sebastian before he turned to push away through the crowd.
Sebastian took her hand then, drawing it gallantly to his lips, but his blue eyes were veiled. “Be guilty of one thing more, Bryony, and it will be the end, I promise you that.”
He spoke softly, smiling as he did so, and she alone could hear what he said, but to the rest of the guests it looked as if he were whispering something loving. He drew a great cheer from them all then as he pulled her close and kissed her on the lips.
Petra’s fireworks display was an unqualified success. The guests gathered on the lamplit terrace and there were cries of delight and admiration as girandoles soared brilliantly into the night sky, bursting into showers of dazzling lights far above. Fountains and jets of fiery colors danced upon the shadowy lawns and were reflected in the lake, and the air was filled with hissing and crackling, and with drifts of smoke which sometimes threatened to obscure the pageant but which always seemed to clear just in time for the next wonder to flash into life. It was a triumph, and brought the assembly to a magnificent close.
Bryony waited at the top of the portico steps afterward. She stood alone watching the procession of carriages move away into the night, and she automatically smiled and nodded as the last of the guests emerged and descended to the remaining carriages.
At last the open landau was brought, its polished panels and brasswork gleaming in the light from nearby lanterns. The night became quiet. She glanced back into the house, but there was no sign yet of Sebastian, who had been closeted for some time with his mistress in that same anteroom where earlier he had so angrily faced his future wife.
At last she heard their steps on the tiled floor and they emerged into the night, Petra halting in the doorway and not coming to say farewell to Bryony. The two women looked at each other for a moment and then Petra turned coldly away, walking back into the house, the footmen closing the door behind her. Sebastian approached Bryony, silently offering her his arm, and they descended the steps to the landau. Neither of them said a word during the drive back to Polwithiel. The silence was oppressive and she wished to break it, but then she remembered that he believed her guilty of something yet again, and so she said nothing.
She gazed out at the dark woods, where the night breeze whispered through the tall trees and the call of an owl wavered from the direction of the folly. There was so very, very much that she wanted to say; she wanted more than anything to be able to unburden her heart, but she knew that that was impossible. She lowered her eyes sadly.
There were still lights burning at Polwithiel as the landau halted in the quadrangle. Sebastian helped her alight, holding her hand for a moment longer than necessary so that she looked quickly at him. “Yes?”
“Tonight I laid very public claim to you, Bryony St. Charles. I trust that I will not have cause to regret it.”
“Tonight you doubted me, sir,” she countered, “and wrongly so.” Slowly she withdrew her hand from his.
He looked at her for a moment and then turned to climb back into the landau. She watched as it drove away into the night, and her heart felt as if it was breaking. She loved him, but he would never truly be hers.
Suddenly she heard the conservatory door opening and she turned quickly to see Felix standing there. His voice carried clearly. “Bryony? I must speak with you.”
She shook her head. He was the last person she wished to speak to, but then she hesitated. Tonight he had, for whatever devious reason, asked her to marry him, and so she at least owed him a little of her time. Besides, they would be out in the open in the quadrangle ....
She walked toward him and he smiled, but his smile faded as she ignored the hand he held out to her. “So,” he said softly, “you do not believe what I said earlier.”
“No, for I begin to know you too well, sir.”
“But can you be absolutely sure?”
“Yes.”
Suddenly he reached forward to take her hand, pulling her so swiftly into the conservatory that she had no time to cry out. He closed the door, leaned back against it, watching her as she pressed nervously back among the enveloping citrus leaves. “Oh, Bryony,” he said softly, “what must I say to convince you that I am in earnest?”
“Let me out of here, sir!”
“Not until you believe me. I want you to
marry
me, Bryony. I do not merely offer you my protection. What more can I say to make you believe me?”