Parfit Knight (23 page)

His arms slid
round her, drawing her close, then closer still so that her hands
fell to his shoulders and that ineffable, heart-stopping face was
tilted back on its slender neck, only inches from his own. The
long, silky lashes veiled her eyes and there was an aura of
expectancy about her – as if, like him, she had waited long for
this moment; and then the waiting was over and his mouth found
hers.

As naturally as
breathing, her arms crept round his neck and her body melted
against his like a sweet and fragrant dream; as sweet and fragrant
as the lips that parted under his or the soft, rippling hair that
cascaded over his hands. Hunger flooded through him like a tidal
wave, almost – but not quite – washing away his self-control. He
kissed her eyelids, her throat and her hair, twining his fingers in
its living silkiness … and then, helpless to resist, captured her
mouth again.

For Rosalind,
time and reality ceased to exist. Her every pulse and heartbeat
were one with his and there was nothing outside the warmth of his
body against hers and the lingering seduction of his mouth. Fire
licked her skin and fled along her veins and she sank, drowning
willingly, in fathoms of unimaginable delight. And then the
carriage drew to a halt.

Very slowly,
Amberley raised his head and looked down into languorous violet
eyes. Then, with a sort of remote ruefulness, he said, ‘My heart,
if I could do it without lying, I’d beg your pardon. It seems I’m
no better than your mythological cavalier of the rose-bush.’

A tender and
strangely beautiful smile lit Rosalind’s face. ‘Are you not?’ she
asked simply. ‘How odd. I had thought this was quite
different.’

There was a
long pause and then the Marquis smiled back at her, smoothing away
a stray lock of hair from her brow. ‘Yes. Quite different,’ he
agreed quietly. He caught sight of the jarvey hovering outside the
carriage window and waved him aside. ‘But there are … there are
things which must be said; things that should have been said before
I … before I let what just happened between us happen.’ He stopped
and gave the ghost of a laugh. ‘If I call tomorrow, will you
receive me?’

‘Don’t you know
that I will?’ The husky voice was radiant. ‘But why must it wait
until tomorrow?’

‘Sufficient
unto the day is the evil thereof,’ he quoted with a hint of
bitterness. ‘And I think you’ve had enough excitement for one
evening. Be grateful – ten minutes ago I had the firm intention of
escorting you in and waiting for your esteemed brother for the
purpose of asking him to explain just what his notion of looking
after you actually entails. He wouldn’t have liked it – and
neither, I think, would you.’

‘And
tomorrow?’

‘Oh – tomorrow
I may manage to be tolerably civil, should the need arise. But I
can’t promise to say nothing – not even for you.’ He grinned
crookedly. ‘Hardly Sir Galahad, I know. But some things are too
much to ask. Does that sink me utterly below reproach and convince
you to tell the butler not to admit me?’

‘No.’ She laid
a hand very gently against his cheek. ‘As you say – some things are
too much to ask.’

*

A large mark
that would shortly become a bruise stood out against the whiteness
of Robert’s face and daubs of mud adorned his rose-brocade coat as,
still shaking with mingled rage and fright, he stared defiantly
back at Lord Philip and his guests. If he’d had enough money in his
pocket for either a carriage or a boat to take him home, he would
gladly have avoided this moment altogether.

‘I asked you,’
repeated Philip in a low, tight voice, ‘where my sister is. And I
don’t intend to wait all night for an answer. Well?’

‘Gone home,’
muttered Robert. Several teeth felt loose but, though swollen and
exceedingly painful, his jaw did not seem to be dislocated. He
added spitefully, ‘Or that’s where he said he’d take her.’

Isabel rose to
stand beside his lordship.

‘He?’ she asked
sharply. ‘What are you talking about?’

Robert’s gaze
flickered over the faces in front of him and said as distinctly as
he could, ‘Amberley. She’s gone off with the Marquis of
Amberley.’

There was a
catastrophic silence. Then, in the buzz of shocked chatter that
succeeded it, Robert found his arm seized in a crushing grip as
Lord Philip hustled him out of the booth and away across the
grass.

‘I don’t know
what drives you to behave like a woman,’ began Philip with furious
scorn, ‘and a stupid, vindictive woman at that – but now you’re
deprived of your audience, perhaps you’ll be good enough to explain
that remark. Quickly and in plain English.’

Robert eyed him
with nervously sullen resentment.

‘How much
plainer does it have to be? I was about to bring her back here and
then he came and asked her to go with him. And when I tried to
prevent it, he knocked me down.’ It was a poor effort, he knew, but
the mill-stones that were grinding inside his head made it
difficult to think. ‘What more is there to say?’

‘Quite a lot,’
came the curt reply. ‘My sister is neither a fool nor a piece of
Haymarket ware. And, whatever else he is, I doubt if Amberley is
the man to treat her as such – or to use his fists without a
reason.’

‘Then you’re a
bloody fool!’ retorted Robert, his control snapping. ‘A title don’t
make a gentleman – and Dominic Mallory Ballantyne is capable of
doing anything that takes his fancy!’

‘
What did
you say
?’

Something in
Philip’s voice made Robert’s heart skip a beat and he said lamely,
‘That he’s capable of - -‘

‘Not that. The
name. What did you say his name was?’

‘Ballantyne,’
replied Robert, mystified and a little dazed. ‘Dominic Ballantyne.
Didn’t you know?’

Philip ignored
the question and his oddly glittering blue stare seemed to go right
through Mr Dacre.

‘So that’s it,’
he breathed. ‘That’s it … and I should have known. God damn it
,
I
should have known
!’ And, turning on his heel, he
strode back to his guests.

*

He entered his
house to the strains of
It was a Lover and his Lass
and
marched straight into the parlour to find Rosalind sitting at the
harpsichord clad in a blue silk peignoir with her hair hanging down
her back. Philip closed the doors with a snap and leant against
them breathing rather hard.

‘I suppose I
should be grateful to find you here. But it’s a pity Lord Amberley
couldn’t stay. I’d have enjoyed exchanging a few words with
him.’

With a Hey
and a Ho and Hey Nonny No
, tinkled the harpsichord.

‘No, you
wouldn’t,’ replied Rosalind with a sweet, vague smile, apparently
oblivious to his anger. ‘He hit Robert Dacre, you know … and,
judging by the mood he was in earlier this evening, I think he’d
quite like to hit you too.’

His lordship’s
lip curled derisively. ‘He’s welcome to try. But I’m no spoilt boy
so it’s conceivable he may have a little trouble.’

She did not
reply but the harpsichord jeered at him.
When Birds do Sing Hey
Ding-a-ding-a-ding
…

‘Why,’ demanded
Philip as evenly as he could manage, ‘did you leave Vauxhall with
Amberley? And why did he hit Robert?’

Rosalind tilted
her head over the keys.

‘Haven’t
you
ever wanted to hit Robert?’

‘That’s not the
point. I asked why Amberley did?’

‘Didn’t Robert
tell you?’
Between the Acres of the Rye
…

Perilously
close to losing his temper, his lordship swept down on his sister
to pull her away from the keyboard. And in doing so, he caught
sight of her hands. ‘What the devil have you been doing to
yourself? And you can stop playing tricks, Rose – I want the
truth.’

The truth was
that Rosalind was in a slight quandary. She wanted to make sure
that Philip has no misconceptions about the Marquis but was too
fond of Isabel to be comfortable revealing the full extent of
Robert’s perfidy. So she temporised with the slightly mendacious
information that she and Mr Dacre had become separated, followed it
with an account of her trials beside the rose-bush and concluded by
explaining that, before Robert had re-appeared, the Marquis had
found her and offered to bring her home.

Philip frowned.
‘So what made Amberley knock him down?’

She sighed and
took refuge in maidenly modesty.

‘Robert said
something extremely rude and deliberately unpleasant,’ she replied
primly. ‘But Lord Amberley said I was to forget it and so I
have.’

‘And a few
other things too, I suspect – such as whether Robert was there or
not,’ came the sarcastic response. ‘It’s the most unlikely tale I
ever heard. And, thanks to Robert, by tomorrow morning, half of
London will know that you came home alone with Amberley.’

Rosalind bent
her head over her hands and said cautiously, ‘I don’t think that it
will matter.’

‘Don’t be
ridiculous – of course it matters! What can prevent it?’

A slow
exquisite flush stained her skin and, when she raised her face, it
held an expression that Philip had never seen but instantly
recognised. She looked incandescent with happiness and, with a sort
of shy wonder, she said, ‘Lord Amberley will. He’s coming here
tomorrow and I think … I’m fairly sure … that he’s going to ask me
to marry him.’

Philip’s breath
left his body with the suddenness of a physical blow and he sat
down without even realising it. Then, ‘No,’ he said flatly.

A little of
Rosalind’s joy evaporated. ‘No? What do you mean?’

There was a
white shade around his lordship’s mouth.

‘I mean that
you’re not the first to think that – and I doubt you’ll be the
last. Rose, I’m sorry if it hurts you but it seems the fellow has a
reputation for this kind of thing. He won’t ask you … but even if
he did, I couldn’t allow it. I’d as soon see you married to Marcus
Sheringham. Sooner, probably. He may be a fortune-hunter but at
least he’s not lost to all sense of decency.’

‘Stop it!’
Rosalind came abruptly to her feet and the blood drained from her
skin. ‘I know you’ve never liked him but you’ve no right to say
such things and I won’t listen. I’m g – ‘

‘Oh yes you
will!’ said Philip grimly, reaching out to grasp her hand. ‘Though
you may not believe it, this gives me as little pleasure as it does
you – but the time has come to stop burying your head in the sand.
And I’m damned if I’m going to let you eat your heart out for him
without knowing exactly what he is. Sit down.’

‘I
know
what he is! He’s kind and considerate and – and he
understands!’

‘He’s a rake
and a liar – and worse,’ retorted Philip brutally. ‘Sit down!’

The raised
voices jerked Broody from his state of somnolence. He opened one
eye and then the other. ‘Bugger,’ he said bitterly. ‘Bugger,
bugger, bugger!’

‘
Christ
!’ Philip stormed across the room and threw a cloth
over the cage. ‘I’ll kill that bloody bird one day. Rose … sit
down.’

And because her
knees no longer felt very reliable, Rosalind sat.

‘Very well,’
she said shakily. ‘Convince me – if you can.’

‘Oh I can.
You’ve wondered why there’s always been ill-feeling between us,
haven’t you? Well, on the night I first met him, the noble Marquis
was engaged in winning three thousand guineas from Robert Dacre at
dice. Perhaps you don’t find that so very bad; but Robert is a
callow boy in comparison to Amberley and – as his lordship was
perfectly well aware – was too drunk to know what he was
doing.’

‘It sounds as
though Robert deserved what he got,’ replied Rosalind stonily.
‘Unless you’re saying the Marquis forced him to drink too
much?’

Philip made a
gesture of impatience. ‘No. What I’m saying is that a gentleman
with any pretensions to honour doesn’t care to win large sums of
money under those kind of circumstances. Amberley should have left
the table or passed his bank to another but he didn’t. He only
stopped milking Robert when Rockliffe made him.’

‘I don’t
believe that’s all there was to it. Rockliffe enjoys mischief for
its own sake – and he’s Lord Amberley’s friend.’

‘What’s that
got to do with it? And if you’re about to suggest that Amberley
nobly declined to accept his winnings, you can forget it. Robert
paid him with my money and I saw the returned vowels.’

Rosalind
gripped her hands together so that the knuckles glowed white.

‘Is that
all?’

‘Isn’t it
enough?’

‘No. Not for
me. I know him better than that.’

‘You don’t know
him at all!’ exclaimed Philip bitterly. He got up and walked
restlessly across to the fireplace. Then, leaning his arms heavily
on the mantel, he said, ‘Very well. I’d hoped it needn’t come to
this – but it seems I’ve no choice. How much do you remember about
the day of your accident?’

The
unexpectedness of it threw Rosalind off balance. ‘A – a little. Why
do you ask?’

‘And have you
ever spoken of it to Amberley?’

‘Yes. But I
don’t understand why – ‘

‘You will.’
Philip’s hands dropped to his sides and he turned slowly to face
her. ‘The man whose coach knocked you down that day was called
Dominic Ballantyne. I don’t suppose you ever knew that … but I did.
He told me his name when he sent me to fetch Uncle George and it
isn’t the kind of name – or occasion – that one easily
forgets.’

‘No,’ agreed
Rosalind, dutiful but blank. ‘But I still don’t know why you’re
telling me this now.’

‘Don’t you?’
Philip looked down at her with unutterable weariness. ‘It’s because
Dominic Ballantyne and the Marquis of Amberley are one and the
same.’

Rosalind heard
the words and suddenly realised that she’d known he was going to
say them … but for a long time they echoed meaninglessly in the
long corridor of her mind. And then, when they reached her, she dug
her nails into the palms of her hands and said frozenly, ‘No. He
can’t be. His name … his friends call him Nick.’