She stood now on the landing, hidden from view, listening intently to the conversation at the front door. It was Mr Gabriel Ardenzi, Clarissa’s sweetheart, and Ellis was giving him some cock-and-bull story about Clarissa being poorly. Kitty had done well to be vigilant.
‘As I say, sir,’ said the footman stiffly, ‘such things are not at my discretion. And I assure you the matter is not serious. Miss Longleigh merely needs to rest awhile. If you wish to leave a message it will be conveyed to her.’
‘Half a crown, then,’ came the other voice.
Kitty was eager to steal a glance. She peered cautiously over the balcony and looked at the dark slender figure leaning against the door jamb. Lord, he was lovely.
‘Sir,’ said Ellis. ‘It embarrasses me to have to make my meaning clearer: I am above bribery.’
‘Five shillings,’ persisted Mr Ardenzi, jangling the money in his cupped palm.
‘The honour of those I serve means more to me than a pocketful of coins,’ replied Ellis pompously.
And there goes another lie, thought Kitty. What the devil was going on here?
Gabriel thanked the footman and, promising to return on the morrow, bid him a sharp ‘good day’. As Ellis closed the door, Kitty made her presence known.
‘I thought she was staying with Mrs Singleton,’ she said, making her way down the stairs.
Ellis turned quickly, unable to conceal a spark of annoyance in his eyes.
‘She is,’ he retorted. ‘But, if I told him that, he’d never be away from the place. Miss Longleigh’s reputation could be ruined by the attentions of such a raffish character.’
‘He looked all right to me,’ said Kitty defensively.
Ellis smiled and moved to block her way. ‘So the Latin type appeals to you, does it? Tell me, what else do you like in a man, pretty Kitty?’
‘I like good manners,’ she snapped, trying to edge past him.
‘Hush, hush,’ he said softly, mirroring her sideways shuffles. ‘I only want to talk to you. We hardly know each other, do we?’ He rested his hands on her shoulders. ‘That doesn’t seem right to me, not when we’re in the same house and there’s so little work for us to do –’
‘Speak for yourself,’ she replied, vigorously shrugging off his hands.
‘Oh, Kitty. Wouldn’t you like to spend some time with me?’ he cooed, stroking a finger down her cheek. ‘I find you a remarkably attractive woman. Ever since –’
‘Get out of my way,’ she said. She heaved a shoulder against his chest and pushed past him.
Ellis stood back and sighed longingly. ‘You’re too cruel, dear Kitty. Too cruel.’
She walked briskly along the hallway, feeling his foxy eyes on her back. The smarmy popinjay was trying to win her over, do an Aunt Hester on her so she wouldn’t be any trouble. Well, he had another think coming if he thought she’d fall for that one.
Down in the kitchen, cook was sweating and swearing over the range, and Pascale was bustling around, complaining that someone had stolen her tea allowance. The under-footman, buffing up the silver and crystal, was quietly glowering at her. No one liked Pascale. She was a nasty piece of work; thought she was too good for everyone else. Serve her right if her tea had been filched.
‘Is Miss Carr having lunch in bed or at the table like normal folk?’ enquired Kitty.
‘At the table,’ growled cook. ‘So hop to it.’
Kitty busied herself in the laundry room, finding cloths and napkins. Aunt Hester was getting stranger by the day. Everyone knew the footman was popping in
and out of her bed, and the old maid seemed determined to spend as much time there as possible. Whenever she emerged – to eat or to take a glass of port with the housekeeper – her eyes were glazed with bliss. Kitty was convinced she’d taken to laudanum. Ellis couldn’t be that good.
A clatter of the door knocker sounded through the house. Kitty grabbed a half-filled laundry basket and, mumbling that she’d forgotten some sheets, darted up the stairs. It was Mr Ardenzi again. Kitty sauntered down the passage, singing a music-hall tune. Ellis flicked his head around and glanced at her, his face full of nerves. Kitty grinned.
Gabriel handed an envelope to the footman. ‘For Miss Longleigh,’ he said crisply.
‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Ellis, putting his fist to a little cough. ‘I’m sure it will be much appreciated.’
Kitty approached them. ‘I’m going up there now, Mr Ellis,’ she said, smiling brightly. ‘I’ll give it her if you like. She could do with a little something to cheer her up, poor mite. Nothing but a nasty wheeze for company. If you ask me, it’s this London air. Gets right inside –’
‘Thank you, Kitty,’ snapped Ellis. ‘But there really is no need.’ He put the letter in his top pocket. ‘I’ll make sure Miss Longleigh receives it.’
‘Suit yourself,’ she said. ‘Just trying to save your legs.’
My dearest Clarissa,
It pains me deeply to hear you are unwell, almost as much as it pains me to be apart from you. Yet it consoles me too, for when you did not come to me at Cremorne I had only demons in my mind to answer my question, ‘Why?’ The blackest and the loudest demon of all said you no longer loved me. My sweet flower, my precious jewel, I could bear anything but that. Please, I implore you, send word to say –
Clarissa’s vision blurred. A tear, then another, splashed on to the paper, spreading words into fragile inky spiders. She turned away and fixed her gaze on one of the rows of calf-bound books, trying to focus. The guilt and shame she’d felt on waking yesterday were nothing compared to this.
‘Would you like me to read it to you?’ asked Lord Marldon, reaching across the vast library table to take the letter.
‘No,’ she whispered. She’d betrayed Gabriel; she’d defiled their love with her squalid carnality.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘It’s really quite a touching piece.’
‘No,’ she repeated in a voice just as soft and small.
For a day and a night she had not seen Lord Marldon. He had left her alone, with nothing but bitter thoughts and regrets for company. In those bleak, lonely hours she had berated herself for yielding to her desires. But now, more desperately than ever, she berated herself for having them. She found Lord Alec dangerously compelling. She could not help wanting him; she could not stop anticipating the cruelties he might impose on her. And, even with Gabriel’s words of love spinning in her mind, she knew she would yield again.
Marldon placed an inkstand by her hand and laid a sheet of paper before her. He pushed her loose, wavy hair over one shoulder and curled a hand to the back of her neck, massaging gently.
‘The pen, Clarissa,’ he said.
She shivered at his touch and dipped the nib into the inkwell. It was another surrender to him, but surrender was not the worst of it. She might, somehow, be able to resist his lewd demands, but what good would it do? The desire would still exist; a dark part of her being that separated her from Gabriel, not physically but emotionally. Finding the self-control to fight both herself and Marldon could never be enough.
‘My dear Gabriel,’ Alec began, dictating slowly.
‘Thank you so much for troubling to write. I’m afraid I am rather weak at present and I fear visitors would only tire me.’
Clarissa saw the words forming on the page, flowing meaninglessly from the nib. The doctor has advised complete bedrest … you must refrain from calling … time to reflect … a little overhasty …
‘In declaring my devotion to you,’ continued Marldon. ‘It was a moment’s infatuation, a foolish caprice which must be for –’
‘No,’ said Clarissa. ‘I cannot say that. I will not. And, besides, he will not believe it.’
Lord Marldon leant over her. The stripe of a neatly clipped sideburn grated on her cheek. She smelt his closeness, masculinity blended with woody cologne, and it roused her. She held her breath as slowly he slid a hand beneath her silks and spread his fingers around a naked breast. He palmed the soft flesh.
‘But, Clarissa,’ he whispered with sardonic tenderness, ‘it’s the truest part of the letter.’
His touch set smouldering a need, a need shadowed with black remembrance of her first night at Asham. She shuddered imperceptibly. It was Gabriel she loved. It was he who had captured her heart. Yet Lord Marldon had captured something else and, with him standing so close, caressing her that way, it seemed a stronger thing.
‘And don’t you think,’ he continued, nuzzling into her neck, ‘it would be unkind to offer him false hope? You must realise you have no future with him. Your father, for one thing, would never permit marriage. But that is not reason enough. No, no. The reason, Clarissa, is that you have extraordinary desires. Most men would not understand them, let alone be capable of satisfying them. I can do both.’ His voice was gentle, comforting. He held out his hand. ‘Come, let me show you. You can write to the gypsy later.’
Clarissa did not reply but she placed her hand in his. Her shameful heart quickened.
Lord Marldon led her along a wide corridor, its walls hung with great Gobelin tapestries and ancestral portraits. He stopped occasionally to point out the significance of various people. This was the first viscount, and that was Lady Buckley who sired eleven children. Ah, here was one. She became Duchess of Westminster at the age of fifteen.
His words, thought Clarissa, were not intended to provoke awe. They were merely another part of her education, a display of his conviction that she would soon be his wife. She must learn about the family she was marrying into, just as she must learn how to enjoy his depravities. Well, he was wrong. She would never consent to be his bride, no matter what settlement her father had arranged. It was about the only thing she was certain of.
Before a vast oil painting of a young man with a flamboyant ruffle at his throat, Marldon paused.
‘And this is the fourth earl,’ he said. ‘If it weren’t for him, Asham House would not be as you see it today. He’s responsible for much of the decoration, his tribute to a whore from Cadiz. A magnanimous gesture, don’t you think?’
‘He’s your grandfather,’ stated Clarissa flatly, not wanting to appear impressed.
‘That’s debatable,’ Alec replied, guiding her away. ‘But she was quite certainly my grandmother.’
Clarissa looked at him, shocked by the admission of impurity in his family.
‘What does it matter?’ He shrugged, catching her expression. ‘After all, it was bastardy which brought us to the peerage. I’d have the blood of Charles the Second in me if it had not continued.’
‘So instead you have the blood of a bastard,’ said Clarissa acidly. ‘How fitting.’
Marldon laughed loudly. The sound soared in the great entrance hall and hovered on the air, enveloping the clack of their footsteps. Shafts of dusty sunlight
slanted across the room on to the tiled floor. The immense double doors were bolted and padlocked.
‘How well we’re getting to know each other,’ he said as they ascended the broad curving staircase. ‘Perhaps one day I shall pay homage to you in the manner of my cuckolded forefather. If I still desire you in, say, four months, I might think about replacing the curtains in the drawing room.’
Clarissa did not rise to the insult in the way she might have done previously.
‘And if you still desire me in five months?’ she said with challenging aplomb.
‘I won’t,’ he replied matter-of-factly. ‘All women have their limits, even you. We’ll go to your room, shall we? It’s a little more conventional.’
The moment they were in Clarissa’s bedroom, Lord Marldon began deftly unlooping the tiny buttons which ran down her back. He turned her this way and that, swiftly removing layers and talking of Disraeli and some bill the House had overturned. She did not understand him. He showed no desire; he did not tease.
‘Get on the bed,’ he said when she was naked.
Clarissa sat on the edge, nervously watching as he stripped off his clothes. His brusque efficiency confused and alarmed her. He fell on her, pushing her back and spreading her legs wide. His erection butted at her vulva.
‘Please, I’m not ready,’ she implored.
Lord Marldon spat on his hand and rubbed it briskly against her sex.
‘Better?’ he snarled.
His stiffened penis found her entrance and he shoved hard, to the hilt. Clarissa moaned in protest as he began thrusting rapidly, his head raised, his eyes fixed grimly on the head of the bed. His manner, so disinterested and remote, made her feel worthless and small. He took her as if it were a chore. Why didn’t he indulge her with his
cruel seductions? Why didn’t he show how she excited him?
She begged him to desist, yet even as she did so she felt her body thrill to the heavy plunges of his great, swollen cock. Its thick solidity, driving urgently into her depths, stimulated her within. She clutched her sex on his pounding shaft, gasping with rising pleasure. The pit of her belly pulsed and throbbed, and she tilted her hips, hungry to take his thrusts.
‘Be still,’ he snapped. Then a moment later he withdrew, leaving Clarissa breathless and wanting. He had not climaxed.
‘Are you satisfied?’ he asked, sitting back against the mass of pillows. ‘No? Nor I, but a lesser man might have been.’
Clarissa pressed a hand to his pale, muscular chest, and stroked quickly downward, imploring him to continue. He spurned her, flinging away her touch, and she shrank away in bewilderment and fear.
‘And that is what you would get from the marriage bed,’ he went on, a note of irritation in his voice. ‘Though in such a situation you’d be wise not to respond quite so ardently. A husband will take a mistress if he wants those sorts of antics. He expects his wife to show, at worst, modesty; at best, revulsion. Do you think you’re suited to the role, Clarissa?’ He turned to her with a mocking smile.
She shook her head. She knew Gabriel was not such a man. But at that moment her thoughts were more concerned with Lord Alec. She ached for him; she wanted him to give her delight as he had done before. Yet she dared not admit to it. He would only use it to prove how right he was.
‘Then you’re fortunate in that you will have me as a husband,’ he said. ‘I can show you pleasures far superior.’
‘You mean perversions,’ said Clarissa sullenly, casting her eyes down. ‘They’re hardly a basis for marriage.’