An Escapade and an Engagement (18 page)

‘If you think anything I do might
touch
Richard’s heart,’ Milly said bitterly, ‘let alone break it,
you are very much mistaken.’

She turned to the bed and picked up her valise.

‘Of course it will hurt him!’ How could Milly be so obtuse? She
had been devastated when Harry abandoned her, and she hadn’t loved him at all.
It was the betrayal, the lies he’d told. And it would be ten times worse for
Richard, because he
did
love Milly. Was on the verge
of proposing to her.

‘Well, that only goes to show how little you really know him.
That’s ’cos he’s only let you see him in the guise of a gentleman. But that’s
not really him. He’s a soldier at heart. And an officer to boot. There’s nothing
soft about him to hurt. He’s steel through to the core.’

‘Even if that were true—’ which she didn’t believe for a minute
‘—you can’t just go throwing your life away because you are upset.’ It was the
kind of thing she’d done in the past. Completely overreacted when she’d been
hurt and angry. ‘You don’t really think Lord Halstead is going to offer to marry
you if you run off with him tonight, do you?’

‘Course not! What do you take me for?’

Lady Jayne gasped. She could just about see why Milly would
have been content to become Richard’s mistress. If a woman loved a man enough
she might easily sacrifice her virtue. But this was not the same at all.

‘Milly, have you taken leave of your senses? You hardly know
the man!’

‘I know enough,’ said Milly defiantly. ‘He’s fun, at least.
Since we’ve been down here I’ve had such laughs with him while he’s been trying
to work out if I’m really his Spanish lady from the masquerade. It was him as
took me home, you know, after Richard spirited you away.’

‘But…’

Milly’s face softened. ‘Look, I can see you’re worried about
what will become of me, but you needn’t be. I’m not daft. I know this thing with
Tom won’t last long, but I’ll survive. I’ve still got the house Richard gave
me…’

‘Milly! You cannot actually want to demean yourself by letting
a man like that…use you? Then throw you away as though you were of no account?’
For that was what men did with their mistresses, was it not?

Milly made an impatient gesture with her hand to silence
her.

‘Don’t start preaching at me, Jayne. You don’t understand…
anything.
You cannot begin to know how awful it was,
all those months when we didn’t know if Richard was going to live or die. Fred
was out foraging, and I was scrimping and saving and making do when his precious
family wouldn’t lift a finger to help. Especially when you consider our regiment
was having picnics and parties and balls all the way to Paris. And where was I?
Chatham!
’

She spat the word as though it was a curse.

‘And then, when he did come into all this—’ with a rather wild
laugh she waved at the opulence of the room in which they stood ‘—and said he
was grateful for all I’d done, and he was going to treat me right, I thought he
was going to set me up in style. Give me a carriage and a pair of cream horses
so I could go round the park like as if I was someone. Or a box at the
theatre—now, that wouldn’t have gone amiss neither. But instead of making sure I
could start having some real fun he packed me off to Bedford Place and told me
to be a good girl. But I’m not a girl,’ she cried, stamping her foot. ‘I’m a
woman!’

Oh, how often Lady Jayne had wrought herself up to the same
pitch as her friend was in now. Even though she could understand Richard’s
motives, she could
feel
every ounce of Milly’s
frustration. In just such a mood she’d vowed not to dance with a single man in
London. In just such a mood she’d decided to go to that masquerade and meet
Harry.

And who had been hurt?
Not
the
person who’d provoked her into the act of defiance. Just herself.

‘No!’ cried Lady Jayne, stepping in front of Milly as she
picked up her valise and made for the door. ‘I won’t let you do this. I can see
you are very upset, but you have to stop and listen…’

‘You really think you can stop me? I’m a head and a half taller
than you, and far, far stronger if it comes to a fight. And I know tricks you
couldn’t even dream of.’

‘I…I am quite sure you do,’ she replied, lifting her chin. ‘But
I have something very important to tell you. It will change everything…’

But Milly did not stop. She did not listen. With a mulish pout,
Milly simply pushed Lady Jayne aside and stalked into their sitting room.

She ran after her and seized her arm as she reached for the
door handle.

‘Milly, stop! I can’t let you leave like this. I can’t!’

‘For heaven’s sake, Jayney!’ Milly dropped her valise, wrapped
her arms round her waist, lifted her from the floor and flung her away from the
door. ‘Can’t you see this will be to your advantage? Now you know I’m no
competition, there’s nothing to stop you going after Richard yourself.’

‘What?’ She straightened up, rubbing at her waist where she
could still feel Milly’s steely strong grip.

‘Don’t play the innocent with me. I’ve seen the way you come
alive for him, when you can barely be bothered to be polite to any other man.’
She thrust her face into hers. ‘You go for the heroic type, don’t you? That was
what attracted you to your Hyde Park soldier. The uniform. The veneer of
manliness.’

Lady Jayne retreated, shaking her head. It hadn’t been like
that with Harry at all!

‘Well, take it from me, Richard is ten times the man Harry was.
I’ve had my hands on every single inch of his body. And I can vouch for the fact
he’s got all the equipment necessary to keep a woman well satisfied.’

‘Milly!’

‘Even if it was true that my leaving might affect him, we both
know he’s on the hunt for a Society bride.’

‘No! W-well he was, but he told me—’

‘All you need do,’ Milly interrupted, prodding her in the chest
with her forefinger, making Lady Jayne take another step back, ‘is flutter those
great long eyelashes of yours, put your arms round his neck and let him kiss
you. And I guarantee all will be right with his world again.’

‘No. You’ve got it dreadfully wrong…’ she protested, just as
Milly shoved her hard in the chest and sent her reeling back.

And slammed the bedroom door in her face.

With every coarse remark, each jab of her finger, she had sent
Lady Jayne retreating across the sitting room. She had been so shocked that
Milly had known all along how she felt about Richard—especially when she’d only
just untangled her web of emotions in his regard the day before—she had not
noticed the moment she teetered on the threshold of her own room. But now she
was on the wrong side of the door, while Milly was turning the key in the
lock.

‘Let me out! Milly! You must—’ she slammed the palms of her
hands against the locked door ‘—not leave!’

She grabbed the doorknob and tugged with all her might. It
would not yield.

‘Milly!’ she yelled as loud as she could. But Milly’s steps did
not falter. And then she heard the outer door slam.

Oh, this was terrible. Not only was Milly ruining her own
future by acting on the kind of anger that Lady Jayne knew only too well, but
she was also going to devastate Richard. This
affaire
would ruin any chance of him finding the happiness he’d only
just started to reach for.

She kicked the annoyingly solid bedroom door just once, to
relieve her feelings, welcoming the pain that shot through her toes. Because it
was all
her
fault. If she hadn’t gone to that
masquerade Milly might never have met Lord Halstead. If she hadn’t been such a
selfish, jealous, coward she would have told Milly yesterday that Richard was
going to propose, and then none of this would be happening.

There was only one way to make amends. With a determined glint
in her eye, she marched across to the window.

Chapter Twelve

L
ady Jayne opened the casement and leaned
out, examining the climb she would have to make. For she had to get to Richard
and warn him what was going on, and this window was the only way out of her
room.

The apex of the
porte-cochère
was
only a foot or so beneath her windowsill. The pitch of the tiles was quite steep
and, since it had been raining earlier that evening, they were slick with
moisture. The drop from the guttering that ran along the lowest edge of the
slope to the ground looked to be another fifteen or twenty feet.

She had no fear of heights, since she had spent a great deal of
her childhood, during the years when her father had just wanted her kept out of
his sight, climbing trees. But this was not going to be an easy descent. That
slippery slope had no handholds. And there was no way to avoid dropping the last
bit.

She leaned out a bit farther. If she slid crabwise across the
porte-cochère,
to its lowest point, she might be
able to find a toehold amongst the ivy. It covered the whole frontage of the
house, and she knew from experience that a plant that vigorous would have some
sturdy branches under all that thick foliage. Failing all else, she could grab a
vine and let it slow her descent to the ground as it peeled away from the
wall.

The image of getting a vine in her hand reminded her of a rope.
A rope. Yes, if only she had a rope she could cling to it as she slid slowly
down the sloping tiles. And then, even if it was not all that long, if she could
hang from the end of it and reduce her fall by even a few feet it would make all
the difference. If she only had to drop, say, ten feet, it would be like coming
off a horse that was jumping a hedge, which she had done plenty of times.

You had to roll, her groom had taught her from an early age.
Not just slam into the ground like a sack of potatoes, but crumple and roll. And
then, though you still got bruises, you weren’t so likely to break bones.

She turned round, scanning her room for something to fashion
into a rope. Her eyes snagged on the plaited cords that tied back the silk
damask hangings of her bed. She unlooped them and swiftly knotted them together
as best she could. Then tied the end of the first one to the central stone
pillar between her windows. Then gave a little tug, to make sure it was secure.
She wished she had packed her breeches. But, since she had promised never to
climb out of a window again, it hadn’t occurred to her she might want them.

She clucked her tongue in annoyance. When would she stop making
stupid, rash vows that she had no hope of keeping? Oh, dear. Was she doomed to
end up like Milly? One day throwing her life away completely in a fit
of…pique?

Not if she could help it. She firmed her lips and hitched her
nightgown up round her thighs. She’d made mistakes in her past. Bad ones. But
she wasn’t so stupid she hadn’t learned from them.

She knotted the yards of fine lawn in place with the belt of
her dressing gown and swung her legs over the sill, clinging tightly to the
plaited velvet cord.

There was a ripping noise.

She couldn’t worry about whatever she’d torn just now. She had
to concentrate on getting to Richard as fast as possible. To that end she turned
to lie on her tummy on the tiles, skinning her knees in the process. Ignoring
the pain, and the unpleasant sensation of wetness seeping through the front of
her nightgown, she began to worm her way down.

It was when she was about halfway down that the rope went slack
and then, to her horror, went slithering past her. Somewhere along its length it
must have come untied.

Oh, why, she thought as she scrabbled in vain for purchase on
the wet tiles, had none of those expensive tutors and governesses she’d had ever
taught her how to tie knots?

After breaking several fingernails, she thought of kicking off
her silk slippers. Maybe she could dig her toes into the steep and slippery
slope. It didn’t help at all. In fact, she felt as though she was sliding
downwards even faster.

She shrieked as her feet went over the edge.

But then, by some miracle, she managed to grab hold of the
limestone trough that acted as guttering. For a second or two she hung,
suspended by her fingertips in midair.

And then she was falling through empty space.

Instinctively she curled into a ball as she hit the gravel
driveway. When she stopped rolling she lay quite still for a moment or two,
taking stock and thanking providence for that groom. The one person who had
taught her anything of real value.

It did not feel as though she had broken anything. With a
determined grimace, she made herself sit up.

She was facing the massive, locked front door.

She could pound on the knocker, she supposed. Yes, and raise
half the household. And then they would all know that Milly had run off with
Lord Halstead after locking her in her room. Which was the last thing she
wanted.

No, somehow she had to find Richard—and only Richard. Nobody
else must ever know about this night’s work.

She got to her feet and stood for a few moments, willing her
legs to stop shaking, and wondered which out of the three storeys of closed,
curtained windows this part of the house possessed was his.

And then she remembered him saying how hard he found it to
sleep with the windows shut. But that Fred was here now. Fred who knew how he
liked things done.

All she had to do was walk round the house looking for an open
window. She didn’t know anyone else who was likely to leave a window open at
night, since most people believed that the night air was injurious to the
health.

Although, she reflected as she made for the corner of the
house, that did not stop anyone from staying out until dawn when they were in
London. If night air was really that bad, surely it would be dangerous to go
outside at night? She paused and scanned the windows on the west wing. All
shut.

She set off again, going round to the back, where she came to a
jumble of buildings that looked like kitchens and offices, which ran clear away
to the stable block. He would not sleep down here.

So she retraced her steps to the front of the house, then
continued round to examine the east wing, which had been tacked on to the
earliest buildings at about the same time as the
porte-cochère,
by the looks of the stonework.

And felt a sense of jubilation when she spied, on the first
floor, a single sash pushed up. It had to be Richard’s room!

Only now that she’d found it how on earth was she to attract
his attention? If she shouted for him she’d likely wake half the household.

She would have to throw something up at his window and hope it
would wake him. She bent down, scooped up a handful of gravel from the driveway
and flung it upwards.

Then squealed and scampered backwards as half of it came
raining straight back down on her head. Gravel, she discovered, scattered in all
directions when you threw it.

She’d have to find a pebble, then. But not too large a one. She
did not want to run the risk of smashing anything. Broken glass would take too
much explaining away in the morning.

A quick rummage through the urns that stood on the edge of the
terrace proved unfruitful, the compost in them being so soft and crumbly she
suspected it must have gone through a sieve. She trotted to the end, dived into
the shrubbery and from beneath the very first bush managed to extract a couple
of roughish small stones.

She threw the first one at the window, and almost stamped her
foot with vexation when it went wide of where she had aimed it, striking the
brickwork way to the left of the open window.

She stepped to the right half a pace and threw again. This
time, to her immense satisfaction, the pebble flew right through the open
window.

Only then there was a crash, as of breaking glass, and the
sound of a man’s voice cursing. Richard’s head and shoulders appeared above the
sill, as though he had been crouched beneath it.

‘What the devil?’ He stood up and leaned out. ‘Lady Jayne? What
do you think you are doing down there? My God! I almost shot you!’

‘Oh, hush, Richard. Do not shout. Only come down quickly and
let me in.’ She gesticulated at a set of doors on the terrace. She thought she
remembered him telling her they led into the library.

He nodded and disappeared.

She undid the belt of her dressing gown—the only knot that
night that had held fast—so that her tattered nightdress covered the lower part
of her legs once more. Then hopped from one bare foot to the other, wondering
what they’d think when they cleaned the gutters out in spring and found a pair
of ladies’ slippers up there.

It seemed an age before the doors to the library swung open.
When Richard stepped out onto the terrace, a furious scowl on his face, she
wrapped her arms round herself in an involuntary gesture of self-defence. It was
hard to be sure which aspect of the situation she found most intimidating. His
scowl. The pistol he was still brandishing, even though he had warned her about
the dangers of getting shot. Or the fact that he was barefoot and bare-chested,
his open shirt billowing out behind him as he strode forward.

He’d looked very dashing at the masquerade, dressed up like a
corsair. But tonight, she thought as she gulped, he looked as formidable as the
real thing.

‘What the hell is going on?’

‘It’s Milly.’ Somehow she managed to drag her eyes away from
that fascinating expanse of bare male skin and say, ‘She’s… I’m so—so sorry,
Richard, b-but she’s run off with L-Lord Hals-tead.’

‘You are freezing,’ he said in response to her stammered
sentence.

Yes, she silently agreed. It was
cold
that was making her tremble all over.

‘Let’s get you back indoors and into the warmth, and then you
can tell me what on earth possessed you to go running about in just your night
things.’

‘Yes,’ she said as he ushered her into the library. ‘B-but you
must hurry, Richard,’ she said as he shut and bolted the doors behind him. ‘If
you get d-dressed quickly there might still be time to stop them. It won’t take
you long, will it? You already have your breeches on,’ she said, eyeing his
behind as he bent to ram home the floor bolts. ‘You only need to do your shirt
up and…’

She was gibbering. She could hear herself doing it. But she was
standing here wearing only her nightdress. And everyone else in the house was
asleep. Richard had not paused to take hold of a candle when he came down from
his room, so the library was lit only by the moonbeams shimmering in through the
doors. And, even though she could not make out very much of him beyond shapes
now, she could still see, in her mind’s eye, the wedge-shaped torso sprinkled
with dark hair. She’d never taken much account of the fact that a man’s shape
was so very different from her own. All hard, flat planes where she was soft,
rounded curves…

‘Stop them?’ Why on earth would she think he wanted to stop
them? If Milly had decided to throw herself away on a man like Halstead then
there was nothing he could do about it. Good riddance to her! He had done all he
could to ensure she stayed respectable. ‘I know I can trust you not to make a
whore of her,’ her father had said. And he had not.
He
had kept his word.

But, no matter what hopes her father might have had regarding
her future, Milly had a mind of her own. Of late she’d spent far too much of her
time buying pretty clothes and showing them off at various pleasure haunts. Now
it sounded pretty obvious that if virtue stood in the way of her enjoyment she
had no compunction about shedding it.

But how could he explain that to an innocent like Lady
Jayne?

‘Look, let’s get you back to your room, and we can talk about
this in the morning.’ By then he might have been able to think of some way to
explain the way some women regarded relationships with men without shocking
her.

‘I
can’t
go back to my room. It is
locked. Milly pushed me inside and locked me in when I tried to stop her from
leaving.’

‘Then how the devil did you get down here? Don’t tell me…’ He
made himself really look at her for the first time. He had been aware, from just
one glance, that she was wearing only a nightgown. But he had tried to be a
gentleman and not notice how wet it was, rendering patches of it transparent—how
it clung to the swell of her belly and the fullness of her breasts. He forced
his eyes not to linger on the dark shadows hinting at what lay beneath. ‘Your
dishevelled state tells its own story. You climbed out of the window.’

Why had she done that? Why had she thought it was so important
to come to him, and…? Oh, Lord. He had never managed to explain properly that he
was not in love with Milly. The darling little idiot had risked life and limb to
come and warn him because she could not bear to think of him being hurt by
Milly’s defection.

Was there anyone so sweet-natured, yet so valiant?

Milly might have said she loved him, but he couldn’t imagine
her acting as selflessly or as recklessly as this. But then there was nobody
quite like Lady Jayne.

‘You might have broken your neck, you idiot,’ he said, a
shudder going through him just before he swept her into his arms and cradled her
close.

‘No, no, I would not. I am very good at climbing. I have had
lots of practise.’

How could anything feel so wonderful when it was so wrong? It
was her fault that Milly had run—both out of patience and off with Lord
Halstead. And yet when Richard pulled her into his arms all she wanted was to
put her arms round him and hug him back. Then press kisses onto the scars she
had noted peppering the front of his left shoulder.

And it would not have been to offer him the comfort he was so
obviously seeking in this moment of pain at Milly’s betrayal. It was a purely
physical response to being in his arms. Feeling his naked skin beneath her
cheek. She just wanted him. In a way she did not fully understand with her mind.
But her body—oh, her body knew what it wanted. It wanted more contact. Naked
skin to naked skin. Her mouth wanted to taste and her hands to touch. It was all
she could do to remain motionless in his arms, just breathing in the scent of
him. It wasn’t a scent she could put a name to. It was just…warmth and
cleanliness and…Richard.