Darker Than Love (22 page)

She smiled triumphantly at Clarissa’s shocked, bewildered expression.

‘To seduce me?’ echoed Clarissa. ‘Alicia asked that? You are being ridiculous, Pascale. Utterly ridiculous.’

‘
C’est vrai, mademoiselle
,’ she replied calmly. ‘Mrs Longleigh, she wanted you to be a more suitable bride, not so closed, not so
naı¨f
. Tish! I believe it was for your sake, but Lord Marldon, he liked the idea also.
Et moi?
I found it very fatiguing.’

With a rustle of silk, Pascale swished away to the dressing table. Clarissa stared after her, turning over in her mind incidents from the past. There was the time the woman had touched her in the bath, times when she’d been suggestive, others when she’d been lewd. And oh, how encouraging she’d been when Clarissa had spoken of Gabriel, promising to conceal her whereabouts should she wish to spend the night with him. Could it really be that it had all been at Alicia’s request?

Clarissa suddenly questioned the sincerity of everyone she knew, and she looked back on her stay in London
with fresh eyes. Lucy had been so eager for her to find a beau. Had she been part of her stepmother’s plan? And Gabriel? Had he simply been trying to make her ready for Lord Marldon? She felt foolish and used. With a heavy heart she realised other people wanted to control her life. She was surrounded by puppeteers who made her dance to their string-pulling. And she’d thought them friends.

But no. It was inconceivable that Gabriel could be anything but true; he had not been working to mould her into something Marldon would approve of. His love was real, perhaps the only real thing she had. But that was surely over now. Some day he would learn how she’d betrayed him, and never again would he look at her with those soft, yearning eyes. She put the thought from her mind. It was better not to think of him; it could only bring her sorrow.

Pascale turned to her. ‘Will you please put on the gown,’ she said, gesturing to the silks.

It was hardly a gown, thought Clarissa, lifting it from the bed. It was little more than two wisps of fabric, stitched at the side.

‘What for?’ she asked sulkily.

‘His lordship requests your presence,’ said the maid. ‘Do you wish me to help you dress?’

‘No, I do not,’ replied Clarissa firmly.

The prospect of seeing Alec again made her stomach churn excitedly. She walked over to the chest of drawers and pulled out a chemise.

‘
Non
,’ said Pascale. ‘This gown, it does not require underclothes.’

‘But it’s far too thin,’ protested Clarissa. ‘It will show everything.’

Yet, even as she spoke, she knew that was the intention. The idea of greeting Marldon in such flimsy drapes covertly thrilled her. She slipped off her wrapper, baring her naked body, and dropped the gown over her head.
The shot silk rippled down, shimmering purple and deep blue.

She stood before the mirror. The garment was cut low at the neck, with no sleeves to speak of, just thin straps over the shoulders. It was not waisted or gored. Yet it was cut in such a way that it clung to every curve and dip. Her dusky nipples were clear beneath the delicate fabric and her pubic hair pushed a crinkled patch in the smooth fall of the garment.

‘Ah, it is quite beautiful,’ purred Pascale. ‘Now we must do something with your hair. His lordship is expecting a guest, so it will be something elegant and grand.’

‘I cannot wear this in company,’ exclaimed Clarissa. ‘It’s indecent. And it’s the middle of the afternoon.’

‘Tish! Of course you can,’ replied the maid. ‘And, if it is of help, you will not be received until later in the evening.’

‘Then why are you attending me now?’ demanded Clarissa. ‘So that I can wait and wonder? So I can agonise about what lies in store for me?’

The Frenchwoman smiled and shepherded her to the dressing table. ‘
Bien entendu, mademoiselle
,’ she murmured, taking a brush to Clarissa’s hair. ‘No other reason.’

Clarissa gave a low, weary breath, all thoughts of defying Pascale now gone. She hoped the maid would curl and dress her hair as she used to. Clarissa wanted to look her finest for Lord Marldon, though she wished more than anything that the two of them could be alone.

‘And our guest?’ she asked forlornly. ‘Am I to know about that?’

Pascale leant low over her shoulder and met her eyes in the glass. ‘It is a foreign doctor,’ she said. ‘With strange mysterious powers. He is going to read into the hearts of both yourself and his lordship.’

‘Well, at least one of us should prove a challenge to him,’ muttered Clarissa.

In the soft glow of evening sunlight, Gabriel’s carriage rolled along Knightsbridge, past the trees of Hyde Park. His heartbeat quickened as they neared Piccadilly. He thought little of what might befall him should he be discovered; his drumming pulse was for Clarissa.

It seemed an eternity had passed since he had last set eyes on her, but in truth it was no more than thirteen days. And, for most of those days, Gabriel had been perfecting his disguise, allowing his reputation to swell on the tide of London gossip. An audience with Lord Marldon had not been difficult to secure. Dr Irfan was greatly in demand, and Gabriel half-fancied that as a fraudulent soothsayer he could earn a pretty decent living. Superstitious nonsense was much in vogue.

But he knew Marldon did not subscribe to the current fashion. His invitation, he suspected, had come about because the earl wanted to outwit him. He wanted an opinion on the latest society tittle-tattle; then he could show those who’d fallen for the ruse what deluded fools they were.

But Gabriel did not care. As long as he had the chance to be near Clarissa, nothing else mattered. How he yearned to look into those deep-blue eyes, eyes that were sometimes slumberous, sometimes brilliant. He was desperate to know if she was well, to ascertain how Marldon was treating her.

Lucy’s suggestion that Clarissa might be residing there of her own free will was ludicrous. The letter she’d written him, although it was in her hand, had not been composed by her. Those words in which she’d retracted her feelings for him had been lies, as patently obvious as the lie that she was ailing in Chelsea. Marldon had forced her to pen such things, just as he was forcing her to stay at Asham. And the vicious old libertine was no doubt forcing her into deeds as black as his heart.

Gabriel looked out of the window as the carriage passed Hyde Park Corner. The sun’s last rays gilded the bronze statue atop Wellington Arch, and then they were rattling past the grand mansions of Piccadilly. Asham was unique among them. High, bleak walls surrounded it, and only a glimpse of the house could be seen through its vast iron gates.

He checked the garnet clasps of his brocaded robe, pulled the hood over his head, and patted his beard. The disguise was good. Thanks to Octavia’s skilful application of stage paint, even those he knew well had failed to recognise him. It was perfect, right down to his hands, which were aged with lumps and lines. He hoped Clarissa would see through it, that his presence would reassure her that help was close by.

Gabriel had been advised not to attempt anything foolhardy. Or he could, said Octavia, end up badly wounded, in a prison cell, or quite simply dead. Stick to the plan, she’d said. Find an opportunity to slip away; take a look about Asham; discover how guarded it is, where the doors are, which windows might be forced; then bloody well get out. The rest would come later, when Kitty had found a place at the brothel and wormed her way into Marldon’s favour. There was a busy trading of places between the man’s whores and his servants, and with someone on the inside they were more likely to secure an easy release for Clarissa. Don’t put him on the alert, Gabriel.

But Gabriel was impatient. He fancied that somehow, tonight, he might manage to leave with Clarissa.

The wrought-iron gates of Asham House opened. Gabriel hunched his shoulders as the horse clopped slowly across the forecourt to the wide red-brick building. The row of mullioned windows on the ground floor looked in upon rooms of glittering splendour. The carriage came to a halt and Gabriel’s heart grew nervous as his coachman opened the door and folded down the steps.

‘I’ll get a hansom back,’ he whispered, not wanting to have his servant mingling with members of Marldon’s staff. He was a trustworthy fellow but slips of the tongue happened and Gabriel did not want to take the risk.

At the head of the stone steps, the oak door swung back. Gabriel made heavy labour of being handed down from his carriage, leaning on his coachman as he shuffled up to Asham’s imposing entrance with its great portico and glittering white hall.

He handed his card to Marldon’s butler and he was no longer Gabriel. He was Dr Irfan Paya of Constantinople, Soothsayer to the Sultan. And he was inside Asham House.

The blue drawing room was in near-darkness.

‘My dear,’ said Marldon, rising to greet Clarissa as she entered. ‘How ravishing you look tonight.’

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to it. After so long an absence, merely seeing him was enough to stir her desire. The touch of his lips was a taper to her hunger. Lustful anticipation flared within her and she resented him for showing no inclination to pursue it.

‘The gloom is for Dr Paya,’ he hissed. ‘Apparently it helps his concentration.’

Taking Clarissa’s arm, he led her to a small table and offered her a seat opposite the cloaked, huddled figure. Lord Marldon stood behind her and rested his hands on her bare shoulders.

‘Doctor,’ he said, massaging her neck lightly. ‘Permit me to introduce Miss Longleigh. What, pray, can you tell us of our future? Can you say if we are well matched, for we are quite set upon marriage?’

The man muttered from within his voluminous hood and stretched out his hand, gesturing for Clarissa’s.

She repressed a sigh of impatience and did as requested. She could not understand this game; she did not know where it was leading. What did Alec care whether they were matched or not? And, more to the
point, why bother with this mumbo-jumbo? Alec was surely too cold and rational to believe in it.

Dr Paya lightly took her fingers in his, uncurling them to display her palm. His ageing hands were fine and elegant. His touch was gentle, familiar. Clarissa’s heart lurched. It could not be. No, it could not.

The man spoke, something about loss, but she did not hear his words. She listened only to his voice. He held it croakily in his throat and faintly accented it, but beneath there was that soft resonance she knew. The doctor kept his head low, allowing the hood to conceal his face. Flee, she wanted to say, flee at once. And her hand shook.

He raised his head for a moment. She recognised nothing but the eyes, eyes the colour of brandy in firelight, eyes which flashed a warning intensity. Gabriel clasped her hand a little more firmly, stilling her tremors. She felt a surge of tender passion, so painfully recalled, so mockingly strong, that her limbs grew weak. She fought for control, praying no one would ask her to speak.

She stared at her hand, her quivering fingertips held by his. The pretence of strangeness, of a touch which was nothing compared to what they’d once had, was desperately poignant to her. This was the man she had first given her body to; this was the man she had loved – did love.

Gabriel rambled on, weaving nonsense with seeming perception. There were many truths he could have spoken of, both profound and light, but to her relief he said few of them. He did not take the risk of appearing too clever. He was no better or worse than any other man touting himself as a seer.

Guilt overwhelmed her. She did not deserve that he should put himself at risk. She could have fought harder against Marldon; she could have clung to her love for Gabriel, and thought of him endlessly. But she had not. It was easier to yield, and more bearable when emotions were blocked out.

‘And I see … ah, a need for ease,’ Gabriel was saying in slow, throaty tones. ‘A body hungering for something, for simple pleasures.’

‘Balderdash,’ said Marldon sedately. ‘My betrothed cares little for such vapid pursuits. She has an appetite only for bitter and sour. Sweetness, alas, she cannot taste.’ He slid his hands from her shoulders, down into her iridescent gown. His fingers squeezed her soft, naked breasts.

He knew. Of course he did. Why else was she dressed like this? Why else was he standing there, touching her so possessively? It was to torment Gabriel. She tried to catch her lover’s eye, to caution him of the danger, but he would not look at her. She could not begin to think what his plan was, and she feared for him. Surely he realised this place was like a fortress.

‘You see how she allows me to touch her, Doctor?’ continued Marldon. ‘Even before one as eminent as yourself? She does not flinch from it because it arouses her greatly. She thinks of your lust, Doctor. She knows you want her, as any man would, and she is proud. She is proud of her power, and proud to have given herself to me. Because only I can truly satisfy her. Isn’t that so Clarissa?’

He teased her nipples and they sprang erect. She swallowed hard, wishing she could deny him and shake off his hands. But she did not for, while Marldon was flaunting his dominance, Gabriel was surely safe. But it crushed her heart to think he must be suffering so.

‘My lord,’ she said, affecting calm, ‘I fail to understand why you have invited this gentleman here when you yourself read me with such confidence.’

‘A mere diversion,’ he answered pleasantly. ‘I thought perhaps you would appreciate some entertainment other than my body. After all, you’ve had it so often, Clarissa. Aren’t you tiring of it yet?’ He palmed her breasts and kissed her neck, his teeth scraping, his sideburns scouring.

‘No, I am not,’ she said, offering a truth she hoped would tempt him. ‘However, I tire of this gentleman. My lord, I have not seen you for almost two days.’

Marldon gave a harsh laugh. ‘I wonder if it is within the doctor’s powers to divine how often you masturbated during that interval.’

Clarissa felt the heat rise in her face. ‘My lord, send him away, I beg of you.’

‘How I enjoy it when you beg,’ he replied, releasing her breasts. ‘It’s rare that I show mercy, but for once I think I shall oblige you.’