A Little Deception (3 page)

‘Yes,’ he considered. ‘But Mr Babbage has no head for
business. Which is why he is perpetually in debt and I am not. Nevertheless,
Lady Chesterfield,’ he inclined his head, smiling, ignoring Charles, ‘I am
confident that we can come to some arrangement.’

Yes, he was sure of it. He would not call in the debt. Once
Lady Chesterfield had launched her sister-in-law, she and her husband would
return to the West Indies. All that differed from the original plan was that,
between now and then, he and Lady Chesterfield would have enjoyed a little more
pleasure than either of them had anticipated. One only had to spend five
minutes in their company to see that neither Sir Charles nor the lovely Lady
Chesterfield were likely to object.

The time had come, he decided, to give his current mistress,
the fiery, exquisite but no longer incomparable, Lady Barbery, her congé.

***

‘You missed a rum do at Baroness Esterhazy’s this evening,
Rampton!’

Hesitating on the threshold to the library, Rampton turned,
narrowing his eyes in greeting. It was hard to tell whether his brother were
foxed or not.

He waited as Felix was relieved of his outerwear by Lavery
before preceding his brother into the library. ‘I had dinner guests.’

‘Important dinner guests for you to have refused the
baroness’s invitation.’

‘I turned down three equally enticing invitations, I assure
you, Felix.’ Rampton’s tone was dry as he went to the sideboard, asking
carelessly, ‘And did the baroness enjoy her evening?’

‘Well, she did her best to appear unconcerned by your
absence.’ Felix waited while his brother poured them both a drink. ‘But I
wasn’t fooled for a minute. Of course, at the first opportunity she holed me up
in a dark corner to ask what you were doing.’

‘Indeed?’ Rampton handed his brother the tumbler half-full
of amber liquid, then settled himself on the leather sofa, stretching his long
legs in front of him to gain maximum benefit from the small coal fire that
burned in the grate. He felt a little guilty that he had trouble visualizing
the baroness’s bounteous charms when she’d been out of his life for less than six
months before she’d been replaced by Catherine Barbery, his very first lover,
who had waltzed back into his life.

Well, now it was time for Catherine to go, too, he
reflected, conscious of a very potent surge of desire that made him cross and
re-cross his legs. Since last night, all he could think of was Lady
Chesterfield’s fair and fragile beauty. And those eyes: clear and incisive, as
if she knew exactly what was on his mind and was both intrigued and terrified.
He was surprised that concern tempered his lustful thoughts. Concern that he
must go about his wooing with care. So many of his mistresses had thrown
themselves at him but Lady Chesterfield was an altogether different
proposition. He was visited by the interesting thought that she might be sizing
him up as her first conquest. Her lapses of self confidence might attest to
that. Also, five years married to that dandelion baronet who agreed with
everything anyone said—if they said it with enough force or conviction—must
mean poor Lady Chesterfield, who was clearly a spirited little thing, was
panting for a forceful lover. Having been incarcerated on the West Indies most
of her life she’d have little knowledge as to how to go about the whole
business.

Amusement and anticipation flickered in his self-acknowledged
carnal depths and he realised, unrepentant, that he was licking his lips,
already relishing the sport to come. Indeed, there’d be much of that, and he
was quite happy to lead the way. And soon.

‘Come now, Rampton, don’t assume that casual tone with me.
Three months ago you were wild for the baroness.’ Felix lowered himself into
the wing chair opposite, his mouth curling in a boyish and far less cynical
imitation of his brother’s. ‘I told her I had not the least idea what you were
up to this evening but that I was there in your stead and hoped she could
regard me with similar affection.’ With a shrug, he added on a philosophical
note, ‘She was unmoved. Even flattery, far in excess of her merits, made no
difference. And then the baron arrived, all husbandly solicitation, so that was
the end of that. Such a shame you always fall for the married ones.’

‘My dear boy, you cannot pretend to be so naïve!’ Rampton
gave a short laugh. This was not a topic he wished to entertain with his
brother. ‘I’d be a fool to do otherwise.’

‘You can’t shrug off your matrimonial duty for too much
longer, surely?’

‘I endured a tedious evening at Almack’s last night, in case
you had forgotten.’ Almack’s was bursting with debutantes at this time of year.
Rampton decided not to add that he derived greater sport from the more comely
chaperones than he did from their gauche young charges, fresh from the
schoolroom.

Felix, however, was well aware of his elder brother’s
predilections, for he said, almost testily, ‘You need a wife, not a mistress,
Rampton. Soon you’ll be considered even more ramshackle than our dissolute
papa.’

The amused smile froze. Rampton drained his tumbler. ‘Why,
Felix, I do believe you are serious.’ Collecting himself, he assumed a tone
that was far more light-hearted than he felt as he pointed out, ‘Ramshackle I
would be indeed to saddle myself – and the rest of the family –
with an unsuitable bride. I long ago learned that duty and pleasure are two
very different matters. And matrimony, you would do well to remember the next
time you find yourself in thrall to the latest goddess, does not fall within
the latter category. Rest assured that in the meantime, unless some worthy
contender for my affections drops from the sky into my lap, I intend to take my
pleasure while I can.’ Yawning, he added, ‘I’m off to bed. Unlike some, I no
longer have the advantage of youth.’

Felix pulled a face as he watched his brother rise. ‘God
forbid, I’d better make the most of the few good years left to me, I daresay.
Looking at you is like looking at myself in a mirror in five year’s time, all
craggy and going grey.’ He grinned. ‘But without the boyish charm. Little
consolation that the women seem to find a viscount in his dotage a more
enticing prospect than his younger, far handsomer brother.’

Rampton snorted as he headed for the door, tossing over his
shoulder, ‘I think my pocketbook accounts for that.’

‘I understand your caution, Rampton.” Felix’s tone grew
serious. ‘But are you so afraid of parson’s mousetrap? Surely you’ll confess to
having been intrigued by just one unmarried miss tossed in your direction?’

Rampton turned slowly, forcing amusement to his lips, at
least. ‘The short answer, little brother, is no.’ He hesitated. ‘I have never
been in love and my desire is whipped up only when I am assured my quarry is
safely unobtainable.’

‘But don’t you get fagged with Mama forever charging you
with your neglect in securing the family line?’

‘Mama will have to be satisfied another ten years for that
is when I plan to retire quietly to the country and breed sheep ’ – he
grinned - ‘Amongst other things. In ten years a pliant, suitable wife will fit
nicely into my plans. So if these questions are on mama’s behalf, you can tell
her that the nursery will not need redecorating for at least a decade.’

Felix looked unimpressed. ‘You really are just like Papa.
Still, it can’t be too bad having all these designing mamas trying to entice
you with their daughters. I wish I were so popular!’ He sighed. ‘At least
you’re more discerning and discreet than Papa and, lucky for you, it seems
there’s no shortage of pretty matrons panting for your attentions.’

Rampton shrugged as he stroked the door knob. ‘It’s hardly
surprising I’m not inclined to chase innocent virgins, given the astonishing
number of bored, highly desirable married women who make plain their desire for
a little dalliance with a viscount in his dotage – as you put it.’

Once again, his thoughts strayed to the enchanting Lady
Chesterfield. The messages she had sent him that night might have been mixed
but mutual attraction had charged the air. He couldn’t wait until their next
meeting.

Felix tossed back his drink, then rose to pour another,
saying in falsely sympathetic tones, ‘Poor Rampton, to be leg-shackled by such
mistrust must be a terrible thing. As long as caution remains your mistress
you’ll never find a wife. Anyway, what are your plans for tomorrow that you
have to be up with the birds?’

Rampton contemplated the question. ‘My plans for tomorrow’ —
anticipation turned up the corners of his mouth — ‘and perhaps those for
the next few weeks, will be to mix a little business with pleasure.’

‘But you said—’

‘I never said,’ Rampton grinned, ‘that pleasure and duty
were mutually exclusive. And it just so happens that tomorrow is one occasion
when they are not.’

ARABELLA
LEANT BACK against the threadbare squabs of their hackney carriage, facing
Rose, her eyes wide. Despite her new clothes she looked much more the
schoolgirl than the debutante who must make a good marriage before Rose could
return to her beloved island, having discharged her duty towards her little
sister.

‘You flirted with Lord Rampton? Just like Helena?’ She
giggled, ignoring Helena’s darkling look. ‘Rose, I can’t imagine it. When
you’re with a gentleman you’re always so …’ she floundered for the right word,
‘prim.’

Helena was not in a similarly light-hearted frame of mind. Tossing
her glossy dark head, her eyes flashed as she muttered, ‘Well, when it came to
my clothes, Rose was as careless of those as she was of my feelings regarding
this ridiculous charade.’

‘Edith noticed the tear in the skirt when she fetched it
from your room. She made a beautiful job of mending it, didn’t she?’ responded
Rose, smoothly. ‘I believe you caught it on a rosebush during Mrs Caversham’s
card party the other week.’

Helena turned her head away from the two sisters on the seat
opposite, her normally sensuous mouth a rigid line. She watched the handsome
Park Lane residences pass before them.

‘I daresay I’ll never be allowed to forget that night,’ she
said, bitterly. ‘I knew how it would be. Charles has never reprimanded me. With
his experience of the world he understood that I was in an impossible position.
Everyone had a wager. People would have assumed that Charles keeps me on short
rations had I not kept up; or would even have accused me of putting myself
above the rest if I had offered my excuses.’

‘A shame you didn’t know what fast company you were keeping,
Helena,’ remarked Rose. ‘Or that you slipped out of the house and left Charles
sleeping without asking his permission, for he’d have explained that gaming in
England is very different from gaming at home, where people were a little more
understanding of your … vices.’

‘Gambling is not a crime … unless an unmarried woman plays
for stakes which can only be honoured by those upon whom she is dependent,’
Helena muttered.

Rose forced back her anger. The implication was clear. When
Helena married, her father had settled a modest sum upon her. When Rose’s
father had died he had been so deeply in debt there was no dowry to settle upon
either her or Arabella. Unless Charles took care of them, or they could find husbands
for whom fortune did not matter – a slim chance indeed – they were
entirely at the mercy of their closest male relative: Charles, whose finances
they knew little about, but who never seemed to reproach his feckless,
beautiful wife.

‘Yes, but back home you’ve been gambling with the same
people since you were seven years old, when your father first encouraged you to
place a wager. You’ve only ever gambled with friends. Until now.’

Rose was not going to concede anything. Helena had never
been properly called to task for her behaviour. Charles had begged his sister
not to labour the incident, despite its repercussions for the rest of the
family, saying Helena was deeply upset and likely to dissolve into remorseful
tears. Rose only wished she could see it.

‘Did Lord Rampton laugh at you when you tried to flirt with
him?’ Helena asked, changing the subject.

‘He flirted straight back at me,’ Rose laughed, recalling
the evening with a surprising jolt of pleasure.

‘He would not have bothered if you’d been dressed the way
you are now.’

All the pleasure drained out of Rose as she contemplated her
drab apricot velvet walking-dress; apricot was a colour that made her look
horribly sallow. The dress had once belonged to her mother, who had been taller
and, at the time she owned it, stouter. Rose, who was not naturally gifted with
a needle, had made a gallant effort to remodel it, but it had never been a
great success. Not that that had mattered … until now. Their social life had
been limited in the last few years of her father’s declining health. Rose made
few calls and rarely received them. Besides, it was not as if there had been
suitors for whom she must make an effort.

Rose glanced at Helena and was disconcerted by an unexpected
wave of envy. Despite wearing a sprigged muslin that was demure by her
standards, Helena still managed to look striking. Like Rose the night before,
Helena would have had no compunction about flirting with Lord Rampton.