One Night Of Scandal Page 5

  Deb secretly thought so too. The charms of Miss La Salle’s singing could scarcely compete with the stimulating conversation of Lord Richard Kestrel. And yet she was aware of a certain trepidation. The room was warm and softly lit, and it conjured up an intimacy that was surely dangerous when one was conversing alone with a gentleman who was a certified rake. It gave Deb the same feeling that Richard’s presence always aroused in her. Her undeniable attraction to him drew her on, but at the same time the cold, hard sense she had learned from experience warned her to run away, and quickly. Still, she did not move.

  ‘Have you made up your mind yet?’ Lord Richard enquired affably.

  Deb jumped. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Have you made up your mind on whether it is safe to stay?’ There was a mocking light in Richard’s eyes. ‘Common sense might suggest that it is not…’

  ‘Past experience might suggest that it is not!’ Deb snapped.

  ‘Very true.’ Richard put his head on one side and considered her thoughtfully. His gaze moved over her face feature by feature and Deb felt her skin warm beneath his regard. It felt almost as though he was touching her.

  ‘As it turns out, you are quite safe,’ Richard continued. ‘I would not have the ill manners to seduce a lady in her brother-in-law’s house.’

  Deb raised her brows disbelievingly. ‘Is that so? And when did this surprising change in your behaviour come about, my lord?’

  Richard smiled and Deb’s wayward heart skipped a tiny beat. ‘When I met you, of course, Mrs Stratton,’ he said smoothly. ‘However, my good resolutions have not been put to the test before. I am not sure how they would stand up to provocation.’

  ‘So that would be your justification!’ Deb said scornfully. ‘The age-old excuse of a man who is not strong enough to resist temptation!’

  Once again, Richard’s gaze lingered on the honey-coloured hair curling about her face-and on the indignant set of her mouth. He smiled slightly.

  ‘Yes, the age-old excuse since Adam…Poor Adam, he really wanted to eat that apple, didn’t he, and yet he did not have the courage to admit it, but had to blame Eve instead.’

  ‘Typical!’

  Richard’s gaze narrowed with interest. ‘It seems that you do not have a very high opinion of our sex, Mrs Stratton? Why is that?’

  Deb shifted a little, suddenly nervous. She had never really thought about it before, but it was true that all her observations of the male sex had led her to form a somewhat critical assessment. There was Ross, of course, who had shown her great kindness and yet exasperated her in equal measure for his inability to settle his differences with Olivia. There was her father, who always thought that he knew what was right and that he had the inalienable right to enforce it. And then there had been Neil Stratton, another good-looking, feckless adventurer who had turned her feelings inside out and shown her the true meaning of dishonourable behaviour. She set her lips in a tight line.

  ‘I do not wish to pursue this subject, my lord.’

  Richard nodded slightly, and the tense feeling inside Deborah eased. Thank God he did not press her. She never wanted to tell him the truth, never wanted to tell anyone…

  She glanced across at the desk, where Richard had laid aside his book when she had erupted into the room.

  ‘Were you reading when I came in?’ she enquired, failing to keep a slight note of disbelief from her voice.

  Richard laughed. ‘I was. I find it a useful accomplishment. My tutor taught me when I was a boy, you know.’

  Deb’s eyes narrowed at his teasing. She craned her neck to see the title of the book.

  ‘It is The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius,’ Richard said obligingly.

  Deb nodded sagely. The Meditations, indeed! She was certain that he had plucked it at random from the shelves.

  ‘I see,’ she said. ‘And what do you think of his writings?’

  ‘Bleakly stoical,’ Richard said. ‘He has a dark view of human life and an obsession with the approach of death. What is your opinion, Mrs Stratton?’

  There was a tiny pause. ‘I have not read his writings,’ Deb admitted.

  Richard burst out laughing. ‘I see. You were seeking to test me!’

  Deb had the grace to look a little shame-faced. ‘I thought…That is, I did not think-’ She broke off in confusion.

  ‘You did not think that I was given much to reading?’ Lord Richard finished for her, a hint of irony in his tone. ‘My dear Mrs Stratton, is it possible for you to have a lower opinion of me than the one you already possess?’

  ‘Infinitely,’ Deb said sweetly.

  Richard’s smile deepened. ‘And now that you know I read the stoic philosophers, have I gone up at all in your estimation?’

  ‘Oh,’ Deb said, ‘naturally I am most impressed. However, I do not think that I shall be reading The Meditations now that you have told me their style. There is enough to be miserable about in real life.’

  Richard conceded the point. ‘Perhaps poetry is more to your taste?’ he enquired.

  ‘I enjoy that, certainly,’ Deb agreed. ‘And you, my lord?’

  Richard shifted slightly in his chair. ‘Yes, I enjoy poetry too.’ His gaze met hers very directly. ‘I know that you think me an intellectual lightweight, ma’am, and a man with no propensity towards hard work, but I must correct your perception by saying that the only reason I had the chance to study poetry in the first place was because I was at sea. I read scraps of it in between naval actions.’

  Deb smiled. She found that she rather liked the idea of Lord Richard Kestrel standing on the bridge of his ship with a book of poetry tucked in his pocket. She fancied that he would have looked rather good in the austere Navy uniform and found herself wishing that she had had the chance to see it.

  ‘I had forgotten that you were in the Navy,’ she said, feeling a little ashamed of herself for dismissing him as an idle gentleman of leisure. ‘Why did you give it up?’

  There was a hair’s breadth of a pause in which she had the feeling that she had asked a question of great import.

  ‘I took an injury at the Battle of the Nile and they did not want me on active service any more,’ Richard said, after a moment.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Deb said. She repressed an impulse to touch his hand. Just for a second she had seen a bleakness, beyond anything she had expected, reflected in his dark eyes. She felt as though the bottom had dropped out of her heart. He had looked so lonely and remote in that moment, a far cry from the society rake of her imaginings.

  Then he smiled at her and the image was gone. ‘Thank you for your sympathy, Mrs Stratton,’ he said. ‘It was difficult at the time to abandon something that had given purpose to my life, but…’ he shrugged ‘…there are always other things to do.’

  Deb wondered. It could not be easy for a man accustomed to so active and adventurous a life to accept the restrictions of a circumscribed existence. She was unsure how much of what he said was true-and how much a defence.

  Richard looked at her and the lines about his eyes crinkled. ‘Do not look so stricken, ma’am. I am very well these days and am happy to show you my collection of naval memorabilia any time you wish!’

  Deb recovered herself. ‘No, thank you, my lord,’ she said. ‘I suspect that that is an invitation on a par with inspecting your art collection-or your set of etchings!’ She glanced at the clock. ‘I must go back to the musicale. With good fortune there may only be a few minutes of the concert left.’

  ‘I will escort you back,’ Richard said easily. He swallowed the remains of his brandy and got to his feet, holding the door open for her.

  The hall was deserted and in shadow. A line of light showed beneath the music-room door and from behind its panels rose the squeaky arpeggios of Miss La Salle torturing a Bach cantata. Both Deb and Richard winced.

  Richard put his hand on her arm. ‘A moment,’ he said. ‘I do not think that we wish to go back in there.’

  ‘Well, we cannot continue our conver
sation out here,’ Deb pointed out.

  ‘It was not conversation that I intended to pursue,’ Richard said. He turned her gently, inexorably to face him. Deb’s breath caught in her throat.

  ‘You said-’ Her voice failed her.

  ‘That you were safe from seduction? So you are-for the time being.’ Richard’s hand came up to brush the line of her jaw with a gentle touch. His face was dark and severe in the shadowed dimness of the hall and she could not read his expression. Her nerves skittered in anticipation, but she did not draw away.

  She did not know why she could not resist him. Perhaps it was because of that moment when he had been speaking of his lost naval career and she had looked into his eyes and seen a depth of feeling far more intense than she would ever have expected-and a loneliness that had undermined her defences. It was not that she felt sorry for him, but more that she had been taken off guard. She had glimpsed the private demons of isolation and lack of purpose that tormented Richard Kestrel, and it had given her an entirely new perspective. Oddly, it made her feel vulnerable to him.

  She felt his arms go about her, felt his lips on hers. The kiss was brief and fierce and spellbinding. The candlelight seemed to swoop dizzily about her. She felt dazed and star struck, as though she had taken too much wine. A cool shiver ran along her nerves as his tongue touched hers, a featherlight touch. The kiss deepened then and became hungry and demanding, stripping her of her ability to think. This was not like the embrace in the beech wood. That had been sweet and had made her quite light-headed, but it had felt strangely unfinished. This time he held her close and his lips claimed hers with a mastery and a need that she felt powerless to resist. It shook her to the core. It threatened to steal her soul.

  With a gasp she pulled herself out of his embrace and put several hasty steps between them. Richard made no move to pull her back into his arms and his face was expressionless, though she saw a muscle move in his cheek. He did not apologise and merely gave her back look for very straight look. In the faint light she saw the blaze in his eyes, hot and hard, and drew her breath in with a short, nervous gasp.

  Deb fought for self-control. Her heart was beating wildly but it was not a fear of Richard Kestrel that terrified her, but the need to confront her own feelings. She had never, ever felt the depth of emotion that Richard’s touch had stirred in her. She was not sure she liked it. She certainly could not answer the questions that the kiss had posed.

  The door of the music room opened and a pool of light spilled out into the hall. Olivia, Ross and a number of their visitors came streaming through the doors.

  ‘I must find some brandy for our guests,’ Deb heard Ross murmur to his wife. ‘After such torment they require sustenance as quickly as possible.’

  Olivia caught sight of her sister and hurried across the floor.

  ‘There you are!’ she said, coming over to Deb’s side. ‘Whatever happened to you? I thought that you had gone to find Ross and then you disappear for a full half-hour.’

  Deb dragged her gaze away from Richard’s face and swallowed quickly. ‘I beg your pardon, Olivia. Lord Richard and I were discussing literature. I had no notion that so much time had passed.’

  Olivia’s brows shot up into her hair. She looked from one to the other. ‘Literature? How very erudite! Do you care for some refreshment after such intellectual discussion?’

  The servants were lighting more candles now and in the sudden, bright glow, Deb felt a little more secure. It was as though the light had banished her danger, at least for the time being. She risked another glance at Richard. He was watching her face and had been doing so for the entire conversation. She repressed a shiver.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Richard said now, wrenching his gaze from Deb and smiling at Olivia. ‘I should be glad to take a glass of brandy with Lord Marney.’

  ‘Splendid,’ Olivia said. ‘Deborah?’

  ‘I shall go home,’ Deb said. ‘I have the headache. Goodnight, my lord.’

  ‘Mrs Stratton.’ Richard bowed. Deb saw a flicker of a smile touch his lips at her formality when only minutes before she had been locked in his arms in a scandalous embrace. She felt a surge of temper. Damn him! He was far too sure of himself-and of her.

  ‘Thank you for the…discussion, ma’am,’ Richard continued. ‘I found it most stimulating.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord,’ Deb said. ‘I feel so privileged to have been the object of your interest not merely once but twice in the same day.’

  Richard bowed again, with immaculate politeness, though Deb could see from his expression that he was not going to ignore her challenge.

  ‘It was a pleasure,’ he murmured. ‘Any time you wish to continue our debate…’

  Deb smiled brilliantly. ‘I do not think that would be at all wise, my lord,’ she said. ‘I have a great desire to discuss Moore next time.’ She looked at him and quoted sweetly, “‘He was a rake amongst scholars and a scholar amongst rakes…”’

  Richard laughed, took her hand and pressed a kiss on it. ‘And when his father suggested that he should give up his rakish pursuits and take a wife, he said-’

  “‘Certainly father, and whose wife shall I take?”’ Deb finished the quotation. ‘Precisely, my lord. Some rakes never reform.’

  Richard released her hand slowly. ‘So you think you have my measure, Mrs Stratton? We shall see. Goodnight. I shall look forward to our next meeting.’

  Deb gave him an arctic look. ‘I doubt that shall be soon, Lord Richard.’

  Richard raised his brows expressively. ‘Do you? Then perhaps you do not have my measure after all.’ He nodded pleasantly to Olivia and strolled away.

  Olivia, neglecting her other guests out of sheer curiosity, saw her sister to the door.

  ‘What on earth was that all about, Deb?’ she demanded.

  ‘That,’ Deb said, pulling on her gloves, and noting that her hands were shaking slightly, ‘was about Lord Richard Kestrel and his disgraceful behaviour, Liv. Can you not ban the man from your house?’

  ‘Not really,’ Olivia said, taking her literally. ‘He is a friend of Ross’s after all. But, Deb…surely he cannot have behaved disgracefully twice in a single day?’

  ‘I fear so,’ Deb said.

  ‘You fear so? What can there be about his behaviour to make you fearful, Deb?’

  Deb paused, looking at the tiny pinpoints of stars that pricked the autumn sky. ‘It is myself I fear, not Lord Richard,’ she said slowly. ‘He makes me feel so-’

  She stopped, shrugged abruptly and continued in her normal voice, ‘I can scarce be the first lady to be in danger of letting her heart rule her head in the matter of Lord Richard Kestrel.’

  As the carriage trundled down the lane to Mallow House, Deb thought about Richard Kestrel. He had said that she was safe from seduction, and yet there was more than one way to seduce a lady. It could be done so subtly that the lady in question might not notice until it was almost too late. Her defences were undermined, her emotions engaged. It seemed to Deb that she had known Richard Kestrel for an age and yet suddenly all her preconceived notions of him were being challenged and her prejudices tumbling. She had started to let him close to her. And now that he was close, there was no way on earth that he would let her escape him. It was the most perilous thing that she could have done.

  Chapter Four

  L ord Richard Kestrel had been reading the Suffolk Chronicle with extreme attention for the past three days. It was a newspaper that previously he had dismissed as tiresomely provincial in its outlook. Generally speaking, he preferred to have his newspapers delivered directly from London. Now, however, he pored over every page of the Chronicle. His curiosity-and much else-was aroused. What was the communication that Mrs Stratton had sent to the editor of the Chronicle? He had scanned the letters page to no avail, had waded his way through endless advertisements for Doctor Solomon’s Cordial Balm of Gilead and was losing the will to live over the countless reports of agricultural sales at Woodbridge market.


  Then, on the third morning after Olivia Marney’s musicale, he found it. His eye was caught by a small notice at the bottom of page six, wedged in between an advert for the erection of a patented thrashing machine and a notice about a zoological collection that boasted a one horned rhinoceros.

  A lady requires the assistance of a gentleman. If any gentleman of honour, discretion and chivalry will venture to answer this notice and despatch a reply to Lady Incognita at the Bell and Steelyard Inn, Woodbridge, Suffolk, then he shall have no reason to repent his generosity.

  A small smile curled Lord Richard’s mouth as he considered the identity of Lady Incognita. Could she be none other than the utterly infuriating, utterly entrancing Deborah Stratton? And if so, what assistance did she require from her discreet gentleman? Richard’s mind was positively boggling.

  There was only one way to find out, of course. Richard went across to the inlaid cherry-wood desk in the window and extracted a pen and an inkhorn from the top left-hand drawer. Sitting down, he pulled the paper towards him and started to write.

  ‘Mrs Lester tells me that the cellars have flooded again,’ Mrs Aintree said, over breakfast that morning. ‘One of the hams your brother-in-law sent over is quite ruined and the case of wine you laid down is under water.’

  ‘The duck decoy must be blocked again,’ Deb said. She was eating a buttered egg with one hand and turning the pages of the Suffolk Chronicle with the other whilst she scanned the advertisements. ‘I will go and take a look after breakfast.’

  ‘Could you not send to Marney for the gamekeeper to come?’ Mrs Aintree suggested, the very slightest edge to her tone. ‘It is scarce appropriate for you to be grubbing about in the undergrowth; indeed, it could be positively dangerous.’

  Deb laughed. ‘Dangerous? The duck decoy? I doubt there is more than a foot of water in it and the ducks are scarcely threatening creatures.’

  ‘That was not what I meant,’ Mrs Aintree said severely. ‘When are you going to stop behaving like a hoyden, Deborah? Although your father is quite wrong to try and coerce you into marriage, I do believe that the fundamental idea might be of value. With a proper home and family of your own-’