A Little Deception (14 page)

She’d struck a nerve. Tossing back the last of her champagne
Helena looked at her with loathing. ‘I did not trick Charles into marriage,’
she hissed. ‘He’d been panting for me since long before I was out of short
skirts. If you want the truth, I was forced into marriage with him when the man
I loved left me. But that’s a long-ago story. Let me just warn you now, my dear
Rose, that I intend that you redress all the past ills you’ve visited upon the
family – namely me. You will marry Lord Rampton and it won’t be hard to
achieve. I’ve seen the way his eyes follow you … the lust that consumes him.’
She paused, snatching up another coupe of champagne from a passing waiter
before continuing with studied sweetness, ‘Arabella will receive an offer from
Lord Yarrowby within the next six weeks, and you will ensnare your handsome
Lord Rampton.’ Raising one eyebrow she contoured the tip of Rose’s breast with
her fan and leant into her. ‘You’ve kissed him, haven’t you?’ Her voice was
low, sending fear and excited longing up Rose’s spine. It mingled with the
disquiet Rose felt at Helena’s reference to the untested Lord Yarrowby and was
swept away by shame when Helena whispered, ‘And it made you want more, didn’t
it?’

Fiercely, Rose shook her head while she reined in her
temper. In clipped tones she said, ‘Honour dictates that I repay what is owed
him, as promised, and Aunt Gwendolyn has all but promised-’

‘Aunt Gwendolyn likes to play games and the only assurance
you have that we will not all be forced to live like paupers is to play on the
feelings of your handsome viscount.’ Helena twirled the stem of her glass as
she contemplated Rose over its rim. ‘It is your duty. My hands are tied for I
am already married to a man who has not the funds to pay the lease on our
shabby little London abode for more than two months but you, Rose, have a duty
to ensure that you and your pretty little sister make the matches that will
liberate us all.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘I am limited by the narrow sphere to
which you relegated me, Rose, but you can be sure I’ll be doing all I can to
achieve the happy outcome we all deserve.’

RAMPTON
PACED THE tower room and watched the road, his agitation fuelled by frustrated
desire.

In the days since Catherine’s ball-assembly his enquiries
had given vastly different perceptions of Lady Chesterfield. Of course, she had
been in England for just a few weeks, but a member of his club who had spent
time in the West Indies had some interesting
on-dits
about the enigmatic beauty. While these had made Rampton
feel a dupe, they’d fuelled the fires of his desire.

Lady Chesterfield, from most accounts, had a decided
penchant for money, mischief … and men.

His frustration had reached monumental proportions when, two
days ago, she had come for her second sitting to Felix with her maid in tow.
Yet surely the gleam in her eye hinted that she was as eager as Rampton to
graduate to the next stage of their relationship. Was there not a wicked,
colluding glint when she asked him how investigations into the theft of Lady
Barbery’s necklace were proceeding? Dammit, what was the woman playing at? Did she
want him to tie up the maid and bundle her in the antechamber so he could
ravish the object of his lustful desires upon the hearthrug?

Actually, the thought had crossed his mind but the maid
looked like she’d be a force to reckon with.

Now, though, he had reasonable grounds for thinking that his
waiting was at an end. There was only so much cat and mouse a man could take
and the surprised look the confounded woman had levelled at him when he’d told
her so under his breath as he’d farewelled her during her last visit had been
followed up by a colluding squeeze of his fingertips.

In the meantime Rampton had appeased his former mistress
with the sop that hers was one of a curious spate of jewel thefts being
investigated at higher levels. It was entirely possible, he’d suggested, that
sensitive documents in the possession of Catherine’s husband, who held an
important government position, were the real target and the theft of jewels
merely a ruse to deflect attention. It was fortuitous that another theft of a
diamond necklace had come to his ears since Lady Barbery’s ball.

Waiting for Lady Chesterfield now, Rampton realized how
tense he was when the ribbon of dust in the distance which heralded an
approaching carriage made him literally sag with relief.

At last. So she hadn’t reneged and made a fool of him.

Felix was in the opposite tower, now, mixing his paints, and
would soon usher Lady Chesterfield to her seat for her final sitting. Casting
his eye over the masculine appointments of his bedchamber Rampton focused his
attention upon the panel behind the large, baronial four-poster in which he and
his forebears had been born. The panel hid a secret staircase that connected
each floor with the courtyard outside as well as a passageway to the opposite tower.
It had been constructed during the time of the dissolution of the monasteries
several centuries earlier, when the family had been devoutly Catholic. Many
Catholic priests had sought refuge in the darkness before making their escape
but now, in safer times, its use was limited to pursuits of a far more frivolous
kind. He gave a low laugh. Lady Chesterfield, he felt sure, would be keen to
view such a curiosity.

Running his hand across his freshly shaven jaw in
anticipation of the preliminaries to their love-making, he felt himself harden
as the blood surged to his extremities. No woman had ever affected him like
this one. She was fascinating. Intriguing. He loved her strange combination of
coquetry and innocence. She was…

…quite unlike any woman he’d ever wanted.

And he wanted her like he’d never wanted anything in his
life.

***

With difficulty, Rose had succeeded in dispensing with
Edith’s services, slipping out of the house when Helena and Charles had taken
Arabella to the Bullock’s Museum. To avoid the outing, she had pleaded a
headache and although Helena had looked at her with scepticism, her
sister-in-law said nothing. No, Helena must have no idea that Rose intended
seeing Lord Rampton alone for although Helena might feel Rose owed them all a
glittering marriage to a moneyed peer, Rose knew the repercussions would not be
worth it. She wanted his love, not his angry scorn, which is what would be
inevitable should he find himself tricked.

But if nothing else, she was desperate enough to take a
chance and at least enjoy being the object of his lust – to a degree.

Felix would be wielding his paintbrush, acting as chaperone,
but she felt sure Lord Rampton would somehow engineer a few stolen moments where
she could melt in his embrace and revel in the kisses he rained upon her, just
as he had when he’d come to see her in her drawing what seemed an age ago.
Since Helena had spoken of ‘wanting more’ the phrase had assumed monumental
proportions. The truth was, Rose wasn’t entirely sure what that entailed. She was
keenly aware of the extraordinary sensations his body whipped up in her own.
They made her feel breathless and out of control. But surely a bout of
passionate kissing would alleviate that? She knew she was risking her
reputation in calling upon an unmarried gentleman but he had as much desire of
ruining her reputation as she did. Marriage was definitely not on his agenda,
she acknowledged. And besides, Master Felix would be nearby and possibly even
his lordship’s mother. All in all, she and her reputation would be safe.

Rose had no idea quite how much she was anticipating her
rendezvous with his lordship until Felix, after greeting her warmly, said,
‘Can’t imagine where Rampton’s got to.’ He led Rose to her chair where he began
to arrange the folds of her gown. Although his actions were intimate, moving an
arm here, tucking in a lock of hair there, his manner was business-like.

Returning to the easel and picking up his paintbrush, he continued,
unaware of the pain his words caused, ‘There was some business with the
overseer. They’re out on the estate but I think Rampton was unsure whether he’d
be back in time to see you.’

‘Oh,’ was all Rose could manage, thinking of the lengths to
which she had gone to orchestrate this clandestine meeting with Rampton. She
had an hour, at best, before Helena would demand that Charles must send out a
search party. If she did, it would seem that Charles’s anger would be over
nothing.

Felix’s tone was conversational. ‘I hear you set sail in a
little under four weeks.’

‘A great loss, I’m sure you’ll agree,’ came a familiar drawl
and Lord Rampton strode in, sending Rose’s heart plummeting to her stomach.

As usual, he dominated the room, his broad shoulders filling
out his perfectly cut riding-coat, his buckskin breeches tucked into highly
polished hessians. He bowed deeply to Rose, taking her hand in his, caressing
the sensitive skin with his lips. It was a blatantly provocative gesture and,
embarrassed, Rose darted a look at Felix who was pretending great interest in
mixing the burnt umber on his palette.

Lord Rampton stepped back and took up position at his
brother’s shoulder. ‘A rose,’ he murmured, transferring his gaze from the
almost completed portrait to Rose who reclined on the velvet-draped chair.

She jerked forward, as if stung, then looked up to see him
gazing into her face with an expression of deep concern. Embarrassed, she
gabbled the first words that came to mind. ‘You have the most fascinating home,
my lord. I’ve heard tales it was used to hide Catholic priests in fear of their
lives.’

His eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘I’ll show you the secret
passageway, if you like.’

‘Very much.’

This seemed to please the viscount who, after peering over
his brother’s shoulder, remarked, ‘Fine work, Felix, but do not take it amiss
when I say that no painting could do justice to Lady Chesterfield.’

‘The inevitable passing of time will ensure that it is a
constant reminder to Sir Charles of his good fortune,’ Felix murmured, which
only added to Rose’s discomposure.

‘Where do you suppose it will hang, Lady Chesterfield?’
asked Rampton.

‘In the breakfast parlour, I daresay.’ In truth, it would be
consigned to the attic, she thought sadly.

‘An ocean away,’ Felix commiserated, ‘and a terrible loss,
though perhaps you’ll be a more frequent visitor to our shores, now that you
have tasted its delights.’

‘I shall have to make the most of those delights while I am
here,’ replied Rose. ‘I cannot see myself returning.’

She glanced at Rampton and was surprised at the warmth of his
smile. He did not appear to have taken account of what she had just said, or
else she’d misunderstood the depth of his admiration, she thought with sudden
dismay. Perhaps he was satisfied with a little flirtation for a few weeks and
would feel no regret at saying goodbye.

She shifted in her seat, impatient for Felix to finish so
that she and Rampton could be alone. Five minutes. No, fifteen. That was all
she craved. The fifteen minutes during which she’d enjoyed Lord Rampton’s passionate
kisses when he’d found her at home alone had stoked the fires of a desire she
had no idea she possessed and banished her natural caution in her need to
experience those sensations just once more. Surely it was not such a great sin
to want a handsome man to make her feel beautiful and desired? After all, it
was not as if either were otherwise attached, she thought sadly, aware of how
divisive her charade would be were he to discover it.

But he would not. If Aunt Alice’s predictions came true, Rose
would be able to raise the funds to pay Rampton’s debt honourably, meaning that
it would be her choice to be in Lord Rampton’s arms through her own desire
alone. He could never accuse her of inveigling her way into his affections as
an underhand means of absolving her of their debt. The knowledge was
liberating.

After what seemed an eternity Felix, with a great show of
deliberation, put down his paintbrush and stepped back from his work,
pronouncing his labours to be at an end.

Rampton seized Rose’s hand to whisk her out of her chair and
they crowded behind the portrait to admire his brother’s work. Felix was
grinning with well-deserved pride, for the portrait did Rose justice,
highlighting her fragile paleness, imbuing her with a shining innocence that
was far from wifely but strangely true to life.

Rampton pulled the velvet bell-rope and a footman entered
with a silver tray bearing a bottle of vintage champagne and three crystal
coupes.

‘We must celebrate!’ Pouring out the frothing liquid, he
handed Felix and Rose a glass each.

Rose felt deliriously happy. She knew her brother would not
be pleased, and that the portrait would never grace the walls of the public
rooms of their house. However, when she was old and grey she would look at it
and remember a fine and handsome gentleman had once thought her a great beauty.

Another bottle was poured to general light-heartedness
during which Rampton caught her round the waist and declared her the beauty of
the day, then Felix made his excuses and left. At long last Rose and Rampton
were alone.

‘I am honoured, Lord Rampton,’ Rose said, only aware as she
spoke that she was feeling as lightheaded as light-hearted. She nodded towards
the painting. ‘And you have been patience itself.’