Parfit Knight (22 page)

‘Find your own
way.’

‘As you are
perfectly aware,’ she said stonily, ‘I can’t.’

He smiled. It
was not a pleasant smile and his voice matched it as he said, ‘Then
you’ll just have to stay here with me, won’t you?’

Rosalind was
suddenly visited by an overwhelming gust of wrath and she said
unsteadily, ‘I’d rather be shut in a cage full of snakes.’ And with
more spirit than wisdom, she stalked off in the direction in which
she thought – and hoped – they had come.

It was odd how
the ground, which had seemed quite smooth while she had an arm to
guide her, was suddenly pitted and uneven. She stumbled a little,
heard Robert snigger and moderated her pace; she would not give him
the satisfaction of seeing her fall. Indeed, she must not fall –
for the ground was as distant now as it had been twelve years ago
when she had taken her first dark steps. ‘
No, Uncle George
–
please, I’ll fall. I can’t see the floor … it’s so far away. I
can’t walk – I’ll fall
.’

Vivid
recollection of that feeling – a feeling that she had believed
overcome long ago – made her nerves jump sickeningly. Sustaining
rage fell away to be replaced by the first tingle of fear and it
was only pride that prevented her calling to Robert for help; pride
and the thought that he would probably refuse. Then her
outstretched hand encountered the roughness of bark and she stopped
abruptly, uncertain of whether to turn aside from it or hope to use
the trees and shrubs to guide her along the path. She chose the
latter and moved cautiously on towards the muted sounds of the
orchestra.

For a minute or
two, it seemed to work and then something tugged sharply at her and
she heard the dry sound of tearing silk. She stopped again, tried
to disentangle herself and pricked her fingers on the thorns which
had snared her. Somewhere aware to her right she heard Robert laugh
again and was disconcerted, less by the sound, than by its
location; then she realised that he must have moved and, gritting
her teeth, tried to concentrate on freeing her domino from the
sharp prickles. But they did not wish to release her and her
unsteady hands only made matters worse whilst being stabbed and
scratched. Stupidly, the incident contrived to heighten the fear
she had been attempting to suppress and her heart began to beat
unpleasantly fast. Then, just as she was about to give up and slip
the domino from her shoulders, she heard footsteps close by.

‘Robert?’ she
asked uncertainly.

‘Wha’s this?’
said an unknown and extremely slurred voice. ‘Beauty in dishtress,
by God. Well, well … just you be shtill, m’dear. Soon have you
free.’

‘Oh thank you,’
said Rosalind with real gratitude. And then, ‘Do I know you,
sir?’

She heard a
long, wheezing laugh and then a pair of hot, clumsy hands settled
heavily on her shoulders.

‘Don’t need
to,’ came the reply on a gust of wine-laden breath. ‘I know you.
You’re Venus … or … Di-Diana. One of ‘em, anyway. You just give me
a kiss, my pretty – and then I’ll – ‘

‘No! Let me
go!’

But he didn’t
let her go and suddenly all her apprehensions fused into a single,
escalating terror and she was struggling wildly against unseen
hands that stroked and pawed and tried to hold her; against sour
breath and avid, searching lips that pressed themselves to her
neck, her cheeks, her hair, as they sought her mouth. A great
retching sob rose in her throat. She struck out desperately with
one arm and felt it connect with something; there was a grunt of
pain and the grip on her relaxed. Wrenching her domino free of the
thorns, she turned and fled heedlessly back the way she had
come.

This, then, was
the nightmare; her own special nightmare that she’d had so often in
the early days after the accident. She was running, running, alone
in a place she did not know and it was dark; she was no longer
frightened of falling – only of that terrible, all-enveloping
blackness and the unspeakable horrors that inhabited it.

‘
Mama, help
me! I can’t bear to live in the dark. I’m afraid of it
.’

Something
snatched at her hair. It was only a twig but she stopped dead like
a cornered animal, her pulse racing and her breath coming in uneven
gasps. Then she heard a rustle of movement behind her and she swung
round to face it, alert but helpless and almost despairing.

‘What’s the
matter?’ asked Robert maliciously. ‘Can’t you find your way?’

Rosalind fought
down an hysterical laugh.

‘You know I
c-can’t,’ she said, her voice seeming to come from a long way off.
‘And now you’ve p-proved your point, will you please t-take me
back?’

‘Say you’ll
marry me and I’ll do anything you like.’

He took her
hand and she wrenched it away from him.

‘Stop playing
games – it isn’t f-funny and never was. Just take me back to
Philip.’

Robert merely
laughed and slid an arm round her waist; and because his voice and
touch were both things of the darkness, Rosalind was engulfed once
more in a rising tide of panic. She pushed him away and ran.

‘
Dear God –
this isn’t happening. Why am I running
? Where
am I
running
?’

And then there
were cool hands closing hard on her forearms and a faint scent of
ambergris.

‘No! Let me go
– don’t touch me!’ She twisted violently and then was suddenly
still as, through the fear, came recognition. ‘It’s you! Oh – thank
God,’ she sobbed. ‘It is you, isn’t it?’

The Marquis of
Amberley stared down into wide, terrified eyes, enormous in her
paper-white face and answered without thinking. ‘Yes, my darling.
Hush … you’re quite safe now.’ And wrapped her close in his arms as
she subsided thankfully against his chest.

Over Rosalind’s
head, the Marquis directed a flint-like stare at the Honourable
Robert.

‘Of course, it
would
be you,’ said Robert sarcastically as he moved forward
a little way.

‘Yes.’ Very
gently, his lordship detached Rosalind’s fingers from his coat. He
said, ‘It’s alright. Just wait here for a moment.’

She clutched at
his hand. ‘You won’t go away?’

‘No. I won’t go
away.’ And he stepped unhurriedly past her to confront Mr Dacre;
but silently, almost as though he was waiting for something.

‘
No, I won’t
go away
,’ mimicked Robert. ‘How touching! No wonder she won’t
take an offer from anyone else – she’s been hoping for one from you
ever since the two of you were so cosily marooned together at
Oakleigh. For I doubt you ever told her that a gentleman doesn’t
take his whore as his - -‘

And that was as
far as he got before the Marquis’s fist slammed into his jaw and
dropped him like a stone.

‘You talk too
much,’ said Amberley, in a voice that could have cut bread. ‘And if
you ever say that again – or lay a hand on this lady – I’ll kill
you.’ Then, with one contemptuous glance at the sprawling,
earth-bound figure, he turned back to Rosalind and pulling off his
coat, wrapped it snugly around her. ‘Come, my dear. I’m going to
take you home.’

He did not
speak again but Rosalind did not mind. It was enough to feel the
comforting strength of his arm and to know herself safe and
protected again. She walked exhaustedly at his side, her head
leaning on his shoulder and did not care where he took her.

Amberley’s
thoughts were less pleasant and, if Rosalind had been able to see
his face, she might have been roused from her lethargy for his
expression was one of grim fury. As yet he knew nothing of what had
happened to her – only that he had found her dishevelled and
terrified, like a child lost in the dark; and it filled him with a
cold, murderous rage so strong and unfamiliar that he did not know
if it was directed against Robert or Philip. All he was certain of
was that he felt a primitive need to do more than merely knock a
man down.

They reached
the gate where his lordship summoned a hackney with a snap of his
fingers and then handed Rosalind into it.

‘Jermyn
Street,’ he told the driver.

‘Gawd!’ said
the jarvey, impressed. ‘All the way, milord?’

‘Of course all
the way!’ snapped Amberley, preparing to mount the steps. ‘Did you
suppose we wanted to travel part of the distance by camel?’ And,
without waiting for answer, he took his place beside Rosalind.

She closed her
eyes, leaned her head against the tired-looking squabs and gave a
tiny, unsteady laugh.

Amberley stared
at her. ‘What’s funny?’

‘The thought of
you on a camel,’ she replied, her voice husky with fatigue. ‘It’s
not much, I know – but it’s better than crying. Am I very
untidy?’

‘Very,’ he
agreed, forcing a lightness he didn’t feel. ‘But it doesn’t matter.
You look beautiful. You always do.’

And that,
surprisingly enough was true. Her face was still greeny-pale, her
eyes wide and dark and the thick, blue-black hair was falling down
her back; her domino was in ruins, fragments of leaf and twig
adorned her foaming white gown and, over all, his coat lay round
her shoulders, far too large and its green clashing nastily with
the scarlet silk. And still she was beautiful. His gaze travelled
to her loosely-clasped hands and he stiffened, reaching out to
examine them more closely. ‘How did you come by these
scratches?’

‘It was a
rose-bush, I think. My domino got caught and I made a poor job of
trying to free it.’ She paused and then, a little less evenly,
said, ‘What did Robert mean – about you and I at Oakleigh?’

‘Nothing -
except to make mischief as usual. It’s of no consequence and I want
you to forget that you heard it.’

‘But – ‘

‘No. It need
not concern you. I assure you that he won’t repeat it.’

‘No,’ agreed
Rosalind, shivering a little at the memory, less of the threat
itself than the tone in which he had made it. ‘I don’t suppose he
will.’ And then, ‘I – I am so very grateful to you. But how did you
come to be there?’

‘I went to
Vauxhall with the Delahayes.’

He didn’t add
that he normally avoided Vauxhall like the plague and the only
reason he’d inveigled an invitation from Charles Delahaye was
because Rockliffe had let slip that Lord Philip was making up a
party. Charles, who knew him rather well, had enjoyed a good laugh
at his expense and then said, ‘God knows why you should want to,
Dominic – but come and welcome. I wouldn’t go myself if it could be
avoided … but well, Vauxhall, you know.’ Amberley
did
know.
He just wasn’t convinced that Lord Philip did.

‘I met your
brother and Mistress Dacre. Isabel said that you’d been walking
just behind them with Robert but that a few minutes later you’d
both vanished. So I came looking for you.’ The Marquis frowned down
on the small, scratched hands that still lay in his and said
abruptly, ‘What happened, Rosalind?’

It was the
first time he had used her name and it made her remember how often
she’d wondered what his was; so instead of answering his question,
she asked one.

He smiled
faintly. ‘My friends call me Nick – and so may you, if you wish.
Now. Tell me what happened.’

‘It doesn’t
matter. It was nothing really … and I expect I over-reacted.’

‘I doubt that.
But nevertheless I want to hear about it – and from the beginning,
if you please. I take it that you didn’t go wandering about
Vauxhall alone with Robert Dacre from choice?’

‘Hardly. I
wouldn’t go to the end of the street with him!’ replied Rosalind,
stung. And, keeping it as brief as possible, she explained.

Amberley
listened in silence. She spoke only of what had taken place and, he
suspected, with a certain degree of under-statement. Of her
feelings, she made no mention at all – nor did she need to. He had
seen what they had been with his own eyes and, even if he hadn’t,
it was not difficult to imagine what the experience must have been
like for a gently-bred, sightless girl, alone for the first time in
her life in a strange environment. The mere thought of it made him
feel physically unwell.

‘And then you
came,’ she concluded. ‘And I am so very glad that you did.’

‘So am I,’ came
the grim reply. ‘Though the word glad in no way expresses my
feelings in the matter.’

She turned
towards him and said uncertainly, ‘You sound angry. Are you?’

The grey-green
eyes were hard as slate but the pleasant voice softened a
little.

‘Yes – very
angry. But not with you. Don’t worry. I expect I’ll get over
it.’

His voice was
reassuring but Rosalind was not convinced and a tiny frown creased
her row. She said flatly, ‘You blame Philip, don’t you? But you’re
not going to discuss it with me. I wish that I … ‘

‘Yes?’ he
prompted.

She gave an odd
little laugh. ‘Oh – nothing. Or, at least, nothing new. It’s just
that I wish … I wish I could see your face.’

The pit of
Amberley’s stomach fell away as if the carriage had bounded over a
deep rut but the very faint wistfulness in her tone had its effect
and he did not hesitate.

‘Then, since I
can’t show it to you, perhaps this will help.’ And, lifting her
hands, he laid her palms lightly against his face and released
them.

The effect on
Rosalind was as immediate as it was cataclysmic. The breath caught
in her throat and her fingers trembled, tingling, against his skin.
Then, slowly, delicately, she traced the line of his cheekbones and
the flat planes beneath, the angle of his jaw and the firm moulding
of lips and chin; and, with a sudden, bitter-sweet joy as his face
became visible in her mind, she wondered why she had never thought
of this for herself.

The Marquis
remained quite still under her exploring fingers and watched with
infinite tenderness as her pallor was replaced by a tinge of colour
and her eyes became lit with the glow of discovery. And then he
ceased to think at all.