Regency Desire: Mistress to the Marquis / Dicing with the Dangerous Lord. Margaret McPhee

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СКАЧАТЬ breath, she held her head high, fixed a smile on her face and went to sparkle and entice the gentlemen of the Green Room, just as her contract required.

      ‘Razeby,’ Viscount Bullford exclaimed, wandering over to where Razeby stood filling a plate with choice selections at the débutante picnic. ‘Thought Aunt Harriet would have lampooned you into coming this afternoon.’

      ‘Bullford.’ Razeby gave a nod.

      The weather was sunny and dry, although a slight chill still sat about the fine spring day. The trees surrounding this corner of the park lent a level of protection against the breeze, but not enough to stop the gentle flutter of bonnet ribbons and muslin skirts amongst the ladies milling all around.

      Bullford lifted a small, perfectly formed pork pie from one of the serving dishes on the nearby table and took a bite. ‘Couldn’t get out of it myself. Pater had m’arm up my back. Insisted I had to bring m’friends with me. Apparently too many ladies and not enough gentlemen.’

      ‘You managed to persuade the others to come?’ Razeby raised an eyebrow in surprise.

      ‘Not an easy task, I can tell you, old man.’ Bullford took a deep breath as if the memory of what that had entailed was difficult to bear. ‘Will be years till I can clear the favours owed over this one.’

      Razeby smiled.

      Fallingham, Devlin, Monteith and a few others wandered up, glasses of champagne and large chunks of food in hand.

      ‘How goes the bride search, Razeby?’ Devlin asked.

      ‘Well enough.’ He felt himself tense just at the question.

      ‘Found one yet?’ Fallingham enquired.

      ‘Not yet.’ He kept his face impassive, his manner cool.

      ‘Don’t seem quite yourself of late, Razeby,’ Monteith observed.

      He smiled at the irony of Monteith’s remark. Would any man be the same were he to stand in Razeby’s shoes? ‘Can’t imagine why,’ he said drolly.

      ‘Losing one’s freedom, weddings, wives and nurseries,’ Devlin supplied and gave a shudder.

      The rest of the group chuckled as if that was the reason.

      ‘Not regretting giving up the delightful Miss Sweetly, are you?’ Monteith asked as he helped himself to a bottle of champagne from a passing footman and topped up all their glasses.

      Nonchalantly uttered words, yet they cut through everything to touch some raw inner part of Razeby. It was all he could do not to suck in his breath at the sensation.

      ‘Not at all,’ he said smoothly and held Monteith’s gaze, denying the suggestion all the more.

      ‘Do not know why.’ Monteith smirked. ‘The common consensus is that you have run mad. Dismissing such a little gem when all of London is panting after her.’

      It took every bit of willpower to keep his jaw from hardening and the basilisk stare from his eyes, and to prevent the curl of his fingers into a fist.

      ‘You could have kept her on,’ said Devlin. ‘I would have, had it been me.’

      ‘We all would have,’ said Monteith.

      ‘I am not you.’ And Alice deserved a damn sight more respect than that.

      ‘Why exactly didn’t you keep her on?’ asked Fallingham and stopped sipping his champagne to hear the answer.

      The rest of the group looked at Razeby expectantly, a speculation in their eyes that had not been there before.

      ‘Do you really have to ask?’ he drawled with a deliberate ambiguity that did nothing to answer the question.

      ‘What you need is to get her back in your bed,’ said Fallingham.

      ‘What I need is to get myself a wife.’ He gritted his teeth.

      ‘The two need not be mutually exclusive,’ Monteith commented.

      ‘For me they are,’ Razeby said it with nothing of his usual jest or charm. He smiled, but the smile was hard and his eyes cool. He saw the look that was exchanged between his friends. And he did not care.

      The awkwardness of the moment was alleviated by Bullford’s mother, the formidable Lady Willaston, who appeared amidst their circle. ‘Sorry to interrupt your little chat, gentlemen, but, Lord Razeby, Miss Frome is nigh on ready to swoon with hunger from waiting for the plate of food you went to fetch her some considerable time ago.’

      ‘My humble apologies, ma’am.’ Razeby gave a nod. ‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen.’ Picking up the plate from the table next to him, he made his way back to Miss Frome and her friends.

      On the day after the débutante picnic Alice’s visitors sat in her new little drawing room while she poured tea into the three china cups set on their saucers on the table before her.

      Ellen and Tilly were old friends—they worked secretly as Miss Vert and Miss Rose at the blot in Alice’s past, London’s infamous high class brothel, Mrs Silver’s House of Rainbow Pleasures, in which the courtesans each dressed in a different colour and hid their identities behind feathered Venetian masks.

      ‘You ain’t half landed on your feet, Alice,’ said Tilly, glancing wide eyed round at the warm yellow decor of the drawing room with its gilt-and-crystal chandelier and peering glasses. ‘Razeby must have seen you all right in his severance settlement.’

      Alice smiled and passed the teacups to each of her friends in turn. ‘Of course he did.’

      ‘What did you manage to wangle from him? A suitably large sum and a nice piece of expensive jewellery, I hope,’ Ellen said.

      Alice thought of the diamond bracelet and felt that same chill ripple through her. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ she said, still smiling. She could not tell them the truth. Everyone knew the deal in relationships like hers and Razeby’s. Everyone knew she would have taken everything she could from him. It was what any mistress would have done to her protector.

      ‘You held him to the letter of the contract between you?’ Ellen asked.

      ‘Absolutely.’ But Alice had no idea what was written within the legal contract that had defined her and Razeby’s arrangement. The document had never been unfolded; it still lay, tied in its green ribbon, in the drawer of the desk in Hart Street. She remembered the day that Razeby had presented her with it and how she had refused to accept it until the red ribbon that was used to secure all such legal documents was changed. Razeby had sent out immediately for a green ribbon and tied it in place himself as she stood and watched.

      ‘Don’t let the bastard wriggle out of it.’ Ellen grinned.

      But Razeby had not tried to wriggle out of anything. Quite the reverse. It made her feel angrier, both at him and herself.

      She stretched her smile wider, pushing the feeling away. ‘I’ve a good head on my shoulders when it comes to money.’ It was true. She thought of the money that Razeby had given her through the months they had been together, СКАЧАТЬ