A Little Deception (31 page)

‘Ain’t everyday quality comes visitin’ my premises, for all
the ’andsome terms I’d be prepared to offer … knowin’, naturally, ’ow as you’d
be back in a twinklin’ to redeem all yer pretty things.’ He gave an insinuating
chuckle. ‘I’m sure a fine lady like you’d only needs to smile nicely at her
gent’mun and—’

‘Just tell me what sum you are prepared to advance me,’ Rose
cut him off as the old man fingered the diaphanous dress lovingly.

‘No stains or damage. A dress of the first stare, as you
young ladies would say, eh?’ He gave another wheezy laugh, setting aside the
dress and opening the clasp of the jewel box with shaking fingers. ‘Not much
’ere,’ he said. His tone was accusing as he held up first a pair of paste
earrings, then a thin gold chain.

Bargaining complete, Rose was relieved to be out of there.
Perhaps Helena had been expecting more, but Rose had done her best.

THE
SATISFACTION ROSE gained from her endeavours on Helena’s behalf were short-lived.
Helena had retired to bed to nurse a nervous headache and Rose was about to
change when Rampton entered her dressing-room after a cursory knock. One glance
at his grim countenance and Rose immediately dismissed Beth.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘As expected, Charles isn’t very happy at the new state of
affairs …’ He broke off, eyeing with distaste the black bonnet she was
removing. ‘Not one of your most becoming, I must say,’ he said before resuming,
‘for of course he will bear the brunt of Yarrowby’s displeasure. I told him new
information had come to light which suggested the fellow might not make an
ideal husband.’

Rose sat down at her dressing-table and ran a hand across
her forehead. She too now had a nervous headache. She wanted to unburden
herself of the events of this morning but had promised Helena to keep the visit
to the pawnbroker secret.

‘He’ll only judge me harshly,’ Helena had said. ‘And I
intend to approach Charles first and then redeem what I can so that no one will
be the wiser.’

So Rose made no remark upon the bonnet and listened as
Rampton said, ‘Arabella will probably want to retreat to the country for a
little to nurse her wounded heart while this whole business blows over.’

‘For goodness’ sake, keep your voice down,’ urged Rose. He
had paused by the door which he had left half-open.

He looked at her for a moment before shaking his head as if
to clear it. ‘Sorry, my dear. Of course it would not do for the servants to
hear of Arabella’s disappointment before she does.’

‘Rampton …’ Rose stopped him as he was about to leave. He
levelled such an enquiring look at her that she almost did not have the courage
to ask, ‘Is something else the matter? Apart from Arabella, I mean?’

There was a pause before a flicker of warmth returned to his
expression.

‘Just the pressure of business which, after all, is why I’m
in town – and to facilitate the pleasure of my new wife,’ he added, with
a brief caress of her cheek. But there was not sufficient humour in his tone to
reassure Rose.

Rose twined an arm behind his neck and pulled his head down.
‘If something is troubling you, my darling, you must tell me,’ she murmured
against his lips. Sighing, she gave herself up to the pleasure of feeling his
strong heartbeat against her straining breasts as his arms wrapped themselves
around her and he pulled her against him. Taken unawares, she tightened her
grip and ran the tip of her tongue across the seam of his lips, inviting entry.
She’d not anticipated her answering reactions would be so strong. Or his.

‘Little vixen,’ he muttered against her mouth, before
crushing her closer so she could feel the full force of his desire.

‘How so?’ she gasped, when her response had begun as mere
coquetry.

 
‘You know very
well.’ Busily his fingers worked at the pins in her coiffure until her hair suddenly
tumbled down to her waist and he was burying his face in its rippling tresses
as he scooped her up.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she whispered as she clung to
him. Her heart hammered with excitement and her limbs felt boneless with
desire. He was daring the passage to secret her into his own chamber she
realised.

‘Somewhere more comfortable and where we won’t be
interrupted,’ he growled and she saw the glint of wicked suggestiveness in his
eye before her next words were cut short by his mouth upon hers the moment the
door closed behind them. Raw need powered through her as he tossed her onto his
bed before caging her with his large, well-built body. She arched her neck for
kissing, shivering at the trail he blazed along her throat while he deftly
removed her shoes and stroked her the length of her highly sensitised thighs.

She closed her eyes and gloried in the attention, bringing
her mind back to conscious thought only when he asked, ‘You have no objection?’

‘Only to your obeying the dinner gong,’ she whispered.

‘And believe me, you’re going to have such an appetite by
the time I’ve finished with you,’ he promised, his eyes boring briefly into hers
before his mouth reclaimed hers in a fresh assault that swept away all but her
deepest longings to be possessed by the only man who’d ever stirred in her such
feelings.

***

 
Lust can assuage
doubts but not dismiss altogether the lingering uncertainties. Rampton
acknowledged this as he gazed down at his lovely wife, her hair spread out upon
the pillow, licking her lips like the cat who had swallowed the cream.

But he resisted the impulse to quiz Rose on the matter that
had cast him into such gloom before their unexpected coupling. No, her
enthusiasm and now her serene gaze made him decide otherwise. How could she be
guilty of the wrongdoing alluded to by his unsavoury companion this morning?

Rampton’s own impending visit in response would prove her
innocence although he’d arrived in Rose’s dressing room determined to charge
her with the allegations that had been made against her.

He’d been passing St Paul’s Cathedral, returning from his
unpleasant meeting with Charles while happily dwelling on the pleasures he’d
enjoyed in his wife’s arms the previous night, when he’d been hailed by the
stepson of Rose’s Aunt Alice, a man Rampton knew only vaguely.

‘What brings you to these parts? Business, or the need to
repent?’ the young blood asked, bounding down the steps, brushing his dark hair
back from his high brow.

There was something so out of place and unacceptably
familiar about the question and its delivery that Rampton could not help but
repulse him with a frown.

‘My apologies, sir, but I’m late for an appointment,’ he
said, continuing to walk.

Despite Rampton’s lack of encouragement the young man took
no offence. ‘How did you enjoy last night’s squeeze? Cousin Rose had the right
idea, seeking the solitude of the bottom of the garden.’ He matched his
footsteps to Rampton’s.

‘I turn down here.’ Abruptly, Rampton changed direction
while his companion, limpet-like, turned with him, saying, ‘Lady Biddle warned
Rose she would take cold, for there is a pond, quite marshy, at the bottom of
the garden. It is why the entertainment is held on higher ground. And of course
Rose couldn’t see a thing, it was so dark. At least, I couldn’t.’

‘Keeping a close eye on her, were you? I had no idea you
held her in such affection.’ Rampton’s tone was dry. As was his throat. He knew
some slander was about to issue from this uncousinly cousin’s mouth, and he did
not want to hear it.

Whatever Rose might be guilty of, such as Catherine’s
necklace, must be relegated to the past. Or dismissed altogether for it defied
logic to suppose that Rose would knowingly flaunt a stolen piece merely to win some
extreme response from him, as Helena had suggested.

Oswald’s speculative glances suggested it was only a matter
of time before he would come to the point. Rampton steeled himself, not
realizing until now how much he wanted Rose to be above suspicion, beyond
slander.

‘Your neighbour, Mr Albright—’ Undoubtedly Oswald’s
abrupt pause was designed to centre tension on the name. ‘I believe you’ve been
acquainted with Mr Albright since you were boys together, my lord?’

Silent, Rampton continued walking. The greasy looking
fellow’s manner suggested blackmail but there would be no proof. The necklace
incident had taught him that. Rose had enemies. He was now very sure of it.

Nauseated, he had to stop and support himself against the
half-timbered wall of the house that abutted the narrow lane. Geoffrey
Albright? Rose claimed she held him in the greatest aversion. She claimed she’d
never met him before his mother’s dinner and Rampton believed her.

Then why was he now experiencing the most stomach-churning
discomfort of his life?

Oswald clapped a hand upon his shoulder, frowning with
feigned concern before saying brightly, ‘Mr Albright, I’m pleased to report,
looked after Rose’s interests when she became lost for quite some time at the
bottom of the garden. Miss Arabella was distraught and you could not be found.’
He cocked his head. ‘Have no fear, my lord, for my cousin and Mr Albright knew
one another in the West Indies, don’t you know? They were once quite close. Or
perhaps Rose neglected to mention that.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘A touch of the
ague, perhaps, my lord? You don’t look at all the thing. Perhaps we should step
into this chophouse and partake of a nuncheon. It’s past the hour but I’ve not
eaten and—’

‘I’d as leif dine with a toad as with you, sir.’

Rather than be offended Oswald grinned. Thumbs in his gaudy
waistcoat pocket he looked as if he might even crow with triumph. ‘No, well,
now you mention it, I haven’t the time to be dawdling, either. Pleasant
chatting to you, Rampton. Oh yes, I forgot to mention …’

With his malicious lizard eyes flicking over Rampton Oswald had
proceeded to spew forth an inventory of Rose’s recent exploits such as would
see her deported to the Colonies at the very least, before finishing with a
cheerful, ‘So sorry time was too pressing for you to partake of a pot of ale
with me, Rampton, though if you’d care to put your head in at the Merry Mermaid
about four…?’

Now, as Rampton gazed appreciatively at his wife’s pale,
slender limbs and tried to concentrate on her chatter, he weighed up whether to
pass on the nature of Oswald’s insinuations before he departed to meet the
villain who, her cousin maintained, was in possession of several diamond
necklaces which had gone missing the previous night. Oswald’s involvement, the
odious creature claimed, was in the name of protecting the family reputation
– albeit with handsome recompense from Rampton.

‘So, Rampton, darling, I know Arabella is going to be
heartbroken but if necessary…I mean, if Yarrowby doesn’t withdraw his
offer…I’ll have Polly speak to her.’ Rose smiled up at him, tracing the fleur
de lys design of the counterpane with her fingertips while she shifted her
hips, sending another spiral of desire powering through him. ‘That way she
can’t say it was merely hearsay.’

Merely hearsay. Suddenly Rampton was decided. He would not
quiz Rose about her cousin’s allegations since that was merely hearsay, too. She
might interpret his questions as doubt about her innocence and he had no desire
to churn up the waters between them when he so badly wanted their union to
continue on the passionate, satisfying path it had taken after the several
false turns that had proved just how wretched disharmony with his wife made him.

***

‘Rampton! Please, step up and explain to Arabella that it is
all for the best.’ Rampton, who’d decided to walk to his assignation rather
than take a hackney, was startled to see Helena leaning out of his carriage. ‘I
couldn’t take her to the house like this,’ she went on, indicating the weeping
Arabella beside her when he’d opened the carriage door.

Her tone was not characterized by the sensitivity and
sympathy that Rampton felt was better suited to poor Arabella’s plight.

‘Your heart will mend,’ he said gently, indicating with a
nod to Helena to change places once he was inside so that he could sit beside
the young girl. Arabella gave a wail and put her head on his shoulder.

‘Never,’ she wept. ‘He was so cold!’

‘Ah, Arabella …’ Rampton felt like a cad. How had it come to
this?

Because he’d wanted Rose to accept his judgement on Yarrowby.
‘If there was anything I could do …’

Arabella scanned his face with feverish hopefulness. Turning
his head away, he muttered, ‘You can do better than Yarrowby,’ prompting the
strangled response, ‘I love him!’

The words came muffled from the shoulder of Rampton’s coat.
He wondered vaguely what Fanshawe would have to say about it. He would no doubt
consider the sit of a coat’s shoulders of more importance than a weeping damsel
in distress. He certainly wouldn’t have any sympathy should he know that the
damsel was shedding tears over his own sister’s violator.

‘Well, it appears he does not reciprocate the intensity of
your feelings, dearest,’ said Helena, ‘since he’s done a complete turnaround,
and all on account of a bit of petty accounting over an old house. Come, we’ve
all suffered disappointments.’