Ravished by the Rake (27 page)

It was rash, possibly even reckless. She knew how she would feel when she put on those sensual, sensuous clothes, how she would feel when she saw him, a peacock in all his magnificence. Dita took a deep breath to say
no.

‘Yes, please, Alistair.’

‘Mama.’ Both Dita and her mother looked round at the tone of Evaline’s voice. ‘I am very well dowered, am I not? I mean, I do not have to hang out for a rich husband?’

The Wycombes’ town coach, driving along Piccadilly, seemed a strange location for such a question. ‘Yes, you are, my dear.’ Lady Wycombe put down the book she had just bought and turned her full attention on her daughter. Dita twisted on the seat, puzzled. ‘And it is important that you marry a man of equal status and at least the same resources as yourself.’

‘But why, Mama? What if I met a young man of prospects?’

Oh dear, Mr Morgan,
Dita thought. She had done some investigating and James Morgan was about as well paid as the average curate, was the second son of a country squire, had an excellent degree from Oxford and ambitions to enter government service. Papa would never countenance such an unequal match.

‘It would depend on his connections and pedigree,
my dear. Have you met such a man? I am trying to think to whom you might be referring.’

‘It was a rhetorical question,’ Evaline said with a bright smile that to Dita was patently false.

‘Dear Alistair Lyndon is quite another matter,’ Lady Wycombe continued. ‘Now he might well take an interest, I believe. He would be eminently suitable, a most superior catch. Your father would be delighted.’

‘Yes, Mama,’ Evaline said and Dita closed her open mouth with a snap.

Oh my lord,
she thought. No, he wouldn’t, surely? That morning in Bond Street he had given no sign of having changed his fixed intention of bending her to his will—the very opposite, in fact.

‘I hope he will be at Lady Cuthbert’s masquerade tonight,’ Lady Wycombe said. ‘Your shepherdess costume is charming, Evaline, but I wonder what Lord Iwerne will be wearing.’

‘He is going as an India maharajah,’ Dita said without thinking. ‘I saw him in Bond Street this morning and he told me he has sent for a trunk full of silks and jewellery and so forth that he shipped home to England last year. He promised to send me a selection of Indian female garments and jewels so I could wear Indian dress tonight.’ She prattled on, convinced her confused and jealous thoughts must be visible on her face. ‘He’s got a small house in south Devon he bought because it had a garden suitable for the plants he has been collecting. Whenever he sent things back they went there and not to the castle.’

‘How interesting.’ Her mother looked thoughtful. ‘If Evaline wears the Indian garments it will be subtle, but
it will put the idea of a pairing into his head. You can go as the milkmaid as we originally planned.’

She did not appear to notice Evaline’s look of dismay. Dita only hoped her own expression was not as unguarded. ‘Yes, Mama,’ she said obediently. It was providential, it would save her from more temptation. She wanted to refuse and sulk and disobey. Instead she closed her eyes and made herself accept her mother’s instructions.

Alistair swept into the ballroom at the Cuthberts’ hired mansion with a considerable flourish, resplendent in brocades and silk, a turban with a large moonstone and an aigrette of feathers at the front, a curving sword thrust through his sash and hung about with enough jewellery to stock a small, if exotic, jewellers. All around him masked faces turned and a ripple of appreciation ran through the ladies. He looked the part, he knew, because everything was authentic, just as the silks and gems he had sent to Dita were those of a Mogul princess.

And there she was. He recognised the costume although her hair, flowing freely down her back, had been dyed black and her eyes were hidden by her mask, her lower face by her veil.

When he had met her that morning it had not been by accident, although he was certain she had no idea he had been following her with the aim of giving her the clothes for this evening. The masquerade was an opportunity to recall the sultry heat, the sensual pleasures, of India. Dressed in exotic silks, surrounded by the licence of a masked ball, reminded of the East and its delights, she would be more receptive to the seduction that tonight he was set on.

What had happened in Devon had not shifted her intransigence; his patience since had not caused her to yield, but she was not immune to him—her blushes this morning had shown him that. And this time he would not be careful; if he got her with child, then she would surrender.

Dita was beginning to fill his thoughts, obsess him. The truth of what had happened that night seemed worse the more he brooded on it. What if she had become pregnant? He had left the country—she would have been alone, ruined. He had prided himself on meeting his responsibilities and now he knew he had defaulted on something as fundamental as a lady’s honour. No wonder his dreams had been haunted by her face, by erotic images that had left him ashamed of his imagination. But it was not imagination.

Alistair narrowed his eyes on the slim figure and felt his breathing quicken. He wanted her, and he would have her. It was like following a fish through a pond full of weed. Every time he almost reached her she slipped away and he was stopped over and over by ladies exclaiming at his costume and men asking questions about the curving scimitar. Finally he saw a flash of golden silk as she went through a doorway and followed. What the devil was she up to? Or did she know he was behind her? Was she leading him here?

Soft-footed in his doeskin boots, Alistair padded along a passageway that opened up suddenly into a conservatory. Dita was nowhere to be seen. He scanned the crowded palms and ferns as though expecting a tiger to emerge from them, but all he heard was a sob, and then another.

He eased closer, parted some greenery and found himself looking into a little arbour with a fountain and Dita locked in the arms of a shepherd.
What the hell—?

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, still sobbing, ‘it is impossible. You were right: I must marry someone with money and a title. Mama and Papa expect me to encourage Lord Iwerne and they believe he will offer for me.’

Evaline?
And then the man embracing her straightened up and Alistair recognised James Morgan. ‘They cannot force you,’ Morgan said. ‘He is years older than you—’

‘Ten, I suppose,’ Evaline said drearily, making it sound like fifty. ‘But he is kind, I think. He isn’t like his father, after all. I wouldn’t mind so much if it was not for you. I love you so much, James.’

‘And I love you.’ He bent his head and Alistair let the greenery drop, trying not to listen. ‘But I must do what is right for you,’ Morgan said after a moment, his voice stronger. ‘I cannot allow you to be estranged from your family. It will be years, if ever, before I can support you in the style you are used to. I was wrong ever to let it get this far.’

Alistair sat down on a stone bench and realised that the churning sensation inside was nausea.
He isn’t like his father,
Evaline had said of him. No, please God, he wasn’t. What had he done to make the Brookes believe he would offer for Evaline? Perhaps his shadowing of Dita had appeared as something else in her parents’ eyes.

Whatever the reason, he had come within an inch of sundering a young couple and breaking two hearts. It was only temporary, that illusion of love, but Evaline was
a sweet girl and Morgan was apparently an honourable and likeable young man and they would make a good marriage if they got the chance.

He thought of Dita when she was talking about Imogen and his own youthful heartbreak and found that now he could understand what might force a young and dutiful girl into the marriage bed of a man she did not want. He stood up and took off his mask as he walked round the edge of the potted plants and into the grotto.

Evaline gave a small scream of alarm, but Morgan stood his ground, only shifting to put out an arm and draw her behind him. He put his chin up as he faced Alistair. ‘My lord, I hope you will believe me when I assure you that I am entirely to blame for what must appear to be a compromising situation, but—’

Alistair waved a hand dismissively. ‘Six of one and half a dozen of the other, I imagine, if she’s anything like her sister. Evaline, put your mask on and get back to your mama or Dita. Do not say anything about this and try not to look as though you have been misbehaving in the conservatory.’

Evaline gave a little gasp and ran. Morgan confronted him. ‘My lord! If you wish for satisfaction—’

‘Mr Morgan, I am not a suitor for Evaline’s hand, just a friend of the family. If you want a wife at the end of this, please control your desire to shoot me dead, sit down here and listen.’

‘Evaline, what is the matter with you?’ Dita murmured under cover of Lady Wycombe giving instructions to the housekeeper. ‘I know this is boring, but we did promise to help Mama write the invitations for the
dinner party; if you sigh like that once more, I am going to scream.’

‘I’m sorry, girls, can you manage without me?’ Lady Wycombe left the room, still discussing missing table linen.

Dita looked closely at her sister. ‘You don’t look as though you slept a wink. Whatever is the matter?’

‘I am in love with James Morgan,’ Evaline blurted out. ‘And Lord Iwerne caught us in the conservatory last night and I keep expecting there to be the most awful row.’

‘Oh, Evaline, I didn’t realise you truly loved him. Are you sure?’ Her sister’s face was pale and miserable and Dita hated herself for the ruthless way she had been thinking about James Morgan. How could she have wanted to blight her sister’s happiness when she knew all too well what it was like to love hopelessly?

‘Yes. I know it is impossible. We both know it. And James is so honourable and … and then Lord Iwerne was
horrible.’

‘I’m not surprised, if he caught you in the conservatory unchaperoned! What happened?’

‘He looked all cold and distant. And he sent me back to Mama and I don’t know what happened with James, because I didn’t see him again and perhaps he’s called him out and he’ll kill him and—’

‘Stop it!’ Dita gave her a little shake. ‘You’ll make yourself ill. I will write to Alistair and ask him to call on me and find out what he means to do. He won’t challenge James, I am sure. You weren’t … I mean, he wasn’t doing anything very—’

‘He was kissing me,’ Evaline said. ‘That was all.’

‘Oh goodness, that was the knocker. I’ll say we aren’t
at home.’ They both stared at the door, waiting for the butler to open it, but nothing happened. After a few minutes Dita rang the bell. ‘Pearson, who was that at the door?’

‘Lord Iwerne, my lady, for his lordship.’

‘Thank you, Pearson. That will be all.’

The next half-hour crawled by. A footman came to say that Lady Wycombe had been detained in the kitchen, discussing the dinner party menu with Cook, and would they please finish the invitations without her. Evaline, apparently beyond tears, sat tying her handkerchief in knots, Dita made a mess of three invitation cards and gave up. What on earth was Alistair doing? Telling their father about Evaline’s shocking behaviour? Surely not offering for Evaline’s hand? The nightmare idea that perhaps he had decided to tell her father what had happened eight years ago gripped her and she tried to stay calm. There would have been an explosion from the study by now, surely?

The door knocker sounded again and this time, after a few moments, Pearson came in without them having to ring. ‘That was a Mr Morgan for his lordship, my lady.’

Evaline fell back on the chaise with a gasp. Dita asked, ‘Is Lord Iwerne still with my father?’

‘Yes, my lady. Both the gentlemen are now in the study with his lordship.’

‘I am going to have hysterics,’ Evaline announced after another twenty minutes of sitting staring at each other. ‘I am definitely going to—’

The door opened and Lady Wycombe came in. ‘Evaline, please come to the study.’

‘Dita—’

‘No, you do not need your sister,’ her mother said as she took her arm. She left the door open and after a moment Alistair strolled through, shut it behind him and collapsed on the
chaise
where Evaline had been sitting.

‘My God, I need a brandy.’

Dita splashed the liquor in a glass and handed it to him. ‘Are you going to tell me what is going on?’

‘Come and sit down beside me and tell me how wonderful I am,’ he said with a grin. ‘I have just convinced your father that Mr James Morgan is an eligible suitor for your sister’s hand. Now, do I not deserve a reward?’

‘No! How?’ Dita shook her head, ‘But he
isn’t
eligible. No money, no prospects, no connections …’

‘Oh, yes, he has. As of him giving a month’s notice to Lord Percy Wynstanley, he is my confidential agent and secretary on a most respectable salary and with a very nice little house on the south Devon estate, which I am giving them as a wedding present, and the use of the third floor of my London house, which I am finding is approximately four times bigger than any reasonable man would want.

‘And the young idiot did not realise, until I did some research and pointed it out, that his second cousin is the Earl of Bladings and his mother is a connection of the Duke of Fletton. Apparently his parents like to rusticate and never bothered to mention the family tree.’

‘And Papa said
yes?’
Dita flopped down on the cushions beside him and grabbed both his hands.

‘That’s better. He did. And your mother. I must admit, I gave them to understand my friendship with Mr Morgan is somewhat more long-standing than it is, but I think Evaline is a good judge of character and all my enquiries, and a very long conversation with him, convince me he is an honourable and hard-working young man who will look after her. And he’s just the man I need to have beside me—the amount of work with the estates is significant and then if I am going to take my seat in the House of Lords—’

‘Alistair, I do love you!’ Dita threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth before she realised what she was doing and what she had said.