Refining Felicity (14 page)

The marquess looked up from his book and saw Felicity picking up the top letter and beginning to read it.

He stood up, stepped out of the bath, and crossed to where she stood just as she swung about, a look of shock on her face as she saw the naked, dripping-wet marquess. She let out a small scream as he grasped her arm.

‘What the deuce do you think you are doing? Spying on me? Reading my letters?’ He gave her a shake.

‘I thought it was Miss Amy’s room,’ lied Felicity.

‘You did no such thing!’

‘My lord,’ said Felicity, closing her eyes. ‘You are naked.’

‘So I am. Do you know what is likely to happen to you if you go about prowling around gentlemen’s bedrooms?’

Felicity was tired of feeling guilty. ‘No,’ she said crossly, opening her eyes and glaring at him defiantly.

‘This,’ he said, jerking her against him. Felicity was too shocked to cry out or protest. His hot, naked, wet body was pressed tightly against her. She could feel the water soaking through the thin muslin of her gown. She was a tall girl but he was taller still. His eyes glinted wickedly down at her in the candlelight. A log fell in the fireplace and flames shot up and his wet body gleamed red in the light of the dancing flames.

‘Please let me go,’ said Felicity with dignity. But her mouth trembled, that mouth which was too generous for fashion but promised more passion that any primped-up little rosebud.

He bent his head and kissed her, his mouth firm and cool against her own. Shock kept her passive in his arms. His lips caught fire and suddenly Felicity and the marquess were fused hotly and wetly together. With a heroic effort the marquess surfaced from a boiling sea of passion to find he was disgracefully aroused, and that if he let her go, she might see it and it might shock her out of her wits. Of course, she could
feel
it, but then he could only hope, in her innocence, she did not know what it was. As she shook and trembled in his arms, he looked wildly over his shoulder to where a fleecy towel hung on a rack near the fire. Still holding her, he waltzed her over to it, released her, swung about, grabbed the towel and knotted it about his middle.

‘Get out of here!’ he shouted.

And Felicity ran.

She locked herself into her room, and then sat by the fire, hugging her trembling and burning body. It was a long time before she calmed down.

But when she did so, a little smile began to curve her lips.

For the Marquess of Ravenswood had behaved every bit as shockingly as she had done herself. That comforted her for a while, until she remembered the feel of his lips and the hard feel of his body against her own.

She rose and looked at herself in the looking-glass, at her dishevelled hair and strangely swollen lips.

‘Slut!’ said Lady Felicity fiercely to her reflection. ‘Complete and uttermost
slut
!’

‘Have you noticed a certain atmosphere in this house?’ demanded Amy, striding up and down.

‘No, I have not,’ said Effy crossly. ‘You have too much imagination, Amy.’

The sisters were waiting in the drawing room for Felicity before going to Almack’s. Effy was furious at Amy’s appearance. For Amy had surrendered to Yvette’s wishes and was wearing one of the French dressmaker’s designs. It was of green-and-gold brocade and cleverly trimmed with gold fringe to give Amy a bust where she really had none and hips where she had none either. On her head was a gold taffeta turban ornamented with a topaz brooch. She looked very grand, and Effy’s nose was quite put out of joint. She herself was dressed in thin, rose-coloured silk, having insisted that Yvette make the gown to her, Effy’s, design. It had little puffed sleeves out of which Effy’s arms appeared like white sticks. On her head was a nut-brown wig that made her appear older than her own cloud of silver hair would have done.

Amy poured herself a glass of port and downed it in one gulp. ‘I tell you, Effy,’ she said, ‘something happened last night when we were at the concert. Ravenswood saw Felicity this afternoon when she was going out driving with us and he looked deuced uncomfortable and Felicity blushed to the roots of her hair, but her body seemed to go all soft and yielding. I don’t like it. She ain’t tamed yet, not by a long chalk, and if Ravenswood queers our pitch by throwing his leg over, I’ll never forgive him.’

‘Lord Ravenswood would never dream of doing such a thing,’ gasped Effy.

‘The properest of gentlemen’ll do anything once their passions are roused,’ said Amy. ‘Look at Byron and Lady Caroline Lamb.’

‘Lord Ravenswood is not a poet. Poets are not to be trusted,’ said Effy primly. ‘Shh! Felicity is coming.’

But it was the Marquess of Ravenswood who walked into the room. He was looking very fine in black evening coat and black silk breeches. His cravat was intricately tied and a large sapphire shone from amongst its snowy folds. His fair hair gleamed like newly minted guineas. As he walked to the fireplace, Amy studied the ripple of hard thigh muscle revealed by the skin-tight breeches and let out a faint sigh.

‘Where is that girl?’ asked the marquess. ‘I want this evening over and done with. I should never have promised to go. Miss Andrews is quite upset by my desertion of her.’

‘But it was very kind of you,’ said Effy, ‘for if you dance with Felicity, it will make her the fashion.’

‘I doubt if I have the power of a Brummell,’ he said with a reluctant smile. ‘But where is the tiresome child?’

Effy flashed a triumphant look at Amy. No man interested in a woman would refer to her as a tiresome child.

The door opened and Felicity walked in.

Effy noticed the hooded brooding look on the marquess’s face and her heart sank. She resolved to have a sharp word with Mamselle Yvette. There was such a thing as being
too
clever with the needle. Felicity was wearing a pale-pink silk gown with an overdress of pink tissue embroidered with gold. The bodice of the dress had been cleverly cut to reveal the deep V between Felicity’s excellently rounded breasts. It was of the new short length and showed tantalizing glimpses of ankle. Her masses of thick black hair had been dressed in a Roman style and ornamented with pink silk roses. She moved differently, too. The almost gawky, abrupt movements she had had when she had first come to London had admittedly been schooled away by a teacher in etiquette and a dancing master, but there was a new suppleness to her body, a new sensuousness. Effy began to wonder anxiously whether there might be something in what Amy had said.

But when they reached Almack’s, both sisters’ worries disappeared. Felicity behaved beautifully and was surrounded by a group of courtiers and without any help from the marquess. The gentlemen did not seem to find her beauty unfashionable.

The marquess watched her success with a cynical eye, feeling sure all this charming behaviour of Felicity’s was merely an act. He would have been very surprised had he been able to know that Felicity was deeply grateful to the gentlemen who paid her compliments. She thought they were the kindest men in the world and not what she had been led to believe about London bucks. The marquess had decided to waltz with her once and then take his leave and escape to his club.

‘You see,’ hissed Effy behind her fan, ‘Ravenswood’s only interest in Felicity is a desire to please
us
.’

‘You are probably right,’ said Amy. ‘After all, I know almost nothing about gentlemen. And neither do you,’ she added waspishly.

Effy began to sob, and, conscience-stricken, Amy began to apologize and so they did not see the Marquess of Ravenswood lead Felicity onto the floor.

The dance was the waltz, which had finally been sanctioned by Almack’s. He placed his arm at her waist and all at once the ballroom went away and he was back in his bedroom and he was wet and naked and he had Felicity in his arms.

He realized she was staring up at him in a stunned way and that he had pulled her against him. He muttered an excuse and held her the regulation twelve inches from him.

‘Say something,’ said Felicity crossly, ‘and stop looking down your nose at me as if I am a bad piece of meat. The reason for this dance, my lord, is to secure my social success.’

He smiled into her eyes and she caught her breath. ‘You do not need my help,’ he said softly. ‘You already are a success.’

‘I hope nothing gets out about my elopement,’ said Felicity in a low voice. ‘I am not used to being a success with the gentlemen and I must confess to enjoying the novelty.’

‘Bremmer will not talk,’ he said. ‘Why should he? If he tattled, he would have to marry you.’

A shadow crossed her face.

‘Do not look sad,’ he said quickly. ‘He is only a boy. Too young for you.’

For some reason that remark made Felicity feel gloriously happy and she floated round the floor in his arms.

‘No, there’s nothing to worry about there,’ said Amy, after she had soothed Effy. ‘Ravenswood merely seems to have taken a liking to her. He thinks of her only as a little girl.’

That night, the Marquess of Ravenswood lay awake in his bedchamber. He was very conscious that Felicity was under the same roof. He wondered if she had enjoyed her evening and almost persuaded himself it would be the correct thing to do to step along to her bedchamber and ask her. He had not been able to leave for his club after that dance with her, but had stood near the entrance, watching her, telling himself all the while it was just to see she was behaving herself.

He gave himself a mental shake. He had never held Miss Andrews as intimately and passionately as he had held Felicity. That was the problem. He would try to get Betty away from that dragon of a mother of hers so that he could make love to her. That way, Felicity would once more become a tiresome young thing instead of this seductress who kept him awake.

If I speak t’ye again for six months (mark the day!),
May you call me a fool, sir, as long as I live!
Do you think one has nothing to do but forgive?

Anonymous,
Delia Very Angry

They arrived after sunset, and so the magnificence of Ramillies House, home of the Duke and Duchess of Handshire, which was supposed to strike the first frisson of terror into the common soul of Miss Betty Andrews, was lost on her.

As it was, she was too fatigued from the journey and too upset by the presence of the Tribbles and Lady Felicity as well to take any notice of her surroundings. Mrs Andrews had not been invited by the marquess’s parents. Lord Ravenswood had said firmly that the Tribbles were chaperones enough and that his parents had neglected to include Mrs Andrews in their invitation.

The Tribbles were distressed for different reasons: Amy because she felt it was a waste of valuable time during which Felicity might have been better employed attracting suitable beaux; Effy because she hated the countryside with a passion and was plagued by a niggling suspicion that Amy, despite her vehement protests to the contrary, had orchestrated the whole thing so as to remove her, Effy, from Mr Haddon’s company. Effy was convinced the nabob had formed a tendre for her and that Amy was jealous.

The lamps round the courtyard, steps, and portico of the great ducal mansion had been lit. On the steps were stationed all the stable people, and inside, in the vast hall, were ranged all the indoor staff. After being conducted to their respective rooms, the visitors were told to reassemble in the hall in half an hour, where they would be conducted to supper. The marquess went in search of his parents to tell them the party had dined en route and would prefer an early night, but the duke and duchess sent word to their son that they were unavailable and would see him at supper.

When they had gathered in the hall, the butler led the way through a sort of guard of honour of liveried footmen out of the hall, across the Bow Window Room, through the Grand Cabinet, and then through a chain of state saloons to the dining room. An orchestra, which had been playing in the hall when they arrived, were now playing in the dining room. The duke and duchess, as was their eccentric habit, were already there, one at either end of a long table groaning with gold plate. When the members of the party were seated, they found they were such a long distance from each other that they had to shout.

Felicity was surprised at the appearance of the marquess’s parents. She had expected them both to be tall and rather grand, like their son. But the duke was small and fat and cross-looking and his duchess was equally small, though thin and cold of eye. She had a steady, unnerving stare, which she fixed first on one guest and then on the other.

The only one who appeared to brighten up was Betty Andrews. She was mentally redesigning the dining room and shortening the table and replacing the blue morocco of the dining-room seats with petit point. Betty was secure in the knowledge that when she became mistress of all this, the duke would be dead and, if his duchess did not smartly follow him to the grave, she would be packed off to the dower house. Betty was not intimidated by Ramillies House. But she
was
intimidated by her fiancé. He had whispered in her ear in the hall that he wished to be private with her later. The gleam in his eye had told Betty he expected some love-making and she felt he might at least have waited until they were married, during which happy state women were expected to endure ‘all that sort of thing’, as Betty described the more tender side of a relationship to herself.