The Notorious Lord (20 page)

His tone was equable, but there was mockery in his eyes. Rachel felt herself flush with annoyance. Much more of Cory’s provocation tonight and she would be demonstrating her sweet disposition by slapping his face. She drew a little bit away from the group and threw Cory a challenging look.

‘Take my advice, sir, and do not attempt a sketch of Lord Newlyn,’ she said to the artist. ‘There are qualities there that are better left unseen.’

‘One up to Miss Odell,’ Sir John Norton murmured. His blue eyes were snapping with laughter. ‘Come and dance with me, Miss Odell. I feel brave enough to take you on!’

Rachel allowed him to take her arm and lead her into the set. Sir John’s admiration was balm after her quarrel with Cory. Something had to be done to cut him down to size, she decided. He was too arrogant, too sure of himself and too overbearing. She paused. If she was so good at drawing and Cory was so reticent at posing for Lady Sally’s watercolour booklet, why could she not show him up neatly by sketching him without his knowledge? She could do a rough sketch for Mr Daubenay to work from.

The thought gripped her with sudden excitement. That would put Cory finely in his place and it would go a little way to paying him back for his unchivalrous conduct. She liked that idea. She watched Cory guide Lily Benedict towards the refreshment room, one hand in the small of her back. They were talking, Lady Benedict’s dark curls brushing Cory’s shoulder as she looked up at him confidingly. Rachel saw Lily give Cory a vivid smile and she felt quite out of proportion feverish with anger. It was not that she wanted Cory for herself. That was a ridiculous idea. It was simply that she was angry with him. Oh, yes, she would like to get even with Cory…

She became aware that Sir John was addressing her, inviting her to go driving with him the following afternoon. He was a decidedly more attractive prospect than James Kestrel, but she smiled sweetly and declined. ‘I am sorry, sir, but I am already engaged. Some other time, perhaps?’

She saw the leap of interest in Sir John’s eyes and reflected that men were strange creatures to be encouraged by a lady’s lack of availability. Sir John was now looking positively determined.

‘Friday, then,’ he said promptly. ‘I shall drive you into Woodbridge, Miss Odell, and I shall not take no for an answer.’

Rachel smiled back. ‘Thank you, sir. That would be very pleasant. And now you must tell me about your encounter with the polar bear. I hear it is a truly terrifying tale.’

Sir John laughed and started to recount his story, utterly unaware that she had been teasing him. He was a man whose opinion of himself was evidently very good, Rachel thought, and that sense of importance was no doubt bolstered by the appreciation of the ladies who fawned on him. Just for a moment she longed for Cory’s self-deprecating humour. Cory always knew when she was making fun of him and never took himself too seriously. Not that she felt comfortable teasing him any more.

The thought was depressing to her spirits. Nor did her marriage prospects in the Midwinter villages seem very great. There was James Kestrel, who was vain and lacking a sense of humour, and there was John Norton, who was full of his own importance and probably another rake to boot. Rachel sighed. She was not enjoying herself, despite Lady Sally’s lavish entertainment, and the sight of Lily Benedict persuading Cory into yet another dance merely completed her bad humour.

After another hour, Rachel was tempted to change her mind about the ball. She had danced with Lucas and Richard Kestrel and with the Duke himself, and it was impossible not to enjoy oneself under the combined onslaught of Kestrel charm. There was a gravity about Justin Kestrel that was most appropriate to a Duke, but it was lightened by a pleasing good humour; Lucas Kestrel had a boyish insouciance that reminded Rachel heart-breakingly of Cory, and Richard Kestrel was simply the most dangerous rake she had ever met, with his outrageous flattery and his expressive dark eyes. Rachel danced and ate and drank and chatted,
and on the edge of her vision Cory danced with Deborah Stratton and Helena Lang and Lily Benedict, and spared her not a single glance.

It was much later, when the carriages were being called and the guests were starting to leave, that Rachel went out onto the patio for some fresh air. The air was heavy with residual heat and the smell of night-scented stock and honeysuckle. She rested her hands on the stone parapet and looked out over the gardens of Saltires. All was in darkness, and yet she thought that she saw movement down on the lawn where the fountain splashed between the yew hedges. A faint, feminine giggle floated towards her on the still night air. Rachel raised her brows. So she was not alone in the gardens. Someone was indulging in amorous dalliance in the privacy of the yew walk and she did not wish to spy on their activities. She turned to go back into the ballroom, but as she did so another flicker of movement caught her eye. The door of the card room was also open, the candlelight spilling over the mossy stones of the terrace. Rachel saw the shadows shift as a couple of people moved through the doors and out into the night. A breath of cigar smoke reached her, mingling with the musky smell of the stocks. No amorous couple this, then, but a pair of gentlemen, deep in conversation. Rachel started to walk away, for she did not wish to eavesdrop, but then she realised that she could not retreat without being seen. She kept still.

‘Damn it, Richard,’ she heard Cory Newlyn say, ‘when Justin said that this would involve a spirit of self-sacrifice I had no idea that it would be so bad! Just how much flirtation is one expected to undertake for the sake of the enterprise…’

Rachel heard Richard laugh, and then the voices faded away as they turned their backs and strolled down the terrace.

A tickle of pollen took Rachel unawares. She grabbed her handkerchief and raised it to her nose just in time to stifle the huge sneeze that erupted. Even so, it was not enough.
She heard one of the men give an exclamation and did not wait for more. She dived through the door to the ballroom, the handkerchief discarded on the terrace behind her.

No one appeared to have noticed her hasty entrance. She hid behind a pillar, breathing deeply and trying to calm her racing pulse. She was not quite sure why she was so shaken, but she felt as though she had been caught prying into something that did not concern her She watched the ballroom doors, but the only person who came in was Helena Lang, looking flushed and bright eyed. Helena did not see Rachel, for she was too busy scouring the ballroom for someone completely different. A moment later Rachel realised whom she sought. James Kestrel had entered the great hall from the direction of the refreshment room. He was dusting down his sleeves and adjusting the set of his jacket and looking rather pleased with himself. Rachel turned away.

She leaned one hand against the cool stone wall and pressed the other to her suddenly aching forehead. She could pretend ignorance of Miss Lang’s flirtations, but she could not ignore what she had overheard and it disturbed her. Could Cory have had some sort of wager with the Kestrel brothers to flirt with the ladies of Midwinter for their own entertainment? She remembered the occasion on which Richard Kestrel and Cory had come into the teashop in Woodbridge. Cory had been most attentive to Deborah Stratton whilst Richard had made himself agreeable to her. And tonight Cory and Richard and Justin and Lucas had flirted with a great many ladies, damn them…

‘I think you must have dropped something, Rachel.’

Cold dread clutched at Rachel’s stomach, to be followed by a prickly heat running down her neck. She turned slowly. Cory was standing directly behind her, her handkerchief hanging limply in his hand. It had the letter ‘R’ embroidered on it, and the way Cory was holding it made this quite visible. Both of them knew that there was no point in her denying that it belonged to her.

Rachel licked her dry lips. Now was the moment to challenge him on what he and the Kestrels were up to. Now was the moment to speak, to be as open and honest as she had always been with him. She looked into his silver grey eyes and he looked back at her. His gaze was hard. Their earlier quarrel seemed to hang heavily between them.

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said. She took the handkerchief from his grip and tucked it into her reticule, hoping that her hands were not shaking too much. She had no idea why she felt so nervous. Perhaps it was guilt, or anger, or disappointment, or a mixture of all three.

‘I must have dropped it when I went outside for some air,’ she said.

There was a sceptical lift to Cory’s brows. ‘I did not see you when I was out there just now. Did you see me?’

Rachel hesitated. She had never told Cory a direct lie in her life. She took a deep breath.

‘No,’ she said, adding with deliberate flippancy, ‘were you taking a young lady outside to look at the stars?’

Cory did not smile. ‘No, I was not,’ he said.

‘Oh.’ Rachel felt slightly at a loss. ‘Well…thank you…’ she gestured vaguely towards her bag ‘…and goodnight. I believe that Mama and Papa are ready to leave now.’

Cory bowed slightly, his handsome face as still as carved stone. Rachel was uncomfortably aware that he watched her progress across the room to Lady Odell’s side. When she was almost there she could not help half-turning to look back at him, and saw that Richard Kestrel had come across to engage Cory in urgent conversation. She saw Cory shake his head once, decisively, then he looked across the room and met her eyes. His own expression was veiled.

The anger took Rachel again. She had liked the Kestrels and, whilst she had not deluded herself that they had any serious intentions, had at least thought them sincere in their compliments. The idea that they had made some odious wager made her feel quite furious.

She could scarcely exact revenge on the Duke or Richard Kestrel, but Cory at least was within her scope. She had thought earlier that he was too arrogant and needed to be cut down to size. Now she was doubly certain. She would surely take her revenge. And it would be sweet.

‘What a delightful evening,’ Lady Odell said, smothering a yawn as the carriage pulled away from the door of Saltires in the July dawn. ‘I have not enjoyed myself so much since Lord Coate hosted the Egyptian Revue! Lady Sally’s guests were remarkably cultivated and knowledgeable. Why, Lord Richard Kestrel knew all about Barrington’s work in Oxfordshire and spent over a half-hour asking me about our progress on the dig.’

Rachel stifled a yawn of her own.

‘Sound fellah,’ Sir Arthur grunted. ‘Told me he had come across some uncommonly interesting ruins on his travels in Asia. Thought I might look into it one day…’

Rachel felt her heart sink. There she had been trying to persuade Cory from inviting her parents to excavate in Cornwall so that they might be settled in Suffolk for a while, and instead her father was contemplating the deserts of Asia.

‘Are you quite well, my love?’ Lady Odell enquired, patting Rachel’s hand. ‘You seem quite done up and it is not at all like you.’

‘I am a little tired,’ Rachel conceded. ‘I fear I did not enjoy the evening as much as you did, Mama.’

‘Not surprising, quarrelling like that with Cory,’ Sir Arthur said, displaying one of his rare but blinding flashes of perception. ‘You are always miserable when you cut up rough with the boy, Rachel. Remember how matters were that time in Patagonia? You did not eat for three days.’

‘I was only twelve then,’ Rachel said, trying to quell her bad humour, ‘and Cory deserved for me to wrangle with him. He was an odiously self-important young man! And he
has not changed much either,’ she added, with sudden bitterness.

‘Best to make up with him,’ Sir Arthur grunted, closing his eyes. ‘You know you are always happier that way.’

Rachel looked out of the carriage window at the pale light streaking the eastern sky. The suggestion to make up with Cory sat ill with her intention of bringing him down a peg or two by sketching him for Lady Sally’s watercolour book. She admitted to herself that such a revenge did seem a little childish. Yet Cory’s discourtesy still rankled; as for the business of the wager, that was outrageous.

‘I think I shall go straight out to the field when we get home,’ Lady Odell said. ‘It will be light enough in an hour or so to get an early start, and we wanted to open up the largest burial mound today, did we not, Arthur?’

‘Good idea,’ Sir Arthur concurred. ‘Wake the servants, what, and get digging.’

Rachel wrinkled her brow. ‘Is it really a good idea, papa?’ she besought. ‘You are likely to put a spade through your foot in the half-light.’

Sir Arthur chuckled. ‘By goodness, do you remember when I did that at Jericho? What an outcry that caused! Had to send fifty miles to find a quack to treat me.’

‘Precisely,’ Rachel said. ‘I am persuaded that you would not wish to cause such trouble again, Papa.’

Lady Odell leant forward to peer out of the window. ‘I do not believe there will be any danger. There is a very good doctor in Woodbridge.’

Rachel sighed. ‘At least take the time to change your gown before you go out, Mama. Yes—’ she forestalled Lady Odell’s next remark ‘—I am aware that you excavated the ruins of Delphi in a ball gown, but such eccentricity is not to be encouraged.’

There was a small silence in the coach. ‘Am I truly eccentric?’ Lady Odell sounded rather pleased.

‘Yes, Mama,’ Rachel said, thawing a little. ‘You and Papa both.’

‘Nonsense!’ Sir Arthur rumbled. ‘Just a little unconventional, Lavinia dear. And who would wish to be ordinary anyway?’

I would, Rachel thought, pressing her gloved fingers against the cool pane of the carriage window. That is exactly what I wish to be.

Cory Newlyn walked back to Kestrel Court in the midsummer dawn and this time he walked unmolested. He had dismissed Richard Kestrel’s offer of company a little abruptly, but he wanted to think. Specifically, he wanted to think about Rachel Odell.

It was ridiculous to suspect Rachel of being the Midwinter spy. He had said as much to Richard on the night of the discussion at Kestrel Court and he still thought it. Every instinct that he possessed told him that Rachel would never commit such treachery. And yet there was no denying that she had been out on the terrace that night when he and Richard were talking. Worse—and quite inexplicably—she had denied that she had even seen him. Cory had known she was lying, but he had not known why she should do so. As far as he knew, Rachel had never lied to him before. It disturbed him that she should start now.