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

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      ‘I did,’ she admitted and turned her mind away from why the knowledge made her feel queasy.

      ‘You’re a clever girl, Alice.’ Tilly poured her tea from her cup into her saucer and sipped it as daintily as any lady.

      ‘Aren’t I just?’ she exclaimed in a voice that made them all laugh.

      ‘Thank you, Mr Brompton. We will continue our discussions later, when you return.’ Razeby dismissed his steward from his study and turned to where Linwood was standing by the fireplace, examining the portrait of Razeby’s father that hung on the wall above.

      ‘I would have come back another time when you were not busy,’ said Linwood, turning to him. ‘I did not realise you had summoned Brompton down from the Razeby estate.’

      ‘One has to get one’s affairs in order…’ he glanced away ‘… before one’s marriage.’ The ticking of the clock punctuated the silence.

      ‘You do not seem yourself, Razeby.’

      He did not feel himself. ‘Prospect of parson’s trap does that to a man.’ He attempted a light-hearted response. ‘You should know.’

      Linwood’s dark eyes met his and there was not a trace of humour in them. ‘I do not,’ he said, admitting the truth outright of what lay between him and Venetia. ‘But then you are already aware of that.’

      Razeby turned away and poured them both a brandy, handing one to Linwood.

      ‘It is not that. There is something more. There is a change in you,’ said Linwood, still holding him under scrutiny.

      Razeby gave a laugh and turned his gaze away from those shrewd black eyes. ‘You grow both fanciful and poetic in your old age, Linwood. Have you been in Byron’s company?’

      ‘No.’ Linwood was to the point.

      Silence.

      Razeby gave a shrug, but made no more denials. ‘Maybe it is time for a change. A man must face his fate, sooner or later.’ The inescapable fate that they all would face in the end.

      ‘He must indeed. But it does not need to be like this.’

      ‘Believe me, it does,’ said Razeby with a grim smile.

      ‘There is a rumour circulating about you and Hart Street.’

      ‘There is always some rumour or other circulating,’ he said curtly, not wanting to discuss anything of that.

      ‘And Alice?’

      ‘I have already told you, it is over with Alice.’ His voice sounded too harsh and defensive. Linwood knew better than to probe further.

      Before heading to the Green Room within the Theatre Royal that night, Alice called in at the dressing room that Sara shared with two other actresses.

      ‘Oh, Alice, I’m not ready yet! I just can’t get my hair to sit right. All the curls have fallen out because of that damn wig! Look at the state of it!’ Sara wailed.

      ‘Just leave it as it is, Sara!’ one of the other actresses said. ‘Or we’re all going to be late for the Green Room and Kemble will have something to say about that.’

      ‘You two go on ahead and keep Kemble happy. I’ll help Sara with her hair,’ Alice said.

      ‘If you’re sure, Alice?’ They did not look certain.

      ‘Go! The pair of you!’ Alice ordered with a grin.

      The two younger women smiled and hurried away, while Alice, elbows akimbo, hands on hips, turned to where Sara sat before a peering glass, her hair lying limp and straight from three hours of compression beneath a hot heavy wig.

      ‘Lucky for you I’m a dab hand with hair that’ll not take a curl. Now, missus.’ Using just her fingers she scraped Sara’s hair back into a ponytail, twisted it round, gave it a flick and secured it in place with just three pins.

      ‘Alice, you’re a wonder!’

      ‘I am, indeed,’ Alice teased. ‘Now, come on, get yourself moving, girl.’ She turned to leave.

      ‘Just before we go through…’ Sara put a hand on her arm. ‘The gaming evening at Dryden’s, the one I told you about last week.’

      ‘It is still on, isn’t it?’

      ‘Yes.’ Sara smiled and gave a nod, but there was a slight look of unease in her eyes. ‘It’s just… well… I was talking to Fallingham about it last night and it seems that he’s invited Razeby.’

      Razeby. Just his name made Alice’s heart skip a beat.

      Sara screwed up her face in an expression of awkward apology. ‘Sorry!’

      ‘What’s to be sorry about?’ Alice gave a smile. ‘It doesn’t matter to me whether Razeby’s there or not. I’ve already told you, it’s fine between us.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Really,’ Alice reassured her.

      ‘I hope so, or it’s going to be an awfully uncomfortable evening.’

      ‘You don’t have to worry about that, honestly.’ Such confidence. Truly worthy of her best performance upon the stage.

      Sara smiled her relief.

      ‘Now come on.’ Alice slipped her arm through Sara’s. ‘Kemble will be wondering where on earth we’ve got to. Better make sure you dazzle him with that new hairstyle of yours.’

      Sara gave a giggle as the two of them hurried from the dressing room towards the Green Room, to dazzle and sparkle, to tease and entice. But beneath all of Alice’s air of glamour and charm was the constant knowledge that tomorrow would bring Dryden’s and a night spent gaming with Razeby.

       Chapter Eight

      Dryden’s Gambling Palace was busy. It was a luxurious affair that rivalled Watier’s, with tables to cater to every taste and every pocket. The top room had a chandelier reputed to have real diamonds amongst its glass. Entry was by invitation only and the stakes could stretch to match the highest in all of London.

      The room was spacious, airy, the walls papered in plum-coloured paper embellished with real gold patterning. The floor was tiled in marble imported from Italy, black and gold to match that of the blinds that masked the windows. There were no footmen, only the prettiest girls dressed up in footmen’s livery who served free drinks to the men who came here to game.

      Along the full length of one wall was a bar that housed any drink a man might desire, whatever the time of day. On the opposite side was an enormous Palladian-style fireplace of black marble. The walls themselves were hung with expensive works of art depicting Rubenesque women and wondrous exotic landscapes. But no clocks. СКАЧАТЬ