Parfit Knight (17 page)

‘Tall and
fair-haired,’ replied Lord Philip absently, minding his steps.
‘Why?’

‘Because I
think he’s just come in with Mr Ingram.’

Philip jerked
his head round and trod on her foot. ‘Oh hell!’ he said.

All tensions
forgotten, Rosalind was finding Rockliffe’s caustic wit and
indolent manner irresistibly amusing. Then, quite without warning
and in striking contrast to his Grace’s drawling tones, she heard a
light, crisp voice, close at hand and unmistakeably familiar.

‘Oh no, Jack!
You must allow me some secrets, you know.’

And from that
moment, the Duke might have been a hundred miles away.

The shock of
surprise drove the blood from her skin while something inside her
gave a dizzying lurch that effectively stopped her breath. She was
completely unaware that Rockliffe had ceased speaking and was
regarding her with an air of detached interest or that,
half-a-dozen steps away, the Marquis of Amberley stood rooted to
the spot, staring at her.

Equally
oblivious, it was the Honourable Jack Ingram who walked blithely
through the invisible barriers saying, ‘Well, Rock? Do we qualify
for a greeting or are you ignoring us in the hope that we shall go
away?’

Rockliffe
sighed. ‘Hardly. Some things are too much to hope for.’ His gaze
travelled to the Marquis and widened a little. Then, after a
fleeting glance at Rosalind, he raised one narrow black brow and
said mockingly, ‘Amberley, my dear fellow … you look as if you had
seen a ghost.’

Pulling himself
together, his lordship looked into the lazily amused eyes and
walked slowly forward. He knew that the Duke had already made some
rather astute assumptions but it did not cause him any undue
concern. Rockliffe might be acutely perceptive and prone to
mischievous provocation but he was not a gossip.

‘Imagination,
Rock,’ he said easily. ‘I was merely dazzled by that opulent cravat
pin of yours. I suppose it
is
a diamond?’ And then, without
waiting for a reply, ‘How do you do, Mistress Vernon. I scarcely
dared hope to see you again so soon.’

Rosalind’s
colour fluctuated deliciously and she smiled shyly.

‘Philip acts
quickly – once he is convinced he should act at all,’ she said. ‘I
have been here for three days. This is my first party.’

There was a
tiny, tell-tale silence which Jack broke by clearing his throat,
reminding Amberley that he was there and causing him to say
quickly, ‘Then you won’t have met my friend Mr Ingram. Jack – this
is Mistress Vernon whose brother, Lord Philip, I think you met at
White’s the other evening.’

Blinking a
little, Jack bowed over Rosalind’s hand and said, ‘Your servant,
Mistress Vernon. Are you enjoying your first taste of society?’

‘Well, I
wasn’t
,’ came the candid reply, ‘but I must admit that it
has improved tremendously over the last half-hour.’

‘I thank you,’
murmured Rockliffe, provocatively meeting Amberley’s eye.

‘Mountebank!’
retorted Jack amicably.

Rosalind
laughed. ‘I don’t know about that – but his Grace is quite right,
you know. He has been keeping me very well entertained.’

‘My point, I
think?’ suggested the Duke gently.

The Marquis,
who was deriving no pleasure from finding Rosalind apparently
already on the friendliest of terms with Rockliffe, chose this
moment to remember his determination to remain aloof and give her
time to make other acquaintances. He subjected the room to a swift,
keen scrutiny and then said lightly, ‘Ah – Lady Wendover beckons.
If you will excuse me, Mistress Vernon … gentlemen?’ And, with a
slight bow, he walked away.

Jack stared
after him and then looked blankly at the Duke.

‘What’s the
matter with him? He must know Charlotte Wendover only wants him to
dance with one of those platter-faced girls of hers.’

‘You would
think so, would you not?’ His Grace looked Mr Ingram in the eye and
shook his head almost imperceptibly. Then, flicking the fan shut
and replacing it in Rosalind’s hand, he said, ‘Mistress Vernon – it
has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I shall look forward
to furthering it. Meanwhile, however, here are your brother and
Mistress Dacre.’ And he moved adroitly away, leaving Jack to
exchange half-hearted banalities with Lord Philip.

Rosalind hardly
noticed any of it. Somewhere inside her was a cold incomprehension
caused by Amberley’s conduct. He had greeted her with the same
formality he might have offered to any chance-met acquaintance and
then left her with what his friends plainly considered a poor
excuse. She felt rebuffed and abandoned to a degree that she told
herself was out of all proportion to the event; but it was no use –
and her only positive emotion was a strong desire to go home.

It was not to
be. The Duke of Rockliffe’s pleasure in her company had not gone
unremarked and, as soon as he removed himself, there were suddenly
numerous gentlemen eager to obtain an introduction. Even Maria
Hawley, who had spent a whole month in a vain attempt to engage
Rockliffe’s interest, came back reinforced with two of her friends
and charged with a wrathful determination to repay Mistress
Vernon’s ill-advised snub.

Plunged into a
sea of strange voices, all seemingly intent on warring for her
attention, Rosalind struggled to stay calm and reply to them as
best she could. They were all around her, bombarding her from every
side with their questions, their compliments and their contrived
witticisms until her already weakened defences began to crumble
and, with her nerves vibrating like violin strings, it was all she
could do to stop herself screaming. The voices sounded
nightmarishly similar and, even given the opportunity to accustom
herself to each separately, she doubted her ability to identify one
from another. Only one was recognisable as it jibed and sneered and
cut at her; the thin tones of Mistress Hawley – and harder to bear
than all the rest.

‘Where is my
brother?’ she asked, unable to understand why Philip was making no
attempt to rescue her. And had to repeat the question three times
before she got an answer.

‘Oh – he’s
caught fast in the talons of Colonel Harding,’ replied someone
carelessly. ‘Being regaled with the old fire-eater’s memoirs, I
shouldn’t wonder. Terrible bore, old Harding, y’know – and the very
devil to get away from.’

Under cover of
a laborious conversation with the elder Mistress Wendover, Amberley
shifted his position so that he could watch Rosalind. He did not
like what he saw and a hint of grimness touched his mouth as he
wondered what Lord Philip was about not to put a stop to the
situation. White with strain, Rosalind turned this way and that,
trying to face her persecutors – all of whom must be singularly
stupid, thought the Marquis savagely, if they couldn’t see how much
they were upsetting her. And then she came abruptly to her feet and
his lordship hesitated no longer but, with a curt excuse to
Mistress Wendover, strode briskly across the room.

Almost
immediately he was detained by a light hand on his arm and he swung
round to meet Rockliffe’s veiled gaze. ‘What?’

Without
removing his hand from the wide velvet cuff, his Grace stared
absently at the onyx signet ring on his finger and said remotely,
‘Dominic, my loved one – you look ripe for murder. Either dissemble
a little … or let
me
do it.’

For a second,
the Marquis could not trust himself to speak. Then he said
unevenly, ‘No. But I thank you for your advice and will repay it
with a little of my own. Stay out of it, Rock.’ And, shaking off
the restraining hand, he closed in on the group about Rosalind.

‘What a shame
you can’t dance,’ Maria Hawley was saying pityingly. ‘But perhaps
you should try. I am sure any of these gentlemen would be happy to
oblige you.’

A murmur of
enthusiastic assent rippled through the assembled ranks.

‘No!’ There was
a note of rising panic in Rosalind’s voice. ‘I can’t dance with any
of you and I don’t wish to be – to be
obliged
.’

‘Quite right,’
approved Amberley lightly as he threaded a watchful passage through
the group.

With a startled
gasp, Rosalind turned towards him, hands outstretched. ‘Oh – it’s
you.’

The Marquis
received her hands in his and held them reassuringly. What he
wanted to do was to take her right away from these thoughtlessly
stupid people but he knew it to be unthinkable – less because of
the gossip it would cause than because he suspected that, once
alone with her, he wouldn’t stop at holding her hands. And, since
it was equally impossible to tell her tormentors to go to the
devil, he opted for a third course that was no less shocking but
which might at least have the merit of appearing less singular to
Rosalind.

He said, ‘Yes.
It is I – come to beg you to make an exception in my case and
attempt this minuet.’

She shook her
head and he felt her hands shaking.

‘I can’t,’ she
said, low-voiced and pleading. ‘You know I can’t.’

‘On the
contrary, I know that you can – with me,’ he demurred calmly.
‘Come.’

And, without
giving her time to reply, he led her back through the uneasily
silent group which parted like the Red Sea under the single
contemptuous glance that was all he gave it.

‘I can’t,’
whispered Rosalind again as they moved out of earshot. ‘It’s insane
– and I only want to get out of here.’

‘I know. But
you can’t – any more than you can disappoint me,’ he told her with
apparent ease as he drew her to a halt and turned her to face him.
‘Give me your hand, pretend this is your parlour at Oakleigh – and
smile. It will be alright, I promise you. Ready?’

She drew a
long, unsteady breath. ‘Oh God – if I must then. But you’re quite
mad, you know. Mad and inhuman if you don’t know that the last
thing I want to do just now is dance.’

‘Mm. In fact,
I’m little short of a monster,’ responded his lordship cheerfully
as the music started. ‘Your curtsy, my dear.’

Rosalind obeyed
automatically. ‘And what’s more,’ she went on crossly as she arose
and turned to move at his side, ‘you have absolutely no right to
bully me like this – not after the shabby way you abandoned me
earlier.’

Amberley placed
his arm lightly about her waist and heard a distinct gasp of shock
from behind them. ‘Very true. I beg your pardon.’

Obedient to the
pressure of his fingers, she stepped gracefully across him and held
out her skirts. ‘So you should! For if you didn’t mean to speak to
me, you shouldn’t have persuaded Philip to bring me to London. You
must know I only came because … ‘ She paused to concentrate on her
steps.

‘Yes?’ prompted
the Marquis. ‘You only came because … ?’

‘Because I
thought you wanted me to.’

‘I did.’ With
resolute cowardice, he avoided meeting Lord Philip’s eye as they
danced past him.

‘Really?’ asked
Rosalind sardonically.

‘Yes – really.’
Rueful amusement quivered in the pleasant voice and he resisted a
childish impulse to point out that, with Rockliffe in attendance,
she had not appeared to need him. ‘Stop ripping up at me. I thought
you wanted to be rescued?’

And since this
was indisputably true and since there was also something very
soothing in the strength of his guiding arm, Rosalind relinquished
her grievances and fell silent.

From the edge
of the floor, Philip followed his sister’s progress with hideous
fascination.

‘I don’t
believe it,’ he said weakly, half to himself. ‘I know she said he
taught her to dance … but I can’t say I ever thought they’d be
crazy enough to do it in public.’

‘Damned
scoundrel’s got his arm round her!’ observed Colonel Harding
loudly, peering disapprovingly through his glass. ‘Modern manners –
disgraceful!’

Philip flushed,
uttered a muffled curse and eyed the Marquis with mounting wrath.
Then Isabel emerged at his side and he hissed furiously, ‘I thought
you were with her. Why didn’t you stop her making such a spectacle
of herself?’

‘I couldn’t,’
snapped Mistress Dacre, stung by the injustice of it. ‘Any more
than I could stop Maria Hawley and those others from upsetting
her.’

‘Well I can –
and I will!’ He took a hasty step towards the dancers.

‘No you won’t.’
Isabel clung determinedly to his sleeve. ‘You’ll cause a scene and
make things worse. Leave it to Lord Amberley. It looks as if he
knows how to take care of her.’

The blue eyes
blazed dangerously. ‘Better than I?’

‘Just at this
moment – much better,’ returned Isabel unkindly. ‘And if you think
he’s not perfectly aware of the stir he’s causing, you can’t have
looked at him properly.’

In point of
fact the Marquis, whilst trying to devote himself exclusively to
Rosalind, was acutely conscious of every curious glance, indrawn
breath or murmured word and a hint of uncustomary colour stained
his cheek. He had never cared very much for the mass of public
opinion but this kind of exhibitionism was little to his taste and,
as the couples around them gradually started drifting from the
floor to watch from its perimeter, he began to wonder if he had not
made a severe miscalculation.

A glance into
Rosalind’s face brought a modicum of comfort and revived his sense
of humour. Their roles were now so ludicrously reversed that it was
he who was tense while she, unaware that they were being stared at
from all quarters, appeared comparatively relaxed. Just at that
moment, he thought ironically, she was better off than he.

As he watched
the last couples desert the floor to leave them in sole possession
of it, the usual glint of laughter began to dawn in his eyes and,
bending his head, he murmured, ‘I don’t know about you – but I have
just one small regret.’