At the end of what must have seemed to their harassed hostess to be an interminable meal, Lady Anne at last stood up, gathering the attention of her female guests with a smile. ‘Ladies, shall we leave the gentlemen to their port?’
As she got somewhat unsteadily to her feet, Antonia bent and whispered in Marcus’s ear, ‘Meet me in the conservatory as soon as may be.’
In as dignified manner as she could, Antonia followed the other ladies out and found herself a seat. She looked around, hoping no-one would come and speak with her, at least until her head stopped spinning and she could work out exactly what she thought she was doing with that invitation just now.
Sophia Fitch perched nervously at one end of the chaise with Claudia on the other. Clearly the older woman had decided to amuse herself by patronising the little mouse. ‘Tell me, Miss Fitch, when are you going to announce your engagement to Mr Leigh? Such a worthy young man, I am sure. Does he have a patron? I suppose, coming from such an obscure family, he will need one.’
Antonia was about to leap to Sophia’s defence, but the girl, usually so shy, rallied at this attack on her beloved Richard. Her little figure quivered with indignation but her voice was steady as she replied, ‘Mr Leigh is one of the Hampshire Leighs, and as such need look no further than his uncle the Bishop for advancement. He is going as private secretary to Lord Seymour at the War Office, but hopes before long to stand for Parliament.’
‘Oh.’ Claudia laid one small white hand on her forehead in a weary gesture. ‘Do not talk to me of politics, it is so tedious.’
‘Well, in that case,’ Sophia snapped, ‘I will not bore you any longer.’ She rose to her feet, walked across the room to the piano and began to pick out a new ballad. Antonia felt like applauding before a note was played.
She glanced every few moments at the ormolu clock on the mantelshelf until, unable to bear sitting still any longer, got up to whisper a question in Anne’s ear.
‘Oh yes,’ her hostess whispered back. ‘Down the corridor on the left, the third door. Marcus has had one of Mr Bramah’s flushing water closets installed – such a boon.’
Antonia admired the new-fangled sanitary arrangements, wondering how much it would cost to replace the old earth closets at the Dower House. She glanced in the mirror on the wash stand, tweaked her hair into order and wished she had a little rice powder to calm her hectic cheeks. That last glass of wine sang in her veins, making her feel quite unaccustomedly reckless. Never mind, it would give her the courage to do what she had to do and drive Claudia out of Marcus’s mind for ever.
The conservatory was filled with a damp heat and the heady scent of lilies underlain with wet moss and earth. A few candelabra had been set on columns amongst the plant stands and beds of ferns, casting mysterious pools of shadow. Moths fluttered in through the open doors, fatally drawn towards the candle flames by the voluptuous smell of the hothouse plants.
Antonia strolled up and down the tiled floor, her gown swishing in the stillness. Would he come to her after that angry scene in the study? She walked on, biting her lip in growing anxiety as the wine-induced courage began to ebb away. No, he was not coming, she had lost.
‘Antonia.’ His voice was husky and very close. Antonia’s heart leapt, but she turned slowly to face Marcus, the man she loved.
The moonlight burnished his hair, casting strong shadows across his face, veiling his eyes. But she could see his mouth curling with a sensual tenderness and the rise and fall of his shirt, gleaming white against the dark blue cloth of his coat, showed that he was not entirely master of his emotions.
‘You wanted to speak to me?’
‘No, what I wanted was this.’ Antonia stepped straight up to him, wound her arms sinuously around his neck and, pulling his head down, fastened her lips full on his.
There was the merest hint of hesitation. She had taken him by surprise, acted as no well-bred young woman would ever dream of acting. But then his instincts took command and Marcus pulled her tighter against his body, deepened the kiss, opening and exploring the softness of her mouth. The scent of him filled her nostrils, the taste of him sent her senses reeling.
Without freeing her mouth he swept her into his arms and carried her effortlessly to where a bench had been set in a bower of fragrant stephanotis. Antonia found herself nestling on his lap, the strength of his thighs supporting her, his arms holding her fast against his chest.
The kiss went on and on druggingly, sweeping away all reason and sensibility. Antonia had prepared a little speech, all about how she was prepared to forgive him if he renounced Claudia, but even if she had been able to free her mouth, she could hardly recollect what she had intended to say.
At last he broke the kiss and she gave a little moan of protest which became a whimper of sheer sensual pleasure as his teeth nibbled gently down her throat, his tongue-tip tracing the sensitive line of her jaw before his lips found the swell of her breast.
His lips were so hot on the cool curves, they seemed to burn where they touched. Antonia’s hands pushed under the edges of his coat, her fingers caressing and tasting the firm flesh beneath the fine lawn of his shirt.
Her fingertips found the waistband of his breeches, tugging his shirt free so she could press her palm against the smooth muscled back. Marcus groaned deep in his throat and cupped the swell of her breast in one hand in an answering caress. His thumb stroked against the silk of the bodice, sending such a sensual shock coursing through her that Antonia gasped.
At the sound he raised his head and, gazed into her eyes. For a long moment their eyes held in a wordless communication, then Antonia saw his attention caught by something behind her.
To her shock she found herself deposited unceremoniously on to the cold ironwork of the bench as Marcus got to his feet, tugging his waistcoat straight over the chaos she had wrought with his shirt.
‘Marcus,’ she protested softly.
‘Shh,’ he hissed, hard eyes staring into the dark foliage. Leaving her breathless on the bench, he stepped out into a patch of moonlight. ‘Claudia.’ His voice was heavy with sensuality. ‘So, this is where you are. I was looking for you.’ He took another long stride and Antonia, peering through the tangle of foliage, saw him reach the side of Claudia Reed, bend his head and claim her lips with a hard kiss.
Antonia was too shocked even to gasp, then too humiliated to risk being seen by the other woman, who was greedily kissing Marcus, her knowing body curving into his.
‘Later, Claudia, later,’ Marcus murmured, leading her towards the door. ‘We must rejoin the others, or it will cause comment.’
All intoxication burned away by anger and humiliation, Antonia stared at a moth scorching its wings in the candle flame. Just like me, scorched by my passion for Marcus.
She should have known he was not a forgiving man. She had refused his suit, she had tricked him on the riverbank with Jeremy, putting him at a disadvantage in front of the other man. She had let her satisfaction at the trick show too plainly this evening and he had wreaked a terrible revenge on her, guaranteeing she would never dare cross swords with him again.
Humiliated, stricken to immobility by misery, she sat on, unheeding of time, until Anne Meredith sought her out, concern on her face.
‘Antonia, my dear, are you unwell?’
‘No. Yes.’ Words seemed to come from a long way away. It was an enormous effort to squeeze them past her stiff lips. ‘l think I have caught a chill. Forgive me, but I must go home. May I have the carriage?’
‘But, of course, my dear.’ Lady Anne hurried out, returning some minutes later with Antonia’s cloak and reticule. ‘Let me put this round your shoulders. Why, your hands are quite frozen. Mead is sending for the carriage, it will not be long. Would you like me to accompany you back to the Dower House? Miss Donaldson may not have returned.’
‘No. No, thank you. You are very kind, but I shall be better by myself. I am so sorry.’
‘It is I who am sorry,’ Anne Meredith replied as she helped Antonia to the front door.
Marcus caught his sister’s gaze as she swept into the room, guessing from the sounds of carriage wheels on gravel that she had just sent Antonia home. His mouth set in a grim line, he continued to play, determined to give Anne no opportunity to speak to him that evening. Beside him, Claudia pressed her thigh against his, her breast brushing his arm whenever she leaned across to examine his cards. No, he needed to avoid Anne tonight: he had other plans.
One o’clock struck as he dismissed his valet from his bedchamber. ‘I will undress myself, thank you, Bain. And if you see Lady Anne as you leave, tell her I have already retired.’
‘Very well, Your Grace.’ The valet, used to Marcus’s ways, bowed himself out, leaving his master staring rather grimly at the big bed.
Marcus shrugged out of his swallow-tailed coat and waistcoat, removed his cravat and pulled on a light silk banyan. He had no doubt that his solitude would soon be interrupted by Claudia, lured by the promise of his kiss in the conservatory. He could not have given her a much clearer signal that the weeks of denial were over and that tonight he wanted her in his bedchamber.
Restless, he tugged aside the heavy curtain and looked out over the pleasure grounds, then his focus changed and he found himself regarding his own reflection as though in a looking glass. ‘You damn fool,’ he told his image. ‘Now get yourself out of this mess.’
He was still at the window when the door opened quietly and Claudia slipped in. He watched her reflection without turning as she tiptoed across the carpet, her negligée of yellow silk gauze moulding her voluptuous body. She pressed her palms flat against his shoulder blades, then ran them insinuatingly down the planes of his back until she reached his waist.
Marcus turned then, catching her wrists in his hard grasp, arresting their knowing progress.
‘Darling.’ She pouted. ‘You are so masterful.’ She shivered and looked into his face, her tongue-tip running lasciviously round the full curve of her lips. ‘It has been so long, Marcus. Come to bed now.’
She started to back towards the four-poster, only to be pulled up short and none too gently by Marcus’s immobility. ‘Mmm.’ She smiled wickedly at him. ‘So you want to do it here?’
‘No, Claudia, I do not. And I do not want to take you to my bed, now or in the future. It is over.’
Ever a fighter, she was unwilling to concede defeat. ‘I do not believe you. The way you kissed me tonight tells me you do not mean it.’
‘I had to make sure you would come to me here. There is nowhere else in the house we can be certain of being alone.’
Ready tears started in the lovely blue eyes. ‘Marcus, how can you be so cruel? You know you love me, and I have been faithful to you, only to you.’
‘Faithful to my fortune, my dear Claudia. I have never had any doubt that you would remain faithful to that while you had any hopes of presents. Or until a bigger, richer, fish swam by.’
The tears slid decoratively over her rouged cheeks, but a hardening anger was forming in the depths of her eyes. ‘How could you be so cruel? Inviting me down here only to spurn me when I have done nothing to incur your displeasure. Come, darling, come to bed. You are tired and cross, let Claudia make it better…’ She wriggled seductively, sending the gauzy fabric sliding from her shoulders. Only the fact that he was still holding her wrists prevented the entire garment slipping to the floor.
‘Yes, Claudia, I could go to bed with you. You are a very beautiful woman. But that beauty is only skin deep. It took me just a few weeks to realise that. You knew it was over, you knew I did not want you here, yet somehow you cozened my sister into inviting you down. Since you arrived, I have done nothing to encourage you, yet you persist.’
‘But I love you, Marcus,’ she wheedled.
‘You love only yourself. You are vain, self-absorbed, cruel and dismissive of others’ feelings. You are redeemed only by your beauty – for so long as that lasts, my lovely. Do not frown so, Claudia, frown lines are so very ageing.’
‘That did not concern you when you were in my bed taking your pleasure of me,’ she hissed, two hot spots of colour mottling her cheek bones.
Marcus dropped her wrists and stared down at the spiteful little face that tonight, despite the artful maquillage, had lost every iota of its freshness and appeal. ‘But then you managed to hide those characteristics from me so well, did you not?’
Claudia reached up one long-nailed finger and ran it down his chest, exposed by the open shirt neck. ‘I hid nothing from you, remember?’
Marcus did, vividly. Then he had been consumed by passion for the sophisticated, available – oh, so very available – Lady Reed. The burning desire had been short-lived, now he felt only distaste that he had surrendered so easily to her lures. A reflection of his thoughts must have shown on his face.
Claudia, her wheedling smile vanishing in a second, struck like an adder, the flat of her hand cracking across his cheek so hard his head snapped back. Beyond touching the stinging weal with his fingertips, Marcus did nothing, but his eyes must have held something that stopped Claudia’s breath. With a sob which was half-petulance, half-apprehension, she ran from the room, her negligée swirling in disorder around her.
Marcus stalked across the room and shut the heavy panelled door behind her, then slumped down into a wing chair before the empty grate. He stuck his legs out, easing the tension from his long frame, then ran his hands through his hair.
That had been unpleasant. He blamed himself for having become entangled with Claudia in the first place. At first he had admired her spirits and beauty, the courage with which she coped with an empty life married to a corrupt man old enough to be her father.
Society was full of grass widows, game for a fling with any gentleman who was willing. As long as everyone concerned was discreet, no-one turned a hair, even when there were some aristocratic households where all a man could be certain of was that his first-born son and heir was his own.
But that sort of life had palled, Marcus realised. It was no longer enough to have passion without attachment. Not since he had met Antonia.
A great weariness suddenly overcame him. Marcus shrugged out of his clothes and climbed into the great four poster. His last thought before he fell asleep was that he must ride over and see Antonia in the morning. He knew how much he must have hurt her in the conservatory, but he would explain how he had needed to shield her from Claudia’s venom, and her vicious, gossiping tongue.