The Wicked Baron (4 page)

‘I know that, Aunt. The Wicked Baron. I have heard all about him.’

‘Oh, well, I should not call him
wicked
, exactly,’ temporised Lady Broxted, determined to be fair. ‘Indeed, no one has heard
anything
of him for the past twelve months,
but his conduct before that, when he was still in the army—well, it is not fitting that I should tell you everything, but you are best to beware of him, my love.’

‘If he is so very dangerous, I am surprised that you should introduce him to me!’

Lady Broxted sighed. ‘I know, but Broxted is well acquainted with the family and it would be very difficult not to acknowledge the connection. I think it a great pity that Darvell sold out. Mayhap he thinks to settle down.’ She tapped Carlotta’s arm with her fan. ‘He may be looking out for a rich wife, for I believe he has not a penny to his name. If so, then he may set out to charm you, Carlotta, but your uncle would not wish for a liaison
there
, my love.’

Carlotta gave a brittle laugh. ‘You need have no fears in that direction, Aunt!’

‘Good. However, one cannot deny that he is very engaging and will make you a handsome dance partner. By the bye, his brother James owns Malberry Court. I tell you this so that you are forewarned; we must not let slip your family’s connection with the house, must we?’

By the time Lord Darvell returned to claim his dance, Carlotta had decided she would be cool and aloof. She would treat his lordship as if they had never met. However, when he took her hand in his own firm grasp, she was not prepared for the surge of emotion that seared through her. She had closed her mind to those first long months after she had left Malberry, the lonely nights when she had cried herself to sleep. Now with one touch he had brought it all rushing back, the longing, the desire and the sheer, blinding agony of finding he had gone.

Carlotta bit on her lip; even now she could not bring herself to think too much of those dark, empty days, afraid that if she did not keep it locked away, her grief would grow and consume her. It was better to concentrate on her anger. He had betrayed her and she wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her. She set her mind to consider how best to do it. Eyes glittering, she answered his attempts to converse with monosyllables, earning a frowning look from her partner. When he suggested they should sit out the second dance she silently acquiesced and accompanied him to a quiet alcove. He smiled at her as they sat down together.

‘You are looking very well, Carlotta. I hardly recognise you.’

She unfurled her fan. ‘La, I am glad of that, my lord! I vow I was such a gauche little thing when we first met.’

‘You were charming.’

Carlotta had not wasted her time at Miss Currier’s seminary. She summoned up memories of a certain rich, spoiled, young lady she had met there, and with the sole aim of distancing herself from him as soon as politely possible, she gave a very creditable titter.

‘Oh, dear me, I was utterly innocent then, and ready to make any number of mistakes. Thank heaven my uncle the earl found me when he did.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘O lord, yes! I had no polish at all, and no possibility of making a great match, but my uncle the earl says that now, with his backing, I can look
very high indeed
for a husband.’
Heavens,
she thought,
how vulgar that sounds!

‘And is that why you are in town?’

He was looking at her now with a shadow of doubt in
his eyes. She summoned a dazzling smile, feeling as brittle as glass inside.

‘But of course. I am looking about me, but am in no hurry; I can take my time until the right man, and the right fortune, comes along.’ She reached out and placed one gloved hand on his sleeve. ‘Forgive me for speaking to you in this way, my lord, but I feel we are old friends.’

With bitter satisfaction she observed how he almost recoiled from her. He said stiffly, ‘You will be wondering perhaps why I did not come to see you, as I had promised, at Malberry.’

Panic flared. She dare not let him near that raw nerve. She waved her fan slowly.
It is too late for explanations
, she told herself.
The damage is done, Carlotta. Do not let him see how much he hurt you.

‘I had quite forgotten about that,’ she said brightly. ‘When my uncle came to carry me away, it drove all other thoughts completely from my head!’

‘Thus you come to town to find a husband.’

Smile, Carlotta. A smug, self-satisfied, superior smile. Put him in his place.

‘Yes, indeed. My uncle has several eligible men in mind for me. All of them
extremely
rich,’ she added.

He looked at her, a tiny crease in his brows. ‘You have changed, Carlotta.’

She lifted her shoulders to give a slight shrug. ‘I am merely being practical, my lord.’

‘I thought you were above such mercenary concerns.’

‘La, only a fool would claim such a thing. I know the value of a fortune, my lord. Nothing else will do for me.’

She held her breath, forcing herself to meet his gaze
with a look of arrogant unconcern. After a moment he looked away.

‘Then I wish you luck in your quest, Miss Rivington,’ he said quietly.

He rose and, with a little bow, turned and walked away. Carlotta’s expression did not change as she watched his retreating form, but inside she felt sick to her core.

Luke stormed out of the ballroom, his jaw clenched to curb his anger. He had expected to find Carlotta altered, but he had not thought she would turn into such a heartless fortune-hunter. A year living with the Broxteds had destroyed the innocent charm that had attracted him to her. Now she was no different from all the other females with their arch smiles and false laughter. He made his way down the stairs and out into the street, where he jammed his hat on his head and began to stride back towards Piccadilly. What had changed her, or had he been mistaken all along? Perhaps he had missed something when he had seen her at Malberry Court, some clue that she was not as sweet and innocent as he had thought. He remembered trying to draw her out during one of their many picnics that summer on the lawn at Malberry.

‘You are an enigma, Miss Carlotta Durini. You say you were born in Italy, and have only been here for a few years, yet your English is faultless.’

‘Mama is English.’ Her glance was pure mischief. ‘She is the daughter of a great nobleman.’

‘Oh? You intrigue me. Who?’

She laughed and shook her head. ‘I shall not tell you. Mama met my father when she was touring Italy with her family. They ran away together. Mama says it was love at
first sight.’ She wrinkled her brow. ‘Do you think that possible, Major Ainslowe? Can one fall in love so quickly?’

Luke had certainly thought so. Carlotta had stolen his heart within a week of their first meeting. Now as he strode away from Prestbury House he wondered if he had been mistaken in her. Perhaps there had never been anything more than a cold, calculating mind behind her sweet face.

C
arlotta gave herself a mental shake. This was her first ball; it would not do to cry. She put up her chin. She would not give Luke the satisfaction of seeing how close she was to dissolving into tears. Instead she summoned up her brightest smile to greet her next partner. She had already danced with Mr Woollatt earlier in the evening, and on first acquaintance she had found him rather pompous. However, his blatant admiration was balm to her wounded spirits and she treated him to an excess of charm as they danced together. After that she spent the rest of the evening dancing and laughing as though she had not a care in the world. It was only as she was waiting for her cloak that she discovered Luke had left early and had not witnessed her vivacious behaviour.

‘Well, it really does not matter,’ she told herself as she climbed into the carriage. ‘We have met, the sky did not fall and I know now that we have nothing to say to one another. I can forget all about the odious Lord Darvell.’

‘I beg your pardon, my love, did you speak?’

Lady Broxted’s gentle enquiry made her jump and she
hastily disclaimed. Pulling her cloak about her, she subsided into one corner and stared disconsolately out of the window. She was determined not to think of Luke Ainslowe, but his image was as persistent as the man himself; she recalled how he had come to Malberry Court, armed with a picnic basket, and insisted that she take luncheon with him. She had refused at first, but she could still hear his voice, deep and seductive, persuading her to leave her painting and eat with him.

She was very conscious of her boy’s attire as she seated herself on the very edge of the rug, but Luke never mentioned it as he fed her tidbits of cheese and bread and fruit. She explained how his brother James had sought out her father and commissioned him to paint Malberry Court. Luke responded by telling her something of his life in the army and of the great battle that had taken place at Waterloo. Sitting out in the sunshine with the soaring white pillars of the house at their backs and the calm waters of the lake spread out before them, she soon lost her shyness. He was very easy to talk to. She liked to make him laugh and see the merry glint in his hazel eyes. It seemed quite natural to accept Luke’s invitation to join him again the next day, and the next. She was so comfortable in his company, talking of everything and nothing. They understood each other so well. Or so she had thought, until the day he had ridden out of her life forever.

With everything so new and exciting, Carlotta found much in London to divert her. Lady Broxted was determined that she should enjoy her first Season and spared no pains to keep her entertained. There were rides in the park,
shopping with her aunt, promenades and balls, assemblies, masquerades and parties. Carlotta threw herself into such a round of enjoyment that she declared to her aunt she did not have a moment to think. It was not true—there was too much time to think. Even two weeks after the Prestbury ball, when she was out riding with her friends, it was so easy to allow the chatter to flow over her and to lose herself in her own thoughts, remembering how attentive Luke had been at Malberry, bringing food to share, escorting her home in the evenings—it had been an idyllic, happy interlude. She had felt safe with Luke. He had not attempted to kiss her again, even though she knew she wanted him to do so. She remembered that she had been very close to kissing
him
, the day he had climbed the scaffolding. She had peered over the edge of the platform to find him grinning up at her…

‘Good morning, Major—or is it past noon now?’

He made a great show of getting out his watch, saying severely, ‘It is gone three, madam. Are you so caught up in your work that you do not know the time?’

A laugh trembled on her lips but she tried to frown. ‘I am very busy, sir. Pray do not disturb me.’

‘Can you not come down?’

‘No, sir, I cannot. What are you doing?’ She laughed. ‘You cannot come up
here
.’

‘I can, and I will,’ he said, setting his foot on the first ladder. ‘I want to see you in your eyrie.’

She felt the platform shake as he began to climb and she quickly collected up her palette and brushes out of the way.

‘So this is where you work.’ He crawled onto the platform. ‘Good God, how do you manage?’

‘It is a little cramped, to be sure. There is no room to
stand and one has to work crouching or lying down. But it is easier for me, because I am so much shorter than you.’

He pointed to the large roundel in the centre of the ceiling. ‘Is that your father’s work?’

‘Yes.’ She giggled as she watched him twisting his long frame around, trying to look at the fresco. ‘It is easier if you lie on your back, only you must not, of course. You will make your coat dirty.’

Ignoring her warning, he stretched himself out on the platform. ‘Ah, yes, I can see it much better now. A god and his attendants.’ He shifted his position. ‘And the other roundel, the smaller one at the far end?’

She slid down beside him and gazed up at the ceiling. ‘I painted that one. You are still too close to see it all properly; it will look so much better from the ground.’

‘It looks wonderful to me now,’ he said. ‘I am impressed.’ He rolled over and propped his head on his hand, smiling at her. ‘Now, when will you come down?’

The frescoes were forgotten. His face was only inches from her own. What if she was to reach out to him, to take his face in her hands and pull him down to her, to kiss
him
? The urge to do just that had been so strong she shivered. Such wicked thoughts!

‘Carlotta.’

She jumped. No longer was she lying beside Luke Ainslowe on the high scaffold at Malberry; she was ambling through Hyde Park on her docile little pony. The rest of her riding party had moved ahead and, to her dismay, she found Lord Darvell was beside her on a sleek, long-legged bay. Her cheeks grew hot—had she conjured him with her musings?

She had not expected him to seek her out after her performance at Prestbury House. She thought she had made her feelings perfectly clear, but here he was, smiling at her and causing her heart to flutter in the most foolish way imaginable.

‘We had no opportunity to talk, the other night,’

‘There is nothing I want to say to you, my lord.’

She urged her mount to a trot, wanting to catch up with her party, but Luke’s hand shot out and caught her bridle.

‘Not yet, Carlotta. Allow me to enjoy your company for a little while.’

She stiffened. ‘I did not give you leave to use my name.’

‘No? I told you I would do so. At Malberry, do you remember?’

She hunched a shoulder. ‘I have no wish to remember Malberry.’

‘No?’ he said again, his slow smile slicing through her defences. ‘Why should you not—did you not enjoy our time together there? Have you forgotten that I commissioned you to paint me?’

She stared ahead of her. Of course she remembered. She remembered every word he had spoken to her. She realised she would very much like to paint him, not posing statesman-like in a studio, but as he had been at Malberry Court, relaxed and reclining on the grass. For his brown hair she would use a base of raw umber and add fine brushstrokes to represent the blond sun-streaks—mixing in a little Indian yellow, perhaps. And his eyes—it would not be difficult to recreate their colour, like polished hazelnuts, but could she capture the smile that lurked in their depths, or the way his mouth quirked into a smile?

Carlotta looked away suddenly. This was too dangerous
a game—she was only a memory away from crying. She assumed a haughty look and raised her brows at him.

‘You would commission me, my lord? But it is well known you have no money.’

‘That will not always be the case.’

She curled her lip at him. ‘But it is irrelevant, since I shall not be painting you. Indeed, I have no need to do anything, now.’

‘Perhaps not, but I thought painting was your passion.’

She managed a tinkling laugh. ‘Oh dear me, no. How unladylike that would be.’

She noted with satisfaction that his hand on her rein tightened, and the little mare side-stepped nervously.

‘What has happened to you, Carlotta? At Malberry you were…different.’

He was watching her intently. Carlotta knew she would have to look at him, but she would die rather than show him her true feelings. He was a rake, everyone told her so. He had been her first love—her only love—and he had broken her fragile young heart. But that was what rakes did; he could not change his nature. It had taken her months to rebuild her life—only the knowledge of how dear she was to her parents and to her aunt and uncle had given her the will to carry on. She could not let him hurt her again. She raised her chin and fixed him with cold, indifferent eyes.

‘At Malberry, my lord, I was a child, ignorant of the world. I thought fortune was not important. Now I know better.’

She forced herself not to look away, praying that he would not see past her icy, supercilious stare to the raw pain in her heart. For a long, treacherous moment he held her eyes; not by the flicker of an eyelid did she betray the anguish that was ripping her apart. She watched as his
puzzlement turned to contempt. She had not thought she could feel any more miserable, but the disdain she now read in his eyes was almost unbearable. Almost.

He released her bridle and gathered up his own reins, saying curtly, ‘Then I shall leave you to your fortune-hunting, Miss Rivington. Good day to you.’

Luke dug his heels into the bay’s sides and cantered away, ignoring the stares and frowns of those who considered it unseemly to move at more than a snail’s pace. Damn the chit. When he had first seen her at Malberry he had intended nothing more than a little flirtation to pass the time. By heaven, the girl had given him his own again! He scowled; it was his own fault, for he had told her of his financial problems. They had been sitting on the lawns at Malberry on one of those hot, sunny afternoons when he had persuaded her to come down from her high perch for a little while. He had been curious to know why her father was so anxious to have the frescoes finished.

‘It is most important that my father fulfils his obligations, you see,’ said Carlotta, stretching out on the grass and putting her hands behind her head. He tried not to stare at the way her paint-stained shirt settled over the gentle curves of her breast. ‘He must be paid on time.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Because there are bills outstanding, expenses to be met…As a gentleman, perhaps you would not understand.’

He grinned at that. ‘I understand only too well about debts; I have an abundance of them.’

Carlotta wrinkled her brow. ‘It must be very unpleasant to be under such an obligation, I think.’

‘But it is unavoidable,’ he said lightly. ‘Any gentleman living in town will tell you that his expenses are very high. There’s one’s house and stable to be maintained, not to mention one’s tailor.’

‘But surely you could cut back, economise…’ She bit her lip. ‘I can see that I have made you angry, I beg your pardon. The way you live is none of my business.’

‘No.’ He had not meant to sound so cold and he saw the sudden, anxious look Carlotta threw at him. When she did not speak, he said gently, ‘What, Mistress Durini? Have you no riposte for me?’ She shook her head, and looked surprised when he laughed. ‘At last I have found a woman who does not want the last word!’

Carlotta sat up. She said angrily, ‘I think you are making May-game of me, sir.’

‘No, no, pray, Miss Durini, forgive my incivility. I was jesting when I talked of the expense of town life; I have only recently returned from Paris and I
have
no town house to maintain—and to the best of my knowledge neither do I owe my tailor a penny. The debts I do have relate to my estate, and I plan to address that problem very soon. There, will you cry peace with me now?’

His hand tightened on the reins and the bay skittered, throwing up his head. Damnation, he had never owned as much to any woman before and what good had it done him? He had given her a stick to beat him with. A short, bitter laugh escaped him. He had been within an ace of offering for her—thank Providence it had come to nothing! What a lucky escape—he had no wish to be married to such a shallow, mercenary female.

He brought his horse to a sudden stop.

The only trouble was, he could not bear the thought of anyone else marrying her.

During the following weeks it was inevitable that Carlotta and Lord Darvell would meet frequently, but a polite, distant nod was their only acknowledgement.

‘I am surprised that Darvell does not pay you more attention,’ remarked Lady Broxted, when they saw him in Mrs Price’s drawing room one evening. ‘He is generally very appreciative of a pretty young lady…a little
too
appreciative in some cases,’ she added reflectively. ‘He is an incorrigible flirt.’

Carlotta glanced across the room. Luke was enjoying a lively dialogue with a very pretty blonde matron and she quickly looked away again.

‘I do not think I am quite to his taste, Aunt. I doubt I am pretty enough to tempt his lordship.’

‘Nonsense, I have received any number of compliments for you, my love,’ replied Lady Broxted. ‘But I suppose we should be thankful for Darvell’s lack of interest; your uncle has settled a generous dowry upon you, and he hopes you will contract an alliance with a gentleman of means.’

Carlotta raised her chin. ‘You need have no fear, Aunt; I shall not throw myself away upon an impoverished fortune-hunter like the Wicked Baron.’

Lady Broxted looked at her closely. ‘Oh dear, what has Lord Darvell done to deserve such vehemence? Perhaps it is his lack of attention that has piqued you. After all, you cannot deny he is very attractive. However, if you showed a partiality for him, I have no doubt Broxted—’

‘Dear ma’am, I have
no
partiality for him!’ cried Carlotta, an angry flush warming her cheeks. ‘I am quite
thankful
that he does not notice me.’