Undesirable Liaison (33 page)

‘Hoy!’
screeched Belinda, grabbing vainly at the cotton cloth. ‘Let go,
Flo!’

An intent
search failed to throw up any such tell-tale signs as had
bespattered her own sheets the morning after Jerome had first taken
her, and Florence’s questing panic was at last satisfied.

Amid a
scorching diatribe from her sister’s mouth, she assisted her to
recover her lost dignity, patting the bedding into place. She paid
no heed to Bel’s complaints, her mind busy with what Mr Sheinton
had actually said, and whether it differed from what she had made
of it. Then it was borne in upon her that Belinda had realised her
purpose.

‘You thought I
had—I had done
that
with Theo? Oh, Flo, how could you?’

It was evident
her sister deemed herself insulted, and it would take a mouthful of
apologies to placate her. But Florence had neither time nor
inclination to make them. She interrupted Bel without ceremony.

‘Be quiet and
listen to me! What reason had Mr Sheinton for coming in here? What
did he say to you?’

Belinda looked
sheepish. ‘Well, he said he had lost his way, but I must say I
thought it was a bit thin. But Theo is always funning, so I—’

‘Theo?’
Realisation hit Florence. ‘You call him Theo? Since when, may I
ask?’

Colour flooded
her sister’s face. ‘You weren’t meant to know.’

‘Obviously. But
it is too late for that.’ She reached out and seized her sister’s
hand, all too conscious of the terrible threat so narrowly averted.
‘Come, confess it. I promise I will not rail at you.’

Belinda
wrinkled her nose. ‘I dare say you may when you hear it.’ She took
an audible breath. ‘I have not been doing my lessons with Lady
Langriville, I’m afraid. Instead Theo has been with us every day,
and we have had such fun.’

‘I don’t doubt
it,’ said Flo, trying not to snap. ‘Doing what?’

‘Oh, all manner
of things. Playing at backgammon and piquet. Yes, and Theo has been
teaching me chess, and he says I have an aptitude. Mind you, he is
a regular jokesmith, so I dare say he was teasing. But I do like
him, Flo.’

Which was
self-evident. But as it was plain to Florence her sister had been
deliberately cajoled and courted, she refrained from comment. From
a certain look in Bel’s face, she guessed she had not yet been
given the full sum of it.

‘How far has it
gone, this liking of yours? Does he return your regard?’

Bel swallowed,
her cheeks growing pink. She tugged her hands out of Florence’s, as
if she could not endure to be close.

‘Well… well,
that is what he came to say, if you must have it. But I was so
agitated by his coming into my chamber I couldn’t take it in.’ Flo
did not speak, and Belinda pressed her hands to her cheeks. ‘Oh,
Flo, I didn’t like it at all. He spoke of—of running away together,
and—and that he would
take
care
of me…’

‘The
fiend!’

‘Yes,’ agreed
Belinda unexpectedly, ‘for I know what that means, and it is just
what Mama had to endure from Cousin Warsash. I must say I didn’t
like him so much at that instant.’

‘No, indeed.’
Flo held her breath. ‘I take it you refused?’

‘Of course I
refused,’ retorted Belinda, affronted. ‘I know I am a hopeless
case, but I am not that bad. As if I didn’t know you have done
everything you can just so we need not live like Mama, Flo. Do you
think I would do such a thing and spoil it all?’

Florence stared
at her. ‘I didn’t know you knew so much.’

Bel looked
away. ‘Yes, well, I keep telling you I am not a child any more,
Flossie, but you refuse to accept it.’

A knock sounded
at the door, followed by the impetuous entrance into the room of
Jerome. He stopped short, his glance going across to the bed.

To his
experienced eye, Belinda did not look to have been tumbled, but
there was no saying how much of passion might have been involved.
He glanced at Florence, and the trouble in her face threw him into
enquiry.

‘Is she all
right?’

‘I mistook him.
Belinda is unhurt.’

There was a
worrying flurry in her voice nonetheless. Jerome moved towards the
bed, staring hard at the girl.

‘Are you
sure?’

‘Of course
she’s sure,’ cut in Belinda crossly. ‘Pray don’t you start on me as
well, my lord. Unless you care to check my sheets too?’

Jerome could
not help laughing. ‘No, I thank you. Is that what Flo did?’

‘Yes, and it is
the veriest insult!’

‘
Mea
culpa
,’ said Jerome, throwing up a placatory hand. ‘Evidently
we were misinformed.’

Florence was on
her feet. ‘Yes, thank heaven, but he meant mischief, Jerome. Bel
says Mr Sheinton tried to persuade her to run away with him.’

‘So that was
his game. He was determined to thwart me.’

‘Thwart you
how? What possible difference could it make to you? Apart from
depriving Lady Langriville of her favourite, ruining my sister’s
life—and mine too, while he was about it—’

Aware of her
rising tone, Florence checked herself. She felt near to hysteria.
The worst had been averted, but the events of the past minutes were
assuming nightmarish proportions in her mind.

She was ruined,
and without Theo Sheinton’s intervention. By morning, her
reputation in the household would be wrecked beyond recovery.

She became
conscious of Jerome standing before her. Perplexed by his smile,
she erupted.

‘I don’t see
what you can find to smile about. Thanks to your horrid cousin, we
are utterly undone. Indeed, I should think Bel and I had best spend
the rest of the night packing our bags.’

She heard Bel’s
protesting outcry only in the background, because the increasing
merriment in her infuriating lover’s eyes was throwing her into
rage.

‘Will you stop
looking like that? It’s not
funny
.’

‘On the
contrary, it has all the element of farce,’ retorted Jerome.

His deep brown
eyes became brighter as his hands came up to her shoulders. He
kissed her lightly, and a gasp from the bed reminded her of where
they were.

Flo jerked
back. ‘What are you doing?’ Her arm encompassed a wild gesture.
‘Belinda is here.’

‘Of course I’m
here. It’s my bedchamber. And I’d like to know—’

‘Quiet!’

Jerome’s
authoritative tone left Belinda gaping. He wasted no more words on
her, but recaptured Flo by the hands.

‘Don’t you see,
my dear one? Theo’s whole purpose was to make it impossible for me
to marry you.’

There was a
silence. Flo’s heart began to pound and she became acutely aware of
the warmth of his fingers. Her voice quivered.

‘But you have
no intention of marrying me.’

‘Have I
not?’

The answer came
from an unexpected source. Belinda suddenly clapped her hands.

‘Oh, I wish you
might! I
told
you he liked you, Flossie.’

Jerome flashed
her a grin. ‘Astute of you.’

‘Well, I’m not
blind.’

‘Do be quiet,
Bel,’ begged Florence, her eyes on Jerome’s face. Her breath felt
constricted, but she had to say it. ‘You know it is not possible,
Jerome. You heard your cousin. Didn’t you see the way he looked at
me? It’s just how everyone will look.’

He tried to
draw her closer, but Flo pulled away.

‘Don’t.’

‘Flo, listen to
me! I’ve lived in the shadow of scandal for years, and that far
worse than anything to be laid to your account. You are not
accountable for your mother’s sins.’

‘If it were
only that,’ cried Florence unguardedly.

Recollecting
where she was, she closed her mouth upon further words, unable to
help glancing at her innocent sister, sitting there in a graceless
heap, redolent of the accursed blemish left upon her by her
unrepentant father. To her consternation, the girl flushed.

‘It’s me, isn’t
it?’ she said on a gruff note, clutching the covers to her.

Disengaging
herself from Jerome’s hold, Florence moved to her, sitting on the
bed and throwing an arm about her.

‘Nonsense. If I
am not to be held accountable, you most certainly cannot be.’

‘No,’ agreed
Belinda, low-voiced and grim. ‘But I can see it wouldn’t be seemly
for Lord Langriville to marry a female whose sister was born out of
wedlock.’

Stricken to
silence, Flo released her and straightened up, staring. Bel
knew
. She knew she was not a true Petrie. Dear Lord in
heaven! And she had never spoken of it.

Belinda was
staring back, a defiant look in her face, but Florence could find
no words.

‘Ah, I begin to
see,’ came from Jerome, slight amusement in his tone. ‘Both of you
knew, but neither confided in the other. And if I am not mistaken,
Florence, this little gem, which you fondly believed to be secret,
is at the root of all your actions.’

Flo found her
tongue, but her voice was shaky. ‘Indeed, I moved heaven and earth
to keep it from her—and all for nothing.’

She could not
keep the catch from her throat as she reached for her sister’s hand
and held it tight.

‘Oh, Bel!
Dearest Bel. I never wanted you to know.’

‘I know that.’
Belinda returned the pressure of her fingers, but she grimaced as
well. ‘I never did see how you could think I didn’t, when all the
neighbours knew.’

‘But you were a
child. How did you guess it? I was so sure I had hidden it
successfully.’

‘Well, and so
you did,’ agreed Bel in a consoling sort of voice, ‘for a time at
least. I don’t know when I began to realise it. But I once heard
Mrs Hogstock say it was a pity I looked so like the master, and who
could that be but Cousin Warsash?’

‘That wretched
creature! I could strangle her.’

To her
surprise—and a secret sneaking admiration—Belinda shrugged.

‘She was
horrid, but I must say I was glad to know. After the first shock, I
mean, for it made a lot of things clear. But I had known it,
Flossie, deep down, without really taking it in.’ Her tone took on
indignation. ‘I must say, I think Cousin Warsash behaved in a
disgusting fashion, for he never gave me so much as a hint of
kindness—and he
is
my father.’

Florence
dragged her sister into a smothering hug, blinking back tears.

‘He has been an
ill father to you, dearest.’

Jerome,
recognising this discussion could take some time, took a hand in
the proceedings.

‘You will both
have much to say on the subject, I don’t doubt, but for this
present, we have more urgent affairs to settle.’

‘Oh yes,’
uttered Bel, disengaging herself. ‘Flossie, do try and pull
yourself together so his lordship can work out what is to be
done.’

‘I thank you,
Belinda,’ said his lordship, amused, as he seized Flo’s arm and
tugged her from the bed. ‘You will excuse us, I hope? You sister
and I prefer to quarrel in private.’

‘Are you going
to quarrel?’

‘Undoubtedly, I
imagine. We usually do, for Flo is nothing if not quarrelsome.’

‘Jerome, how
can you speak so before the child? And how dare you call me
quarrelsome when you have the devil’s own temper—’

‘You see?’ he
uttered, winking at the younger girl.

Florence, only
half hearing, was still berating him as she was drawn resistless
from her sister’s bedchamber.

***

A candelabrum
had been set upon the press by an unseen hand, but Flo was beyond
the point of troubling to ask whose hand it might have been. The
entirety of this night’s adventure had been so publicised in the
household as to turn everything topsy-turvy. There was little
future in setting her mind to trivia.

Led inexorably
to her bedchamber, her annoyance died, to be replaced by a growing
sensation of hope that she dared not allow to penetrate her vision
of reality. There were too many unknowns to be unravelled, too many
ifs and buts.

Of one thing
she could be certain—there was no longer the faintest chance Jerome
would let her go. Relief was tempered with a settled fear deep down
in the pit of her stomach. Was she doomed to the future she had
dreaded? She dared not believe in the fairytale Theo’s cousin had
worked upon to prevent.

Jerome drew her
into the room and closed the door, taking the precaution of locking
it.

‘There have
been disturbances enough this night.’

Florence
drifted away, as it seemed to him, in a state of numbed
abstraction. Scarcely surprising, after all she had undergone. He
judged her more shocked by her sister’s revelation than anything
else that had occurred. She was at the window, which was
unshuttered to the pale glow of night, but he made no immediate
attempt to recapture her. He spoke softly.

‘Do you believe
in destiny?’

Flo jumped,
turning her head to look at him. He was by the door to the back
stairs, which he had also locked, and his face was in shadow.
Memory leaped within her.

‘You asked me
that before.’

‘Did I?
When?’

‘The night you
first came to me here.’

‘Ah, then.’ A
glow began in his chest, expanding as he watched her motionless
figure, the river of her jet-black hair glistening in the
moonlight. ‘And how did you answer?’

‘I said I
didn’t know.’

‘Do you know
now?’

He waited,
conscious of the stirring of desire, pleasant in the knowledge that
fulfilment was not far away. No longer, he reflected, was he
plagued by the appalling wrench of need brought on by a deep-seated
frustration.

There had been
no satisfying such unnatural urges, for the frustration had been
born of Letty’s defection. It had revived with his desire for
Florence, whose generous gift of her body, of herself, had assuaged
the questing hunger. In its stead was a new sensation, alien but
increasingly welcome. One he would not trade for a fortune, nor
abandon for the petty social moralities that would keep it from
him.