Regency Rumours/A Scandalous Mistress/Dishonour And Desire (46 page)

‘Of course,’ she said, replacing the cup. ‘May I take one of these cakes up to Millie? Then I must visit the apothecary. Her cough needs attending to.’

‘Write a note telling him what you need, and I’ll send my man with it.’

She tilted her left hand to catch the light, feeling the strangeness of the ring’s pressure and excited by its exquisite presence, its relevance to her future.

‘Like it?’ he whispered.

When she looked up, half-smiling, there were pearls of moisture along her lower eyelashes. She nodded. ‘I like it very much, sir. Thank you.’

In many respects, the events of that morning brought together the loose ends of a tangle, holding them securely and leaving Caterina with the impression that she had, after all, exercised some choice in the matter of her betrothal, whether this was imagined or factual. Whatever notions she had sifted through her mind about making things difficult for him now began to look futile and childlike against his obvious determination to pursue her, even to the extent of keeping a watch on her safety. His reputation as an habitual victor was not without foundation.

She did not, of course, intend to cry off at the last moment any more than she had intended to on the last two occasions. Not at the start, anyway. But the giving of a ring did not automatically level the playing field, nor did it banish her resentment, nor make her into the responsive woman he apparently wanted. Recognising her anger and the reason for it, he could not be faulted for his careful and gentlemanly manner, and if there was
a tendency to be masterly at this early stage, it had been for her comfort rather than his own. Only in his unseemly haste to ‘tie the knot,’ as he put it, did Caterina still feel entitled to procrastinate.

There was, however, a problem there, too, for while she was being reluctant to oblige him in this, the strong emotional side to her artistic nature had begun to respond to him despite all her attempts to ignore it. Worse, she had already been foolish enough to reveal what she should have kept hidden from him. He was not supposed even to guess at her growing partiality.

Once they were man and wife, it would prove very difficult for her to pretend indifference to his lovemaking, her ultimate weapon destroyed completely. On the other hand, was his restraint that morning an indication of how things would be in the future? Was he expecting her to dictate the pace, or would his masterly side take over, sweeping away all her false reserve in seconds, as it had before? Whatever the answers, some progress had been made which was not altogether abhorrent to her, even if the circumstances fell far short of her need for romance. In place of that, she had acquired a resolute man and a ring, and it remained to be seen how soon he returned to his other life of gambling and fast living. How long would it be, she wondered, before he looked elsewhere for a woman to chase? And how long would she be able to hold him off?

With Millie receiving proper medication and Caterina’s fatigue responding to rest, the invitation to take a gentle stroll after lunch was accepted without the added irritant of being ogled by the local militia who had nothing better to do. The Season had not yet begun, and the closure of the Castle’s great ballroom was no real disappointment
when the inevitable questions about her newest betrothal would have been an effort to answer. A walk with Sir Chase, Millie told her, would do her good.

As it was, time spent in Sir Chase’s company was anything but dreary, as she had discovered on her first ride through Richmond with him, and once her defences began to lower, she found that their time together flew, that he became less of a challenge and more of an enigma about whom there was much more to discover than she had thought. Away from the nagging obligations of home, that first afternoon as his betrothed was memorable for a new kind of freedom he had promised her, better even than the freedom she had hoped for on the day of her arrival, for now there was security, too.

Predictably, the young officers kept a respectful distance as Sir Chase and Caterina walked arm in arm around the huge fountain on the Steyne, or delved into the book and perfume shops crowding into Castle Square, or strolled around the perimeter of the Royal Pavilion, safe from invitations while the Prince Regent was in London. Usually, Sir Chase told her, he would be obliged to inform the resident Prince that he had arrived, then wait for an invitation to attend a dinner to which the host would arrive late, and drunk, and which would not finish until the early hours of the morning, when breakfast would be served. To decline was never an option.

Though sorry for the Prime Minister’s demise, Caterina was glad that something important had kept the Prince at his duties. ‘Did you ever wish to decline?’ she asked.

‘Not at first. When I was in Brighton on duty, it was
a good way to pass the evenings. Now I’ve discovered other ways to spend my time.’

Believing she knew the other ways, she did not ask him.

Only a stone’s throw from the Pavilion was the entrance to the Royal Stables, an impressively large domed building erected only a few years ago. They lingered, gazing at its exotic ornament. ‘Would you like to take a look inside?’ Sir Chase said. ‘It’s where Prinny keeps his horses.’

A team of magnificent carriage-horses was being led through the entrance as he spoke, greeted by neighs and the distant clank of buckets. Through the carved gates, light flooded through a massive glass dome on to a sawdust-covered arena in the centre of which a fountain jetted water into an octagonal trough. All around them, Indian-style doorways and sparkling glass made a riot of pattern as the sunlight and shadows moved across, taking Caterina’s breath away with its sumptuous eastern beauty. Archways led to multiple stalls, to carriage halls, to tack rooms and workshops and, on the balconied upper floor, to the stable-hands’ quarters.

‘It’s … it’s incredible!’ Caterina said. ‘It’s like an Indian palace.’

‘Stabling for over forty horses,’ Sir Chase told her. ‘Cost over thirty thousand to build, and heaven only knows what it costs in running expenses. Some critics say that the horses are better housed than the Prince himself.’

Overawed by the grandeur and scale of the building, she went with him through a decorated arch into a room where stalls housed six handsome mares, their fine dark eyes rolling with curiosity at the intrusion. At the far
end, two mares were being rugged-up and led out for their daily exercise.

‘They’ll be going up on to the Downs,’ he said, reaching up to caress the nearest mare’s head, pulling gently at her ears. ‘Shall we ride up there tomorrow and watch? We can drive the curricle, or borrow two of these, whichever you prefer.’ His hand swept down the silky forelock to the pink trembling muzzle, fondling the velvety skin, his eyes resting on Caterina, waiting for her answer, but telling her also that he would rather be fondling her than the mare.

All at once, they were in another realm that had nothing to do with horses or future plans. In here, it was shadowy, private and peaceful, away from the grooms and their chores, sounds muffled by sawdust and straw, intimate and strangely erotic with overtones of seduction in a Moorish harem glimpsed through ogee grilles and fretwork. The setting and the ambience affected her as much as his exciting presence by her side, sending a surge of weakness from thigh to stomach that she could not control, wanting him, his arms, his mouth, and more. Unable to think of a reply, her lips parted with the ache of yearning as she watched him leave the soft muzzle and take her gloved fingertips in his, keeping her eyes locked in a message as readable as words, telling her that he would comply if only she would speak the words of command. So far, in this matter, she had acted under duress. He would not give her cause to blame him further.

The mare tossed her head, whinnying softly for attention.

‘Well, my girl?’ he whispered. ‘What is it to be?’

She knew what he was asking, but preferred to take the safer route. To give in to him so soon was not the
way to keep his interest. ‘The Downs?’ she said. ‘What if we were to do both, drive round Brighton in the morning and ride up to the Downs after lunch? Do you think I might be allowed to borrow this one? She’s such a beauty.’

The spell was broken. His smile was understanding. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘Come and help me choose a mount, then.’

Having almost given up hope of finding in this relationship the kind of romance she was looking for, Caterina was all the more delighted to find that Sir Chase’s methods were far removed from those of her two former betrothed. Roses appeared in her room and a late hellebore had been placed on their table at dinner, signifying protection. Other trinkets appeared, too: a pair of embroidered gloves, a lace handkerchief, a small book of William Blake’s poems, more flowers, and two tickets for the theatre on Saturday evening.

‘I have nothing to give you, sir,’ she said again, accepting from him a small paper box tied with ribbon with ‘John Atkins, High Quality Confectioner and Sweetmeat Maker’ printed on the lid.

‘Yes, you do,’ he said. ‘But I can wait.’

She was a virgin, he reminded himself, and he was reluctant to persuade her or to take a hasty advantage of the impetuosity that several times in the last few days had almost spilled her into his arms. He had witnessed her struggle against it, had seen desire darken her eyes, had felt her fear, and with probably only the vaguest notion of what she was holding on to, he knew she was impatient to discover how it would feel to release it. Curious and aroused, she was ready to be taught, just as ready to be freed from the constraints of Paradise Road
and just as angry at the manner of it as she had been at first. Once she had given herself, however, there would be no turning back. She would have to go with him, willing or unwilling. And they both knew it.

Purposely, he did not make the decision too easy for her and, in her innocence of men of his sort, she interpreted his attempts to make these few days memorable for her as a desire to show her his good side, as opposed to the one about which she had found so much to criticise. In a sense, she was right, but there was more to it than that for, in the short time left to them, he took her into other situations where it would have been possible for her to drop her guard and allow him some access to her, as she had done at Sevrington Hall. After the Royal Stables, he had come close on several occasions, but the theatre was to be their last outing before their return home on Sunday.

Like other Brighton entertainments before the season had begun, the Theatre Royal on New Street had not yet swung into action with the same gusto of high summer when it would be packed to the roof and noisily sociable. In early May, the acting talent still lacked the big names, the musicians eager but unpolished. Believing that Caterina would be ready to give the second half of the performance a miss, Sir Chase suggested they might leave.

But she resisted the idea of abandonment. ‘Absolutely not,’ she said during the interval. ‘They may not be the best we’ve ever heard, but they don’t deserve a mass walkout halfway through.’

‘Two of us is hardly a mass,’ he commented drily. ‘Don’t exaggerate.’

‘I
feel
exaggerated,’ she snapped.

‘You certainly have an exaggerated sense of loyalty
to a group of amateurs. If I’d known they were as bad as this, I’d have taken you to the Assembly Rooms at the Castle instead.’

‘I’d much rather be here. But
you
must be missing the gaming tables. These last few days must have been quite a strain for you.’

‘Oh, they have, Miss Chester. You can have no idea of the strain I’ve been under. Gambling, drinking, debauchery, the ruining of innocent young women. How I’ve missed it.’ He yawned behind his knuckles. ‘Shall we go in for our second dose of voluntary torment?’

‘
Now
who’s exaggerating?’

Sir Chase was not in the least dismayed by this sudden waspishness, for it had nothing to do with whether they should go or stay. He had seen how, when the tensions built inside her, she found a release in scolding and reckless bids for solitude, picking a quarrel when she felt herself changing towards him. Soon she would be facing her father again after a second escape without a proper farewell, her time as a free woman almost at an end. The prospect was unnerving. She needed a scapegoat and he was happy to oblige. For the time being.

‘You’ve had no singing practice,’ he said as they took their seats in the box beside the stage. ‘Have you missed a lesson?’

‘Two,’ she said, curtly, as if it were his fault.

‘And when is your next performance to be?’

Slowly, she swung her head to look at him as if he’d asked her to name the King of Persia. It was the first time she had thought about it. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ she said in a rush, thinking that he must be the most exciting man she had ever known. Sitting there beside her, he exuded a virility and strength in his easy
grace that took her breath away. When he moved, he had the rhythm and power of an athlete and she had known a most unusual pride to be seen with him, riding and walking, driving, sitting at meals. She had worn her best outfits to complement his elegant style, enjoyed his friendship and forgotten those uncomfortable resentments until just before sleep each night. Then, she had dragged them out for a nightly airing, in case they disappeared altogether. Gradually, it had become obvious that, unless she were to reveal her willingness to him, he was not going to kiss her as he had done at Sevrington Hall. And she was certainly not going to ask him to.

‘Don’t ask me where, either,’ she said, turning her head away.

‘Where is it to be?’ he said, smoothly.

‘Chiswick House. Not far from home. You need not be there.’

‘I shall be there. Remember what happened last time.’

‘The Duke has his own resident musicians, so there won’t be a repeat of last time. Signor Cantoni will be with me, too.’

‘So shall I. The Duke of Devonshire is a friend of mine.’

‘I might have guessed.’

Superficially, the frostiness lasted throughout the second half during which she would have regretted her misplaced loyalty to the cast had it not been for his warm large hand that took hers within minutes, settling itself upon her lap like an old friend. Soon, she covered it with her other hand, nestling all three close to the bend of her body where, when the acting grew increasingly tedious, he spread his fingers caressingly into the soft
folds of muslin over her inner thigh, moving it downwards into the dark warmth of secrecy. He heard her gasp beside him, but knew she would not look at him when she was herself in full view of the audience.