Caprice: The Masqueraders Series - Book One (28 page)

Think quickly!
Clarissa told herself and turned away from him on the pretense of laying her pelisse on a chair. “You cannot expect a lady to fall into your arms with so little provocation.”

“Provocation? Do you desire more?” His deep voice overlaid her thoughts like a velvet caress. “Would you have me say that I have thought of nothing but you these last weeks?”

“It would be beneath you to lie so patently, my lord,” she answered softly, keeping her face averted. It was easier to remember that she was Soltana when she was not looking at the man Clarissa loved.

“Would you have me admit that I am wretched out of your presence?” He sounded alarmingly closer, though she had not heard him cross the carpet. “Do you wish to hear how I burn for you?”

The touch of his hands on her skin just below her short puffed sleeves made her start. “You are cold,” he said in surprise, for the day was all soft-butter sunshine. He turned her about, his hands falling in equal caresses upon her shoulders. “I will warm you.”

Appalled by the thought that he was about to kiss Soltana, Clarissa backed hastily away from him. “Really, Lord Ramsbury. This is too forward, even for you.”

He smiled at her, a cunning in his expression that she had never witnessed before. “How English you sound when angry. Strong emotions most often have the opposite effect on one’s command of a second language.”

Once again Clarissa was grateful for the veil that hid her face. “You should not be here.”

His expression turned indulgent. “Come, Soltana. After what we shared at Vauxhall? The part of coquette does not become you.”

Clarissa refused to entertain the tantalizing images that flitted forward in her thoughts. “What does become me, my lord? What would you have me be?”

He looked at her and she felt the incisive power of that green gaze reach deeply into her before his incredibly expanding pupils engulfed the green in black.

He knows!
she thought wildly and tried to move from his grip, but he held firm. Yet one hand did move from her left shoulder as he dragged a finger along the open edge of her U-necked bodice. His gaze followed his finger as it brushed a path in the wake of the hectic blush that bloomed on her bosom. Finally he came to the place where a shadow betrayed the coyly hidden cleft between her breasts.

Lifting his head, he smiled straight into her startled brown gaze. “What do I wish for you? I would have you be brave enough to cast off your veil and climb into that bed with me.”

The bluntness of his request staggered her. She had been prepared for a pitched battle or a Byzantine game of hide-and-seek. She had not been prepared for the first volley in their game of love to strike her broadside at sea level. Even now, his finger was tracing curlicues on the soft upper curve of her right breast. The assault was so light as to be almost ignored. So why was her breath so short and hurried?

In her mind’s eye she beat a hasty retreat behind the persona of Soltana. Soltana would not be cowered by his caress. Soltana would strike back. “You must know a great number of females of unreliable virtue to believe me capable of such folly.”

His black brows rose. “Not folly. Bravery. And I know you are brave, Soltana.” His gaze fell again to add sight to the mesmerizing pleasure of touching her. “Do you think I have forgotten? You saved me from a band of thugs.”

Clarissa blinked. She had nearly forgotten—how could she?—that he had been attacked at Vauxhall. “You make too much of too little, my lord,” she answered, trying to sound careless. “Any child with a saber was capable of doing as much.”

“Any child who was certain of her ability. You shan’t turn me from my purpose so easily.” He moved his hand from her bodice to her chin. “Now that you are here, I expect to see a great deal of you, but I did not want our first meeting to be in public. I will go now and be an amiable host. Yet I will come back. Tonight you may woo me with your sultry beauty and seduce me with your fragrance and hold me in your arms until my blood sings. And then I will show
you
Paradise.”

He kissed her through her veil so softly she felt as if her heart would fly right up out of her chest. “Until later,
Bahia.”

The moment he was gone, Clarissa rushed over to turn the key in the lock. She then stripped off her bonnet and veil. When that was done, she went to open her portmanteau to extract a jar of face cream, the contents of which she applied liberally to her kohled eyes. Removing the dark circles of eye-black was the most difficult part of switching from Soltana to Mrs. Willoughby. The dark smudges sometimes required several applications over a number of hours to remove. It was best if she had the night to accomplish the task. For that reason she had decided that during her visit to Wolfscote Soltana would be a “lie-abed” who appeared only in the evenings. Contrasting that indolence, Mrs. Willoughby would be seen as a vigorous lady who thought nothing of rising at eight
A.M
. to accompany her host on a gallop through his estate.

When she had wiped the cream and kohl from her eyes, she began unhooking her frock, especially designed to allow her to undress herself on this occasion. The overskirt of narcorat slipped off to reveal another of Pomona. She had chosen this sea-green shade expressly because it matched Lord Ramsbury’s eyes when he was amused. She then pulled out matching slippers, a white chip hat trimmed with a sea-green ribbon, and a long-sleeved cream-colored striped-satin spencer which fastened up the front to her neck, completely hiding her original bodice.

Finally she turned to the mirror and began fluffing the head of curls that had been ruthlessly hidden beneath her original bonnet. When she had coaxed a number of them onto her brow and forward over her ears, she pulled on her bonnet. The high crown and narrow brim imitated the fashionable man’s top hat, giving her features a piquancy in direct opposition to Soltana’s languorous style.

She had just finished her transformation when a knock sounded at her door. She turned, as guiltily as any child caught with a hand in the cookie jar, and did not answer.

“Soltana, dear? ‘Tis Aunt Heloise.”

Clarissa rushed to the door and flung it open. “Aunt, I’m so glad you’re here.” She pulled her aunt inside and shut the door quickly. “You will not believe it. Lord Ramsbury was lying in wait for me.”

Heloise’s eyes widened. “Waiting here, in your room?”

Clarissa nodded. Only then did the full implication of his behavior come to weigh on her mind. “I believe he means to offer Soltana a
carte blanche.”

Heloise pursed her lips. “I believe you may be right. Well, she won’t be the first woman who’s been offered a ‘slip on the shoulder’ though I do wonder at his audacity. After all, the lady is under my protection. Your suitor is more rash than I would have believed.”

“He thinks that Soltana is the result of the wrong side of the blanket. No doubt that absolves his conscience.”

“One might well suppose so. But if that were his intention then, why did he invite Mrs. Willoughby as well? Whatever could be on that young man’s mind?” She paused to give her niece the once-over. “Your transformation is splendid. Ramsbury didn’t catch you in the midst of it, did he?”

“No,” Clarissa said tartly. “He was too eager in his ardor to conceal himself for long.”

“We must all be grateful for that,” Heloise said. Her niece sent her a speaking glance. “Oh, you are right. I am entirely against your stratagem, but I do detest a poorly played game of any sort. Now come along. I have just discovered that Mrs. Willoughby is to room with me.”

“How did you learn that?”

Heloise smiled. “I asked. I did not want to share a room with just anyone, and the crush of guests will require that strangers be housed together.” She glanced at the single bed in this room. “I see your earl had provided for every eventuality.”

Clarissa puckered up. “What can you mean?”

“I mean that Soltana sleeps alone. You may well wish to keep your key in your pocket. I just saw Ramsbury ride off with Lord Everett and Sir Bloomsby. Now is the time for Mrs. Willoughby to ‘arrive.’”

“When are you going to tell us why we’ve been dragged to Derbyshire, Ramsbury?” asked one of the three dozen guests who sat at Hadrian’s table for dinner. “A gentleman can stand only so much suspense before his meal refuses to settle.”

“Better be a good trick, Ramsbury,” groused another of his male guests, “since we’ve been relegated to chicken whist.”

“I beg your pardon?” questioned Lady Arbuthnott.

“He means low-stakes gambling, ma’am,” Lord Bascombe, her dinner partner, replied.

“How’s a man to enjoy himself in the country when he cannot piqué his interest in cards by a heady wager?” asked another.

“I’ve had enough heavy betting to last me several Seasons,” Hadrian answered from the head of the table. “However, if it pleases your lordship to lose your money and there are those who will oblige you, then I rescind my restriction.”

“I know what troubles you,” the Marquess of Hawksmoor rejoined in good humor. “Had to clip a sharpster’s wings first thing upon your return. Good work, I say. Lost a hefty sum to the blighter on one occasion myself.”

“What became of Tibbitts?” asked another of the guests.

“I hear he has repaired to Paris,” Hadrian said shortly.

“Ain’t Emory in Paris?” questioned yet another.

Hadrian’s expression remained bland. “Is he? I hadn’t heard.” He nodded at the head footman to begin serving the next course. The joints of meat instantly appeared.

“The saddle of mutton is excellent, if I may say so,” he confided to Mrs. Willoughby, who sat on his left. “My cook in town, who is French, will not serve anything so coarse as country fare. Yet I prefer it. I’m of the opinion that simple foods increase the health and vigor of every organ. Indeed, it is a pity Lady Soltana is too fatigued by her journey to join us tonight.”

Clarissa smiled reservedly at him. “I will relate your concern for her health, my lord.”

Hadrian returned her coolness with a grin. “I am glad travel does not so fatigue you.”

Lowering her head to wipe delicately at the corners of her mouth, she smiled into her napkin as though amused by his speech in a way he could not share. “I am nearly indefatigable, my lord.”

He had watched her closely since entering his salon before dinner to find her already there and engaged in conversation with Bascombe. Dressed in primrose silk, she seemed perfectly poised, if reserved, when greeting him. He had not seen her arrive nor could he learn from his servants exactly when she did. But if what he suspected was true, he would soon catch her out. “Tell me, Mrs. Willoughby, are you as fond of country lanes as you are park rows?”

She looked up at him, her plum dark eyes shining with that same secret humor. “If that is a prelude to an invitation to ride your grounds, then allow me to save you breath. I should like above everything else to view Wolfscote from the saddle. Tis a splendid house, my lord. What little I’ve seen of it recommends itself in the most amiable way possible to both the critical eye and the fanciful heart.”

“Well said, ma’am,” Lord Bascombe replied. “The place fairly reeks of noble domesticity! A veritable provincial idyll. Said to Hadrian many a time, all that’s wanting is a parcel of children scampering about.”

This time Clarissa colored a little as she met Hadrian’s sardonic glance. “Then you must begin at once to rectify the matter, my lord. A parcel of children is a tall order for any wife.”

“But not for an indefatigable one,” he rejoined, prompting laughter from those who had overheard their first exchange.

When the jollity subsided, Clarissa asked, “Is it true that Mr. Blackburne has gone to Paris?”

“My brother does not deign to keep me informed of his schedule,” Hadrian said in a tone that did not encourage further conversation on that subject.

But Clarissa was worried. “He seemed much preoccupied when last I saw him. I fear there might have been heavy matters weighing on his mind.”

This was not the subject of conversation Hadrian had expected from her at his dinner table, nor did he want to attract the attention of others to her concern. In a voice meant for her ears alone he said, “If you will but wait upon me after dinner, madam, I shall be happy to continue this conversation then.”

“Very well,” Clarissa murmured and then turned deliberately to engage her other dinner partner in conversation.

During the next hour and a half, five courses were served and removed until the final one, apricot torte, had been consumed.

Only then did Hadrian rise from his chair, prompting the attention of the entire gathering to focus upon him.

As he waited for the last of the chatter to subside, Clarissa could not help observing how fine he looked in his evening attire of black and white. A little of the sunburned coloring had faded from his cheeks during the months that she had known him, but she doubted that it would ever completely disappear, nor did she desire that. He looked healthy and powerful and quite irresistibly male.

Hadrian smiled at his assembled guests before speaking. “Many of you have hectored me the length of the day to know why I have requested your presence at Wolfscote. Now that you are here together I am ready to tell you. I have invited you to a weeklong celebration of my return from a well-meant if, thankfully, too hasty interment in the family cemetery. Following the ‘unburial’ on Friday, a ball will be held to mark the return of my coronet as the fifth Earl of Ramsbury.”

James rose to his feet with his wineglass in hand. “To Hadrian Blackburne, the fifth Earl of Ramsbury, a deuced fine cousin and all-round good fellow!”

The company of men came to their feet at once while the ladies raised their glasses in place to toast the health of their host. Several other toasts followed until Hadrian called an end to it by signaling to Lady Bascombe, James’s wife and hostess for the evening. At that the ladies left the gentlemen to their cigars and port.

For the next hour, Clarissa accompanied her aunt about the salon and then the length of Wolfscote’s gallery, pausing often to examine and admire the collection of portraits, porcelains, marbles, exquisite furnishings, and objets d’art accumulated from more than two hundred years of continued existence beneath one roof. They did not speak of what was uppermost in both their minds, how Clarissa would survive the days ahead, but rather what two women enjoying a week in the elegant country house would find pleasurable.