The Marquis Is Trapped (11 page)

He could not believe it and yet the expression in her eyes had been very revealing.

At this stage in his life the Marquis had in fact had nothing to do with any woman.

There were a number of girls living near his home, who had come to the parties when he was a child and they turned up on special occasions, such as Christmas and Guy Fawkes Day.

But he had never thought that there was anything particular about them, nor was he, at this moment, friends with any girl unless she was a good rider.

Some of his contemporaries at Oxford had talked to him about their success with women, but he had not been interested as there was so much more to occupy his mind.

When he was at home, he always spent more of his time riding than anything else.

Now, as he went up to bed, he told himself he must have imagined what Lady Benson had said to him.

Equally he could not explain away the conviction that she intended to come to his bedroom.

Peter was just ahead, walking to his room at the end of the passage.

“Goodnight, Oliver,” he called.  “You were such a smashing success today, but I am too tired to talk about it now.”

“Goodnight,” the Marquis replied and went into his bedroom.

The candles were lit by the side of the bed and his nightshirt was left out for him.

Then, as he was standing irresolute in the doorway, he suddenly panicked.

If Lady Benson was really coming to his bedroom – what was he expected to do?

What was she asking of him?

He was certainly not so ignorant he did not know the answer to that question – it was just impossible for him to believe it.

‘If I shut the door and lock it,’ he thought, ‘then no one can disturb me.’

He had naturally closed the door as he entered the room and now as he turned back, he realised that there was no key – it seemed incredible that the lock was there, but the key was missing.

It was just then that he realised he somehow had to save himself from what could be exceedingly embarrassing if nothing else.

Swiftly he picked up his nightshirt and blew out the candles and then ran down the dimly lit corridor.

Without knocking he walked into Peter’s room.  He had been there earlier in the day when they were dressing for the match and had noticed that there were two beds.

As he entered, Peter who was half undressed looked up in surprise.

“Oh, it’s you, Oliver.  What’s the matter?”

“I have just upset a jug of water over my bed and it has made it very wet and I don’t want to catch a cold.  Can I sleep in here with you?”

“You must be incredibly clumsy or drunk,” laughed Peter.  “But, of course, you may sleep here as long as you don’t snore!”

“I promise you I never snore and as you say, after all that champagne, my hand must be a bit unsteady.”

“Get into bed and sleep it off, Oliver!”

The Marquis did as he was told.

But he found it impossible to go straight to sleep.

He kept wondering to himself if he had imagined the whole situation and yet he was sure that was what Lady Benson intended.

‘I must get away from here at once,’ he thought.

It would be impossible, if she had gone to his room, for him to face her again.

At six o’clock the next morning, he slipped out of bed and collected the clothes he had worn for dinner from a chair where he had thrown them.

Peter was fast asleep and snoring lightly.

There was just enough sunlight coming between the curtains for the Marquis carrying his clothes to see the way to the door.

Very softly he shut it behind him and walked back to his own room, which was just as he had left it.

There was nothing to show if anyone had come into the room whilst he was absent, except for just one thing – the key had been put back in the lock of the door!

It took the Marquis only a short time to dress and he packed his belongings into his suitcase.

He had arrived at Sir Gerald Benson’s house in an open chaise driving two horses, and his father had insisted he took one of the older grooms with him so that the horses would be properly looked after.

“I am certain that they will be well cared for at the Bensons’ house,” the Marquis had protested.

“I am not trusting my superb horses to any strange grooms,” his father had replied.  “So take Abbey with you and, if you are too drunk to drive yourself, you know you can trust him to bring you home safely!”

“I am not going to make a fool of myself, Papa, by drinking too much.  You know that is a grave mistake for any athlete to make.”

His father had put his hand on his shoulder.

“Of course.   I would trust you not to make a fool of yourself.  Equally I do know what these parties can be like and the champagne good or bad will flow, especially if the Benson team win the match!”

His father had indeed been right.

The Marquis had noticed one or two of the players stumble when they left the dining room and he felt that he had been wise enough to keep his wits about him.

When he reached the stables, a young rather sleepy looking groom looked at him in surprise.

“You be early, sir.”

“I wonder if you would be very kind and find my groom.”

The Marquis explained where Abbey would be and the young groom ran off to find him.

By the time Abbey arrived, the Marquis had taken the two horses out into the yard and had bridled them.

Abbey was sensible enough to ask no questions and he quickly produced the chaise and then minutes later they were ready to leave.

It was only at the last moment that the Marquis had remembered he must make some explanation to his host.

By this time a senior groom had appeared and the Marquis told him he had received an urgent message from his home saying that he was wanted immediately and therefore he had to leave at once.

“Please will you inform Sir Gerald that I will write to him tonight with an apology.”

“I’ll tell ’im for sure, my Lord, and I ’opes you ’ave a safe journey.”

“Thank you very much,” the Marquis answered, as he climbed into the chaise.

As he drove away down the drive, he felt somewhat ashamed of himself for being so cowardly as to run away, but then he was sure that he had done the right thing.

Lady Benson was the stepmother of one of his close friends.

However
she
might behave,
he
would certainly do what he thought was right and proper.

As he drove home, he knew there was one thing he would regret more than anything else and that was losing his friendship with Peter.

It would be a mistake for him to visit Peter’s house again and a mistake for him to come to his.

His father would doubtless think it polite to invite Peter’s father and stepmother to stay, especially if the two boys were taking part in a cricket match, a steeplechase or hosting a party for the Hunt Ball.

The Marquis sighed.

He was fond of Peter, but he could not tell him the truth.  He would have to let their friendship just drift away slowly, so that it did not seem in any way suspicious.

As he drove on, he knew that he wanted to be back safely at home and he told himself firmly it was vital that whatever happened in the future he must
never
meet Lady Benson again.

*

All of this had happened over eight years ago and the Marquis had almost forgotten the whole scenario.

Now, as his hostess came into the room, he felt as if a bomb had exploded at his feet.

She walked over to her husband and bending down kissed his cheek.

“I am sorry to be late, but it was impossible for me to get away earlier.  You know how women talk.”

“I do indeed, my dear, but our guest has arrived in a magnificent yacht and I know you will want to meet him.”

The Countess of Darendell held out her hand.

“I believe we have met before,” she muttered.  She was looking straight into the Marquis’s eyes.

As he looked back at her, he knew without being told that she hated him.

He could see it in her eyes and feel it in the touch of her hand and he had always been aware of other people’s vibrations, especially those with strong personalities.

He recognised now that she had never forgiven him for humiliating her and refusing her advances.

‘Then
why
, why,’ he mused, ‘has she permitted her husband to invite me here to Darendell Castle?’

He could find no answer to this question.

The Countess related amusingly what had happened in the Village Hall.

The Earl was listening and it was impossible for the Marquis not to as well, but he was conscious that Celina had not looked up from her plate, although she had stopped eating.

When there was a short pause in the conversation, she pushed back her chair and rose to her feet.

“I am going out into the garden, Papa,” she said and turned towards the door.

Her father did not answer.

The Marquis was once again aware that there was an expression of fear in Celina’s eyes and he had not been mistaken in thinking her hand was trembling.

‘
What
is upsetting her?  What is wrong?’ he asked himself.

Then his thoughts were back with his own problem as to what he should say to the Countess.

When tea was over, they moved back into the room where the Marquis had first met the Earl.

“There is an excellent view from here of our guest’s yacht,” the Earl was saying.  “And I am hoping we shall be able to inspect it tomorrow.”

“Of course you must and I expect that you will be interested in some of the improvements I have made that as far as I know are not being installed into any other yacht afloat at the moment.”

The Earl laughed.

“You are just like your father, Oliver.  I remember he always wanted to be a pioneer and eventually the first man on the moon!”

The Marquis laughed at the Earl’s comment, but it was rather a forced sound and he was aware the Countess was gazing at him.

He had by now regained his composure and had, he reckoned, recovered from the shock of seeing her again.

“I have always heard from my father how beautiful your Castle is,” he said to the Countess, “and it was so very kind of you to have invited me to Scotland.”

“I thought that you would be surprised to see me,” she replied.  “I expect you remember that cricket match in which you were undoubtedly the hero of the day.”

“Of course, I remember it, but Oxford is such a big place that later I did not see much of Peter.”

The Countess gave him a somewhat sarcastic smile, as if she understood the true reason.

Looking at her quizzically, the Marquis realised she had certainly grown older with the passing years.  Now she undoubtedly looked nearly forty, which he was certain was about her real age.

However, she was fashionably dressed with pearls around her neck and in her ears and her face was skilfully made up.

It was quite obvious that her husband, the Earl, was very pleased with her.

He was regarding her admiringly.

“I suppose, dearest,” he said, “that you have asked some guests here to amuse our friend Oliver.  From what the newspapers tell me he is of great standing in what in my day was called the ‘
Beau Monde
’.”

“I would expect it still is,” the Marquis answered.  “I was asked for luncheon with His Royal Highness the day before I left and I can assure you that he keeps the Social ball rolling so fast that one is constantly running from one party to another!”

“I am sure he does!  So who is he is love with at the moment?”

“I think his affair with the Countess of Warwick is still happening, but one can never be sure with His Royal Highness.  His heart is a very large one!”

The Earl laughed and then the Countess enquired of the Marquis in a slightly affected voice,

“And what about
your
heart?”

The Marquis knew it was a pointed question and he replied,

“It’s intact, thank you and that is the way I wish to keep it.”

The Countess raised her eyebrows.

“Can that really be true?  Surely there is one beauty more alluring than any of the others you find irresistible.”

The Marquis wondered what gossip she had heard about him.

Of course, so many people would tittle-tattle about Isobel and him just as they would have talked if they could about every other beauty he had had an affair with.

“You must not listen to the gossip,” he said firmly.  “I assure you that there is no one of any great importance in my life and I intend to ‘play the field’ for a great number of years yet.”