Rakehell's Widow (16 page)

Shortly afterward, the Prince and his guests adjourned
once more to the ballroom, where in a little while the
Count was to play for them all. Alabeth smiled as the
gentleman next to her drew out her chair for her, but as she
turned, she found herself looking straight into Piers’ eyes
as he performed a similar task for Adelina. They looked at
each other for a long moment before she coolly walked
away from her place, accepting the arm of General Sir John Fitzwilliam, who had been seated close to her throughout the meal.

She sat on the sofa in the ballroom, watching everyone
return from the conservatory. The Prince and his guests
were already in their places, all looking very full and very
contented after the feast. Alabeth was just beginning to
wonder where Octavia, Jillian, and Charles were when her
attention was jerked away from the far door by someone
addressing her.

“Good evening, Alabeth.”

She looked up into Piers’ mocking eyes and her face was
immediately cold. “Sir.”

“I note that your manners have not improved.”

“If that is your opinion, I wonder that you bother to
approach me.”

“Perhaps I am an eternal optimist.”

Deliberately she averted her head, intending to force him
to go away by ignoring him, but he had no intention of
letting her do that.

“Will you honor me with this dance, Alabeth?” he
inquired smoothly, a hint of mockery in his tone.

“I would as soon dance with a toad.”

“Alas, there are no toads present, so I ask you again.
Will you dance with me?”

She gritted her teeth furiously. “Please go away!”

“No, Alabeth, for I intend to have my revenge upon
you. Now, then, if you continue to be disagreeable, you will draw even more attention from His Royal Highness
than you are at present, and that would not do at all,
would it?” He spoke, oh, so reasonably, smiling all the
while.

Her glance fled to the Prince, who was indeed watching
them, his quizzing glass swinging idly in his plump fingers.

“You see?” went on Piers. “So I rather think you had
better accept my invitation, don’t you?”

“I despise you,” she whispered, knowing that she really
had no choice, for she could hardly risk offending the
Prince by her conduct.

“I don’t really care what you think of me,” he murmured, still smiling. “I only care that you shall not get
away with paying me visits such as the one on the day after
Octavia Seaham’s ball. Now, then, shall we dance?”

His expression was satirical as he led her onto the floor,
but her face was wooden; she could neither smile nor
scowl, she was too angry. By forcing her into dancing with him, he was indeed extracting an exquisite revenge, for he
knew he was making her behave in a way which went very
much against the grain.

At last the final notes died away and she made to leave
him immediately but he held her hand, drawing it firmly
through his arm. “No, Alabeth, you will walk politely from the floor with me, on that I am determined.”

“Please let me go, sir, you have had your sport.”

“I have had a little revenge for the disgraceful way you
have seen fit to treat me.”

Her cheeks were flames now. “Your conduct is
singularly lacking in any gentlemanly qualities, sirrah,”
she breathed, being careful all the while to look as com
posed as possible.

“Is it indeed?” he inquired mildly. “And here am I congratulating myself upon being a perfect angel for you, doing my best to comply with your strange request that I stop pursuing your sister. Why, I haven’t even spoken to her, for fear you would accuse me of ravishing her. Really, I think it is impossible for me to please you, Alabeth, for
whatever I do, you still find fault. You have sadly
changed, for I recall that once you were the sweetest, most
beautiful, and most delightful of creatures—”

“Don’t you dare to speak to me anymore, sir, for I find
everything about you most offensive—and obscenely dis
honest!”

His smile faded at that, and his hand tightened over her
fingers as she tried to extricate herself from his grasp. “And what do you mean by that last remark?” he asked
coldly.

“I think you know well enough!” She glanced around a
little self-consciously, praying that their low, urgent
exchange was not being remarked unduly.

“I know no such thing—pray tell me.”

“Very well. At our last meeting you scornfully denied
having any improper intentions toward my sister, you
spoke very righteously about your innocence, but I know
full well that you were lying, sirrah. You were indeed pur
suing her and had been doing so since meeting her at
Chatsworth last year. Oh, you are a skillful lover, Piers Castleton, knowing full well that she was innocent and in
experienced and totally unused to the ways of gentlemen
such as yourself.”

“You are wrong,” he said icily. “As wrong about this as you seem to be wrong about everything else.”

“Am I? I suppose you will deny meeting her secretly at
Wallborough—just as you will deny exchanging indiscreet
letters with her, one of which was intercepted. I know the truth about you, sir, which makes your conduct tonight all
the more reprehensible and low. Now, will you let me go?”

His face was dark and angry, but he released her. He appeared not to trust himself to speak, and they looked
bitterly into each other’s eyes before she turned to walk
away, her head held high and her cheeks still fiery. She felt
at once furious with him and dismayed with herself. Her
fury was brought about by his infamous conduct, her
dismay by the fact that she had allowed herself to be
goaded into mentioning Jillian’s letter. She remembered Jillian’s anxiety about the letter being mentioned and her
overwhelming relief on discovering that it hadn’t. Oh,
damn him,
damn
him! Alabeth could have wept, for al
though she could not see why the letter should make any
difference, she felt that she had let Jillian down by
speaking of it with him.

Octavia was seated on the sofa when she returned to take
her place, but there was no sign of Jillian or Charles. Octavia’s glance was thoughtful. “And what was all that
about?”

“All what?”

“The restrained but heated exchange with Piers Castle
ton.”

“Nothing.”

“Indeed? I hate to think what it could have been like had there been something,” remarked Octavia drily, her fan wafting to and fro as she watched Piers walk toward
Adelina, who was seated at the far side of the room.
“Whatever that nothing was, it certainly has aroused him,
for he is being positively ferocious with that unfortunate Frenchman who happened to brush against him.”

Unwillingly Alabeth turned to look. The Frenchman
looked quite taken aback at Piers’ unwarranted anger, but was obviously anxious to smooth the whole thing over, for he bowed and apologized most handsomely. Piers moved
on, catching Adelina’s eye and smiling suddenly, his anger
seeming to evaporate. She stood, he drew her hand gently
through his arm, and they strolled away into the crowd.

Octavia pursed her lips. “Now there’s a strange two
some, don’t you think?”

“I have no opinion on the matter.”

“No? Oh, well— Still, it
is
strange, for I could have
sworn that for once in her wretched life Adelina was truly
in love, but Harry Ponsonby was obviously just another
conquest. It is also strange because I never would have
imagined that she was Piers Castleton’s sort—no, not in
the slightest. One thing can always be said of him, and that
is that he is discreet—Adelina is the very opposite.”
Octavia’s glance was sly then. “Do you still feel sorry for
her?”

“I feel sorry for anyone who is taken in by Sir Piers Castleton,” remarked Alabeth coolly.

At that moment they were rejoined by Jillian and
Charles, who had been delayed by the Prince as they emerged from the conservatory. Jillian was obviously in seventh heaven, enjoying the gala evening far more than
she had ever dreamed possible. Her behavior was impec
cable too, for although she had been a great deal in
Charles’ company, she had not set a foot wrong, having
danced with him only once and having conducted herself
immaculately throughout. This new Jillian had obviously
enslaved Charles forever, for he could not take his eyes
from her, and had she asked him for the moon, he no
doubt would have attempted to get it for her.

Over the next hour or so Alabeth managed to forget the unpleasantness with Piers and set about enjoying herself. She danced with a succession of partners, including the French Ambassador himself, although she doubted if he would have been so gallant had he known of her father’s
secret mission in Madras.

At last the moment came when the pianoforte recital was
announced, and everyone moved toward the rows of seats
which the footmen were setting out by the dais. The Prince and his guests occupied the sofas placed directly before the
pianoforte, and Octavia scuttled with almost indecent
haste to sit herself squarely in the middle of the only
remaining sofa in the front row, turning to beckon
urgently to Alabeth and Jillian to join her. Alabeth was
conscious of a flutter of anticipation as she sat down, care
fully arranging her skirts.

Octavia smiled sleekly. “Now we shall see how much of
a conquest you have made, Alabeth Manvers, for he
cannot fail to see you right here in the front.”

Alabeth said nothing, but her pulse was racing a little as
she heard the first stir as the Count entered the ballroom
and approached the pianoforte, pausing to give a deep bow
before the Prince, who nodded graciously. The Count wore russet, an intricate, soft cravat spilling from his
throat, and his legs encased in pale pantaloons. His hair
looked very golden beneath the brilliance of the chan
deliers, and his eyes looked almost sapphire as he glanced
momentarily over the audience before taking his place at
the pianoforte. As he sat down, adjusting his lace cuffs, his eyes rested on Alabeth’s pale face. A strange breathless
ness held her as their eyes met—his as blue as Robert’s had been, and as warm. Her feelings were mixed and confusing
as she watched him prepare to play. The ballroom was quiet; not a soul moved.

Once again his skill was bewitching, a display of fire
tempered with elegance and control. Music which everyone
had heard before seemed like a new composition, so
different and exquisite was his interpretation. There was
nothing restrained about the sound which flowed over the
rapt audience, for when he played with vigor, the whole
room was carried along with him, and when he played
softly, a thrill ran through them all. His long, pale fingers
moved gently over the keys then, as if he took them all into
his confidence, to tell them his secret thoughts, but it was
to Alabeth alone that his music whispered. Time and time
again his eyes moved toward her as he played, and there
was no mistaking the ardency or meaning of those glances.

A stir began to pass vaguely through the audience, and
even the Prince leaned forward to look at her. As if he
sensed that he had been a little too obvious, the Count
launched directly into a fiery scherzo which drew all atten
tion back to the music. Alabeth lowered her eyes,
conscious of how hot her cheeks were and of how her pulse
raced still.

Beside her, Jillian was totally engrossed in the magnifi
cence of the playing. She sat on the edge of the sofa, strain
ing to watch his hands as they flew over the ivory keys, and
she was so lost in admiration that she seemed for the
moment to have forgotten where she was. As the music ended with a final flourish, she was on her feet, clapping ecstatically and so carried along by the moment that she hurried forward, stepping onto the dais as the Count rose
from the pianoforte. He looked a little startled as Jillian
hurried toward him, the jeweled comb in her hair flashing
and her beautiful shawl dragging along the floor behind
her as it slipped from one arm.

“Oh, Count Zaleski, you were superb! Divine!” she
cried. “I have never in my life heard such music!”

“You are too kind,
mademoiselle
,” he began, a little
taken aback by her unbridled enthusiasm and by the fact that she had appeared to have forgotten that the Prince of
Wales was expected to be the first to congratulate him, that
having been previously arranged.

Jillian was unaware as yet of the mistake she was
making. “Please say that you will give me some tuition,
sir,” she begged, “for I have quite set my heart upon it.”

The applause had dwindled away to nothing now as
everyone looked on in amazement at Jillian’s incredible
behavior, and the Prince did not seem at all pleased.
Alabeth was transfixed with horror, taken totally by sur
prise and unable to think of anything to say or do to
smooth the matter over. Jillian at last seemed to become aware of the stir she had caused, and her face drained of
color as she turned to look at the sea of faces gazing dumb
founded at her. Her lips began to quiver a little and her
huge eyes filled with tears, for the folly was entirely of her
own creation and she was unwittingly guilty of a flagrant breach of protocol, and in front of the Prince of Wales
himself!