His Duty, Her Destiny. Juliet Landon

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СКАЧАТЬ the sunset garden, and this time she refused to meet the grey eyes that watched the start of yet another impediment to the day’s plans. Then she told Master Melrose of last night’s fencing wager and the way she had dealt with it this morning and together they laughed again and went to look for food with an unspoken agreement already forming between them.

      Lord and Lady Coldyngham’s grand and spacious home sat securely on the bend of the Thames in one of the most desirable and attractive stretches between the royal palaces of Savoy and Whitehall. Built around a central courtyard with stables and service buildings at one side, the house extended towards the river with large gardens and orchards and a private wharf where barges were moored. For Lady Charlotte’s thirtieth birthday, the green expanse of bowers and arbours had been hung with streamers of ivy and coloured ribbons, the lawns scattered with satin and velvet cushions while musicians played and small tables were piled with food, and flagons of wine were placed up to their necks in the stone channel of water that ran from the fountain.

      So Nicola allowed Master Melrose to offer her the choicest and most succulent morsels of food that came with every accompaniment and garnish, saffron-dyed and disguised, moulded to look like fish or hedgehogs, even when they were not, decorated with feathers, gilded, pounded, pureed, glazed and spiced. Nothing was meant to look like what it was, or taste like it, come to that. For Lady Charlotte, it was a triumph of a meal; for Nicola, it was utterly tasteless, but not for the world would she have said so, nor would she have said why.

      Meanwhile, there were other guests to talk to, most of whom she knew, mummers to watch at their antics, jugglers to admire, a jester to avoid if one could, and musicians to applaud for the way they incorporated the duet of tin whistle and tambourine. Nicola had brought presents for Roberta, whose name had been prepared for another boy in true Coldyngham fashion, and eight-year-old Louis, the elder by two-and-a-half years. She gave the tin whistle to Roberta and the tambourine to Louis, who marched solemnly away to show the guests how it was done, though later it was observed that Roberta was rattling noisily and Louis was tunefully piping.

      They played tag and blind-man’s buff, and anything else to avoid having to speak to any group of which Sir Fergus was a part and, at last, Nicola gave her garland of flowers to Roberta to take to bed. Naturally, she had to part with the nosegay from her bodice for Louis, by which time she was sure no one would notice.

      It grew dark and the music changed to dance rhythms, the river sparkled with reflections from torches, and the distant sounds of Thames oarsmen echoed on the night air as they took their last customers home by wherry. Mellowed by wine, the guests joined hands to snake their way through the plots and arbours, benches and trellises, singing the two-line refrain while male soloists sang the stanzas as the rest marked time on the spot. Then off they went again, lurching and laughing, unsure whose hand they held in the darkest shadows away from the torches.

      Muir Melrose pulled at Nicola and headed purposefully away from the light. ‘This way,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

      His flirting, Nicola thought, had gone far enough for one day. ‘No,’ she called. ‘No…er…this way.’ She pulled, bumping into someone.

      ‘Come on,’ Muir laughed. ‘We shall lose them if you—’

      She shook off his hand to pick up her long skirts, which were in danger of being trampled, draping them up over one arm. But again her free hand was sought as she was nudged along the line of dancers and, to escape the singing jostling bodies, she went with him, expecting to join up again when she could see what she was doing. His hand tightened insistently over hers, and the noise of the dancers’ cries was cut off by a thick screen of darkness.

      ‘Master Melrose,’ she said, coldly, ‘we should be going the other way. Please…let go.’ She tried to free herself, but in the dark tunnel of foliage where only pin-pricks of light filtered, his arms closed quickly around her, bending her hard into his body. Then she knew, foolishly, that all young Melrose’s attentions had been directed towards this end, a far from innocent conclusion to his gentle and inoffensive dalliance. Not even to vex Sir Fergus had she wanted it to go this far, and now she was angry beyond words that this gauche young man believed she could have as few scruples as any servant-girl against being bussed and groped in the shadows.

      She struggled fiercely, dropping her skirt to beat at him and push him away, but he was remarkably strong, too strong for his size, and there was no chance for her to cry out for help before his mouth silenced her protests with a firmness that belied all his earlier frivolity and playfulness. After his teasing manner of the evening, this was certainly not what she had expected from him and, although she had understood from the start that he was probably promiscuous, she had not for one moment believed that he had intended to defy his brother so insistently, or so soon. Or without any kind of warning. This was more than flirting—this was a determined, serious and skilled performance that from the first touch had the effect of holding her mind into that one place where sensation burst into bloom like the springtime of all her twenty-four years.

      Her hands forgot to beat, but clung helplessly to his shoulders, as bewildered as her mind. Obedient to the hard restraint of his arms, lured by the skill of his lips, she had no choice but to surrender to the confusing thoughts circling her mind that this did not match the rather silly, witty, shallow creature she had saddled herself with for the last few hours. It was a complete revelation, and an exciting one, but a high price to pay for a scheme that had so soon got out of hand.

      For all her popularity with men since her appearance in London, and indeed before that, she had never allowed more than a chaste kiss upon her cheek. Her inexperience showed, for now anger, outrage, and something quite new and fearful combined to tell her that, however much she had wished for a kiss with someone else, this must be stopped by any means available, whether ladylike or not. With a push of superhuman strength and a twist of her body, she tore her mouth away and bent her head towards the hand that held her wrist in a grip of steel, biting hard into his knuckles and releasing all her fury, not only at his immediate behaviour but at his deception too.

      She felt the resistance of bone under her teeth and the taste of his skin on her tongue before his fingers relaxed and pulled away and, though she half-expected a howl of pain from him, there was no protest and no retaliation. It was as if he had been waiting for it, deserving it, accepting it.

      In uncharacteristic silence, he put his arm across her shoulders to lead her forward as if he knew the way back, but she balked at this too-easy dismissal, taking time to lash him with her tongue before they parted. ‘Don’t ever…’ she panted ‘…ever come near me again. Do you hear me? Now leave me…let go of my shoulder—’ she shook his hand away ‘—and speak to me no more of friendship, sir. You are despicable! Go away!’

      It was too dark for her to witness his departure, though she felt that he bowed before he left and, in only a few more hesitant and lonely steps, she was within sight and sound of the music once again. Most of the guests had now regrouped around a male soloist whose low voice, accompanied by his own lute, was holding them all spellbound. Thankful of the darkness and their diverted attention, she waited for a moment to gather her thoughts, to smooth her hair, and to lay a cooling hand upon her mouth that still tingled from his kisses. Her pounding heart she could do nothing to moderate. Like a shadow, she glided round the edge of the crowd to see who sang and played so sweetly, experiencing such a weight of numbing disappointment that her first real kisses should have come so insincerely from a man of his small calibre, a virtual stranger and self-confessed philanderer. It had served her right. She should have had more sense. He had disappeared quickly enough afterwards with not a word of explanation or apology, not even an enquiry after her state. The man was a worm, after all.

      Dazed, still furiously angry and disturbed at the violation of her emotions, she felt the dull thudding in her chest change to a stifled gasp of horror as she peered through the crowd, rooted to the spot and unable to believe СКАЧАТЬ