Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and Unrepentant\Return of the Prodigal Gilvry\A Traitor's Touch (10 page)

Her face was flushed. Her voice was a tiny bit slurred. When she poured another glass of wine, she slopped some of it on to the table. ‘I've not changed my mind,' Iain said.

Cordelia lifted her glass in silent salute. ‘Very honourable, but I believe it is perfectly proper to cancel a contract made under false pretences. No one would blame you, and you need not worry that you wouldn't be able to build your precious ships, for my father would certainly wish to salvage that from the débâcle.'

‘There isn't going to be a
débâcle,
because I'm not going to change my mind.' Iain watched as Cordelia took yet another large gulp of wine. He could take the glass from her, but he was pretty certain she would see that as a swipe at her precious independence, and he had bigger battles to fight. ‘It's been nine years since it all happened. Your father can certainly bear a grudge.'

‘Sticking to his principles, I think he would call it, and so too have I, in the interval,' Cordelia said. ‘It is remarkably freeing, being told that one no longer exists. I promised myself I would never allow anyone to dictate my actions again, and I have stuck to that promise.'

‘Why did you tell me all this? Why now, I mean—for the chances of my finding the truth out for myself must be quite low. It's hardly in Armstrong's interests to tell me.'

* * *

Cordelia felt herself flush. She had not lied, save through omission, so she had no reason to feel guilty. If Iain had asked her—but he had not. If she was a man, she wouldn't be feeling like this. She was not deceiving him. She would not think that way. ‘To be honest, I had no intentions at all of telling you anything,' she admitted. ‘Since we are not actually getting married, you would not be discussing settlements with my father, so the fact that I wasn't a widow—you wouldn't have found that out.'

‘So why then?'

She hesitated, for she was not entirely sure of her own motives herself. ‘There was the risk that someone would say something—though that's slight, for aside from my father no one really knows the full story. But that's my point, I suppose. My father knows, and he'll think that you do not, and I suspect that it gives him a sort of perverted pleasure, thinking he has duped you—or that I had duped you at his command. I won't have him laughing up his sleeve at you, and I won't have him thinking he can make me dance to his tune. You are an honest man, and a principled one. In fact, it is partly your honesty and your principles that have led us into this situation in the first place.'

Cordelia stopped abruptly, realising that she was sounding a little hysterical. She should not have drunk that last glass of wine. It had not escaped her notice that Iain had drunk nothing. Nor had she failed to notice that he'd refrained from commenting on her consumption. She sank back down on to the sofa and eyed him from under her lashes. Why did he have to be so very nice! And why did he have to be so very attractive! And how was it that she was even thinking such a thing when this was probably the last time she would see him. ‘I don't know if that makes sense, but that's why I told you. And also to give you the chance to change your mind.'

‘I don't want to.' He left his chair to sit beside her on the sofa, taking her hands between his. ‘What you've told me makes me absolutely certain we're doing the right thing. You're a brave lass. There's not many who would have chosen such a difficult path as you.'

‘You mustn't be thinking that I have been miserable, or that I was treated badly.'

‘There we must beg to differ. Whether or not you went willingly, the man seduced you,' Iain said grimly.

‘I don't want you to feel sorry for me, Iain. I don't need your pity either. I am not a damsel in need of rescuing.'

‘And I'm hardly the knight-errant type,' he replied with a bitter smile. ‘I take your point, and I have to admire you for it. You go your own way, no matter how difficult that way may be. You're a woman after my own heart.'

‘Stubborn, you mean. Maybe that's what drew us together that day in Glasgow.'

‘I prefer to call it our independent spirit.'

She chuckled. ‘Not something that is conducive to connubial bliss. It's as well we are only pretending.' Her expression became serious again. ‘Are you sure, Iain?'

‘I am.'

He spoke firmly. It was like that first time, on the docks, as they gazed into each other's eyes for just a moment. That connection, a tangible thing, tightened between them, pulling them towards each other. It would be so easy to kiss him. So easy to surrender to the passion which was there, lambent, smouldering, wanting only the smallest of contact to burst into life. Their fingers entwined, they leaned closer to each other and, at the same time, they pulled back.

Iain got to his feet. ‘It's been a long day, and I've another appointment in Whitehall before I'm done yet. We've a hundred things to do before we go, so I doubt I'll see you before this party. I'll call for you, we should arrive together.'

‘Yes. Iain, do you...?' She had been about to ask him if he had evening dress, but stopped just in time. She had no idea whether he would have had cause to wear such a thing, and consequently no idea whether he would find even an informal family party at Cavendish Square uncomfortable, but she was loathe to ask, and suspected that whatever was the truth, Iain would not admit to being uncomfortable about anything. ‘Do you have any other errands I can add to my list?' Cordelia asked instead.

‘Your list must already be as long as a wet Sunday in the Highlands. If I'm stuck, I'm quite capable of employing someone to help me out.'

He kissed her cheek and left. She watched him from the window, following his tall, lean figure as he strode off in the direction of Piccadilly.

Chapter Six

C
ordelia wore an evening gown of powder-blue velvet fitted with a belt of the same fabric at the waist, and two deep flounces at the hem. Aside from the cream lace which trimmed the décolletage, it was very simple, relying on the shape of the wearer and the rich colour of the fabric for effect. She wore no jewellery, only a pair of long evening gloves which left the narrowest band of flesh on display beneath the sleeves, which were cut less full than was the fashion, for she hated to wear plumpers with evening dress.

Judging by Iain's face when he arrived to escort her, the effect was as she had hoped. She dropped him a curtsy, deliberately allowing him the most fleeting glimpse of her powdered bosom, and was rewarded with his sharp intake of breath. ‘I doubt I'll have any difficulty in pretending to be besotted with you tonight,' he said.

‘I doubt I'll have any difficulty returning the favour,' Cordelia replied, ‘you look most distinguished.' He looked much more than distinguished. His black tailcoat fitted his lean frame perfectly, hugging the breadth of his shoulders, making the most of his narrow waist. The pristine white of his shirt drew attention to the tanned, harsh face, and the discreet silver of his waistcoat, the first such garment she had ever seen him wear, somehow drew attention to the very male body it hugged. Iain was charismatic in plain day clothes. Tonight, he was quite simply the most attractive man she had ever seen.

‘Have I a button undone?' he asked.

She had been staring, probably like a child in a cake shop. Cordelia shook her head.

‘You're not worried I'll eat with my spoon, or maybe end up tongue-tied in front of that stepmother of yours?'

She chuckled. ‘Being stuck for words is the last thing I'd imagined you would be.'

‘So you admit you were worried?'

She had the grace to blush. ‘A little.'

‘For all you know, I've never been to a society party before.'

‘I'm sorry, it was presumptuous of me.'

‘To think I couldn't handle myself in any company—aye, it was,' Iain said harshly. He cupped her chin, tilting her face so that she met his eyes, and spoke more softly. ‘I'm not in the habit of going to such things, but I won't embarrass you.'

‘I didn't think that for a moment. I was worried for you.'

He smiled. ‘I know that. It's why I'm not angry.'

She touched his cheek. ‘It's as well you're not, since you are to play my besotted swain.'

‘As I've said, I've no problem in doing that the way you look tonight, my wee love. I'm just a bit concerned that every other man in the room will be the same.'

‘It's a family party, the only other men will be my half-brothers and my father.'

‘Gathered together to meet the prodigal daughter and to celebrate her betrothal.'

‘Our betrothal.'

‘Speaking of which...' Iain reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim box. ‘I believe it's customary for a man to give his affianced bride a gift.'

‘But we are not really getting married.'

‘Open it.'

Cordelia stared at the box, filled with excitement and anticipation. Jewellery was such a very personal thing. What if she hated it? ‘You open it,' she said, closing her eyes, making a silly little wish, opening them again, and letting out a gasp. ‘Iain!'

‘Well?'

The necklace was a simple circlet of sapphires trimmed with diamonds. The earrings were drops of bigger sapphires, the clips studded with smaller diamonds. ‘It's perfect,' she said with difficulty, for there was a lump in her throat. ‘My favourite colour. How did you know I'd be wearing blue?'

‘Because you almost always do.'

‘Will you put it on?' She turned so that he could do so, not just the necklace, but the earrings too. It was such an intimate gesture, the fastening on of jewellery, his fingers on her nape, on her lobes, herself acutely aware of him, his legs brushing her skirts, his head bent down towards hers.

‘There.'

His hands on her shoulders turned her back round. There was a hint of colour on his cheeks, a hint of something darker in his eyes as he looked at her. ‘What do you think?' she asked.

‘I'm more concerned with what you think.'

She went through to the bedchamber to look in the mirror, taking his hand, leading him with her. In the soft light of the lamp, her skin looked pearlescent, the stones of the jewellery glinting, reflecting the colour of her gown and her eyes. ‘Beautiful,' Cordelia said. ‘It's exactly what I would have chosen for myself.'

Gentle hands on her shoulders turned her round again. ‘I didn't mean to make you cry.'

‘I'm not. It's only that no one ever buys me presents. Thank you, Iain.'

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, steadying herself with one hand on his shoulder, the other behind his head, pulling him towards her. His lips were cool. She meant it as a simple thank-you. He would have taken no more, except that her lips clung to his and her body nestled closer, and his hand crept around her waist, and her mouth opened to him, and the kiss was not so simple after all. Heat, and wanting, and longing. It was the longing that made them cling, and the longing that ended the kiss too, for it was unexpected, new, dangerous. They stared at each other, confused. Then Iain let her go.

‘We'll be late,' he said, holding out the dark blue evening cloak which lay ready over the bed.

* * *

He said nothing else as they completed the short journey in the town coach he had hired. Beside him, Cordelia too was silent. Every now and then, her fingers strayed to the necklace at her throat, to the earrings, as if she needed reassurance. No one ever gave her presents. He'd been so caught up in the upheaval of the past two weeks, feeling as if he was being tossed, emotionally and physically, from pillar to post, that he hadn't considered what Cordelia's life must have been like. She was so confident, so—so vivid a woman, so assured, that he hadn't thought about her being alone, or lonely.

Hardly surprising, since he hadn't considered himself either, until he met her again. The strength of his resistance to ending their agreement made him realise how much he counted on her company for the next few months. He was accustomed to being alone, but he wasn't used to being lonely. Cordelia made him see that he was, because when he was with Cordelia he wasn't. Cordelia, who never received presents. Cordelia, who had been almost as much an orphan as he for the past nine years.

Who'd have thought two people born on two such very different sides of the fence could have so much in common? No one ever bought her presents, and he'd had no one to buy presents for, until now. Funny, but that hadn't occurred to him before either, because her family were just as out of reach as what was left of his.

He was so accustomed to thinking them all dead, it took him aback that his mind made the comparison before he could stop it. It wasn't the same at all. There was no comparing the two, none, and no point in thinking about it either. What he needed to be concentrating on was Cordelia. Her mind must be in flitters, yet here she was, sitting calm—except of course she wasn't calm! He could be a right eejit sometimes.

Iain reached for her hand, enfolding it in his. ‘I'll be right here,' he said. ‘There won't be a single moment in the whole of tonight when there isn't at least one person completely on your side.'

‘I wish you would stop reading my mind.'

Her fingers trembled, and so did her voice. ‘Remind me now, what are all these half-brothers of yours called,' Iain said.

As he had hoped, she was distracted from her inner reverie. ‘James is the eldest. He will be seventeen now. Then there's Harry, who is two years younger, and the twins, George and Freddie, who must be nearly fourteen. They were only little, the last time I saw them. And Isabella, who is six, I think, I have never seen. I doubt she will be at dinner tonight, though I hope that Bella will allow me to visit the nursery. I was thinking that... Oh, dear heavens.'

‘What is it?'

Cordelia pointed wordlessly out of the carriage window. They had turned into Cavendish Square, but the carriage had slowed to a crawl, caught up in a jam of other carriages. ‘Someone is having a fairly grand affair, looks like,' Iain said, peering out.

‘Not someone.'

Her voice was tight. She was angry. He was about to ask her why, to reassure her that they would be delayed only five or ten minutes, when he noticed the flambeaux on the railings, and the red carpet that was laid on the steps, and the door it led up to, and he cursed, long and hard, in the language of the docks. ‘What the
hell
does he mean by this! He said a small family gathering.'

‘Bastard!'

The word, spoken in a low, vicious tone, shocked him to the core. ‘Cordelia!'

‘Don't
Cordelia
me. My father is a conniving, scurrilous, scheming, scabrous, contumelious, duplicitous, selfish, arrogant, lying
bastard!
'

The coach had come to a halt. Lord Armstrong's liveried footman was opening the door of the carriage two ahead of them. ‘Cordelia,' Iain said urgently, ‘your father has every one of the traits you so eloquently ascribe to him, I couldn't have put it better myself, but in a couple of minutes we're going to have to greet him, and the two hundred or two thousand other guests he's invited, and you can't let him see you like this.'

‘He's doing this because of you,' she said, ignoring him. ‘He's showing you off, Iain.
I might be out of the government, but look what I've got.
This isn't about me being welcomed back into the bosom of my family. It's not about me at all. I can't believe this. No, actually I can. Did I not say to you that he never gives a party unless he can get something out of it? Well, prepare yourself to be hounded and courted and touted about like a—a prize bull. Were it not for the fact that I'm fairly certain he wants you to do something for my brothers, I doubt I'd even get to meet them.
Bastard!
He's a complete—'

Iain put his hand over her mouth. ‘Aye, he is, and when we've time, I've a few more choice words to add myself, but you need to get control of yourself, Cordelia. You can't let him see you like this. Are you listening to me?'

It took her until their carriage crept forward again to do as he bid. ‘I'm listening,' she said, pulling his hand away from her mouth but clinging on to it. Her eyes were wide, her colour, from what he could see in the dim light, high.

‘Good. First, you can take a horse to water and all that. He can tout me about and flatter me as much as he likes, but I assure you, I don't feel under any obligation at all to do any more than listen politely, and if he tries to push me, then I won't be so polite. Understand?'

Cordelia nodded.

‘Secondly, I'll be having a word with him on the finer points of our agreement. You'll get your time with your brothers and sister, if not tonight, then as much as you want over the next few days. I know we're leaving for Plymouth soon, but we can put that back a bit and still make our ship, if need be.'

‘But how will you make him if he won't agree?'

‘He's in too deep to pull out now, but I'm not—or at least, that's what I'll tell him.' Iain smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. ‘It won't come to that, don't fret.'

‘Thank you.'

‘There's no need. We're in this together, remember? I'll be right by you.'

‘You don't mind all this—this show?'

He laughed. ‘Honestly, that's exactly how I think of it, a show. I'm annoyed to be done out of my dinner though.'

‘There will be at least two suppers, if Bella has anything to do with it. My father's wife is very fond of her food, as you will be see from her girth. Thank you, Iain—again. I am, as you would say, braced,' Cordelia said as the carriage began to inch towards the foot of the steps and the waiting footman.

‘Aye, but you've forgotten something.' He pulled her towards him. ‘It's not braced, you've to be, it's in thrall,' he said, and kissed her hard, swiftly and passionately.

As the carriage slowed to a stop, and the door was flung open, Lord Armstrong's footman was treated to the spectacle of Lord Armstrong's daughter in exactly the kind of compromising position he'd expect of such a scandalous female.

* * *

The town house had been transformed. Every window blazed. The huge hallway was awash with people glittering in jewels, powdered, primped and pomaded to within an inch of their lives. It reminded Cordelia of her coming-out ball. This was the milieu in which she had been raised, which she had been expected to inhabit and in which she now felt utterly and completely alien. She recognised several faces as she crossed the hallway, having discarded her cloak. False smiles. She returned them, equally falsely.

Iain was waiting for her, propped against the doorway of the book room, looking perfectly at ease, a smile, half amused half contemptuous, on his face. ‘The fallen daughter returned to the fold seems to be as much of an attraction as the rich, influential shipbuilder,' Cordelia said under her breath as she took his arm.

‘They must lead boring lives, if all they have to do is talk about others.'

‘These people have made a career out of talking. Diplomats, politicians, half of Whitehall seem to be here. I noticed several Whigs too. There was a time my father would never have given them house room.'

‘There was a time when this could have been your life,' Iain said.

‘I know. You'll not be surprised to hear that I was thinking the same thing a moment ago.' Cordelia looked around her, at the procession of finely dressed men and women ascending the stairs, listening to the low, anticipatory buzz of conversation that always preceded a party, no matter how tedious it turned out to be. She smiled up at him. ‘It's certainly not a life I wish to return to. Shall we get this over with?'