Caught in Scandal's Storm
When everyone was present, Simpson stepped towards the Countess and called for attention. Conversations broke off and guests slowly turned to their hostess.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she said in an unsurprisingly carrying voice, ‘I have the very great honour of announcing the betrothal tonight of my niece, Roberta Hislop, to Viscount Pemberton. I ask you to raise your glasses to the happy couple. I will ask them to do us the honour of performing their first formal duty as future husband and wife by officially opening our ball.’
Simpson signalled to the musicians in the gallery with a nod of his head to start the music. It was a happy crowd that watched the handsome Viscount Pemberton take Roberta’s hand and lead her on to the dance floor to begin the dancing. Scrupulously polished mirrors around the opulent ballroom reflected the dazzling couple as they danced before some of London’s richest and most influential people.
Alice watched them, moved by the happiness she saw shining from Roberta’s eyes as she upturned her face to that of her betrothed, which only emphasised her own miserable state. She was seized by a longing to run away. It was a primitive urge, a legacy perhaps from some long-dead ancestor. It was not cowardice—she was not afraid to face her troubles—but rather a need to hide her feelings from prying eyes and seek her own cure in silence and solitude.
* * *
The betrothal banquet was excellent. Only the very finest food was served, with many of the dishes so elaborately dressed that they were viewed and commented on before they were finally tasted. Huge ice sculptures of peacocks and swans formed centrepieces for the tables.
‘Magnificent!’ exclaimed one of the guests. ‘A spread fit for royalty.’
‘And suitable for the betrothal of the Countess of Marchington’s niece to the grand Viscount Pemberton,’ another murmured.
Above the ballroom Italian-crystal chandeliers twinkled and turned, their lights reflected in fancy glassware, ice sculptures and glittering jewellery. With extravagance the order of the night and with an army of servants dancing attendance on the guests, the hours of wining and dining succeeded in their objective of producing a truly unforgettable night.
Alice smiled and laughed, drank some wine and chatted with a group of ladies. She danced with several dashing young men who asked her and made polite conversation, sat through supper with an admirer and danced some more and listened to her partners’ words of admiration. She even managed to keep smiling when one ardent gentleman who had consumed too much wine whispered lewd suggestions in her ear.
He was not the only man present who did not look at her for her wealth, who stared with a lustfulness that sickened her to her soul. She saw with a feeling of horror men who skulked about the edges of the room, now moving in on her like rats after the only morsel of food. As a result of the damage Philippe had done to her reputation, were these the only type of men she could attract now, men who would flaunt her at their sides like a trophy for all to view and envy?
When she could stand it no longer, seeking out Lady Marchington and pleading a headache, she quietly left the ballroom and went upstairs to her room where she could close her eyes and let the darkness hide her.
She felt suddenly very tired. The nervous tension she had lived under since her meeting with Duncan Forbes had left her feeling drained, longing for nothing but the peace and sanctuary of her own room. Closing the door behind her, she crossed to one of the two French windows opening on to balconies with wrought-iron balustrades overlooking the garden. She pulled back the long curtains.
It had stopped snowing. The sky was still and bright with stars, the fountain and stone statues in the shrouded garden etched with a silvery glow. It was a night made for lovers and Alice sighed at the persistent twists of fate by which she, whom so many men desired, seemed doomed to everlasting loneliness because of her disastrous affair with Philippe, which had made her unwilling to become close to any other man.
Abruptly she turned her back on the night. She snuffed out the candles on the mantelpiece, leaving the room with no other light than the soft glow shed by the small lamps placed at the bedside. The room, with its dim, mysterious light and the soft, inviting bed, had the power to attract her. She had made up her mind to sell some of her jewellery in the morning with which to pay Duncan Forbes the hundred pounds he had requested for information about her father, whatever the consequences might be should Lady Marchington find out. She knew she would never rest until she had the truth and then she must write to William. But first she must undress.
Removing the pins from her hair, she shook it out with both hands so that it tumbled like a thick black mantle down to the small of her back. The dress was more difficult to manage and for a moment, driven to distraction by the innumerable hooks, she was tempted to summon her maid, but then she remembered that Philippe had admired her in the dress and with a sudden spurt of anger she tugged and tore the fragile material away from its fastenings and tossed it into a chair. Attired in just her shift, she sat on the bed and removed her shoes. About to stand up, she froze. She had the strange feeling that she wasn’t alone, that someone was watching her. As she looked up her throat tightened and fear jabbed her in the chest.
A man was standing as still as a statue at the window, holding the curtains apart to watch her, looking dark and severe in the shadows. His manner of dress told her he had not been invited to the ball. He wore a tightly cut coat of black cloth and a white cravat. His narrow hips and muscular thighs were encased in black breeches and his gleaming black boots came to his knees. His long hair was tied back in a somewhat unruly style which, she suspected, was the result of carelessness rather than deliberate design. It was a dark shade of brown and in its depths were several strands of glittering grey.
He took a menacing step forward, edging into view with a cynical twist to his lips, allowing the shifting light of the lamps to illuminate his features. The eyes seemed to bore through her, and the gaze was so bold and forward that Alice’s eyes slowly widened and for a brief moment she held her breath, frozen by his steely gaze.
‘You!’ she uttered, struggling against that aching, mesmerising stare. It was him! The man in the park! She had not seen his face properly, but it was him. When he spoke, she was certain.
The intruder saw the wary look of a trapped but defiant young cat enter her transparent eyes, eyes of the deepest blue. ‘Please do not be alarmed. Forgive my intrusion.’
‘I do not, sir! If you lay one finger on my person, I swear I will scream.’ With a cry of indignation and in fearful panic she sprang off the bed and made for the door.
‘For God’s sake, I am not going to hurt you,’ he ground out, and as quick as a panther he moved after her. With no other thought than to stop her raising the alarm prematurely, he grasped her shift from behind and pulled her back, ripping the soft fabric.
Before Alice knew what was happening her foot became tangled in the loose folds of material about her legs. Her arms floundered wildly before she fell to the floor, dragging her assailant with her. She gasped with pain and tears of helpless fury filled her eyes. Her thick hair was trapped beneath the man’s arm and she was unable to move her head. With this small measure of discomfort, something exploded inside her. Suddenly she ceased to care how much he hurt her, but she would not let him do the vile things to her that Philippe had done. His entire being was of finely tempered steel as he leaned over her, his head so close to her own that his warm breath fanned her face.
Fear pricked her consciousness that he would demean her and abuse her, and the surety that he would was beginning to loom monstrously large in her mind. Her mind tumbled over in a frenzy. Please God, don’t let it all be about to happen again. Had she not suffered enough at Philippe’s hands, when he had commanded and she had obeyed, when she had submitted to his pawing? She had wondered what evil she had done that he should abuse her most cruelly, while he pleasured himself at his leisure, telling her that soon she would come to enjoy what he did to her—but for the present she must learn to accept her lot.
Her already depleted strength would little deter this intruder’s assault. But it was best not to dwell on the degradations that would precede the final one and Alice fought the despair that threatened to reduce her to a whimpering wretch.
A new strength surged into her. Like a baited wildcat that turns on its tormentors, she jerked her hair free and hit out at him. Managing to wriggle out from underneath him, in desperation she sank her teeth into his hand. With a string of oaths the man sprang to his feet.
‘You little hellcat!’ he bit out, taking her arm and hoisting her to her feet. ‘Be still, damn you! I’m not going to hurt you.’
She struggled, but he held her easily, letting her wear herself out until she was still. Resolutely she detached her mind from what was happening, the grip of his hand, and thought with savage concentration of how she would punish him when she escaped to tell the constables how she had been treated.
With her breath coming rapidly from between her parted lips, she glared into the cold silver-grey eyes. There was no denying that this man was handsome, physically magnificent. Before Philippe had spoiled her for all men, she might have even dreamed of such a man. But never in those innocent dreams of romance did she imagine that her love would fly to her on the wings of violence.
‘Take your vile hands off my person,’ she hissed. ‘I will scream, so help me I will. I don’t know who you are, but I hate you! I loathe you! I despise you. I don’t want you to touch me.’
‘I promise you that nothing was further from my mind until you threatened to scream the house down,’ he replied coldly.
Ewen Tremain’s manner was almost calm as he looked at her. A more observant woman than Alice might have noticed the distinct hardening of his lean features, the tightening of his jaw, the coldness of his gaze—and taken warning.
Chapter Two
‘Draw your claws in, lady.’
Alice shrank from him and a shudder of revulsion passed through her as his gaze went deliberately down her body, boldly, rudely evaluating every angle of her scantily covered assets.
‘Despite what you think I am not here to ravish you. As lovely as you are, you’re very tempting, but I have neither the time nor the inclination for such dalliance. I wish you no harm, believe me,’ he said. ‘If I release you, do you promise to be still?’
Alice saw no passion, no desire in his eyes, only his dark brows gathered together and the silver-grey eyes smouldering in well-kindled rage. After a moment of indecision, she nodded.
He looked at her hard for a moment before releasing her arm. Immediately Alice snatched her robe draped over a chair. Wrapping it around her as if it were a suit of armour, feeling less exposed, she lifted her chin and faced the intruder. She flung her long hair back from her face, sending it spilling down her back.
‘You’ve got some explaining to do—prowling about my room at this hour.’
His face was in shadow, but his silver-grey eyes gave his angular face with its high-planed cheekbones a harsh expression. She glared into his eyes. They were as cold as ice behind the black fringe of lashes. Slowly his gaze descended, sweeping boldly down the length of her, bringing a blush to her cheeks as his appraising eye paused momentarily upon her heaving bosom. When he looked into her face again, one corner of his lips quirked in obvious approval.
‘Who are you?’ the stranger asked.
‘Is that relevant?’
The man’s interest quickened. Her expression was wary. Most females were nervous in his presence, but there was a watchfulness in this woman’s eyes that suggested something more guarded.
‘Don’t be obstructive. I like to know who I’m speaking to.’
‘You were not invited into my bedchamber so I do not feel obliged to give you my name. Who are you?’
‘Ewen Tremain,’ he replied with an arrogantly raised brow.
The name struck Alice like a heavy blow. Why, it was Roberta’s betrothed come to terrifying, throbbing life. Dear Lord! What was he doing here? The band of light slanted across his hard, chiselled face. His eyes were pale and fierce, like a predator. Frightening, powerful and fatally attractive, he looked like a warrior about to go into battle.
The room dimmed as dizziness seized her. She almost sank down on to the bed, but then braced herself. She would show him no weakness and despite her state of undress she refused to be intimidated by him. She swept him with a look of haughty disdain. ‘So, the erstwhile Lord Tremain has at last deemed to grace Roberta with his presence. Tell me, Lord Tremain, do you make a habit of entering a lady’s bedchamber or have you lost your way?’
‘Both.’
Ewen moved slowly towards her. He saw a young woman with a sculptured face of incredible beauty. She had high, delicately moulded cheekbones, a perfect nose, generous lips and a tiny, intriguing little cleft in the centre of her chin. Beneath her dark brows her eyes continued to blaze with defiance.
‘When you have finished scrutinising my face, sir,’ she clipped out suddenly with a fine, cultured accent like frosted glass, ‘I would appreciate it if you would explain what you are doing in my bedchamber.’
‘I recognised you as the woman I met in the park earlier when I saw you looking out of the window.’
‘You were in the garden?’
He nodded. ‘It was easy enough to hoist myself up to your balcony window. If you wish to discourage intruders, you should instruct your maid to close it when the room is unoccupied.’
‘Never mind that. What do you want?’
Ewen looked down at her face upturned to his, well aware that she was probably scared out of her wits behind her show of bravado. ‘What has the dress done to you to make you treat it so?’
Alice cast her torn gown a sidelong glance. ‘That is my concern, not yours.’
‘When I saw you in the park, you were weeping. Clearly you were upset about something.’
‘I wasn’t crying. It was merely the melted snow on my face.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘Deny it all you like. I know what I saw.’
‘You have yet to tell me what you are doing here. Why now of all times?’ she asked him outright. ‘I know who you are and I sincerely hope you have not come to make trouble.’
‘I have not seen my betrothed for some time. I thought it was about time I did.’
‘In my bedchamber?’
He shrugged. ‘I did not want to alarm Roberta by showing myself too soon. I wish to know how the land lies before I present myself. I assume you are Roberta’s friend. Who better to ask?’
‘Haven’t you caused her enough sorrow and heartache?’ Alice accused irately. She was incensed that this man could come here at this time and work his mischief. ‘Must you mar the eve of Roberta’s betrothal with more pain?’
The silver-grey eyes took on a steely hardness as they settled on her. ‘How can she possibly become betrothed to another while she is still betrothed to me? What would you have me do? Ignore the insult and leave without a fight?’ His low, sardonic laugh belied the possibility. ‘Watch me, lady, and see if I will.’
‘Why, what will you do? Go down to the ballroom and put an end to it? Make a show of Roberta and shame and humiliate her? If you have any heart at all, you will refrain from doing anything so cruel.’
‘Then be so good as to summon the Countess.’
‘I will do no such thing. I think you should leave this minute and come back tomorrow if you wish to speak to her—although she may not wish to speak to you. And please use the front door next time.’ She pointed across the room. ‘There is the window. Please—just go, will you?’ The furious look on the intruder’s face made Alice want to laugh so much that she forgot her fear for the moment. She could almost swear she heard him growl.
His eyes slashed hers like razors. Slowly he leaned forward, his hand reaching out and grasping her chin so that she was forced to look into the eyes that blazed white fire just inches from her own. ‘Lady, let me assure you that it is unwise to cross or disobey me,’ he declared through gritted teeth. ‘I am not here to play games. I’ve already played them all and you wouldn’t enjoy them even if you knew how to play. Now, if you will not go yourself then send one of the servants to summon her ladyship.’
‘You dare to order me about?’
‘I do dare.’ His eyes were two slits of hard, unyielding steel. Alice tried turning her head, but the strength in his fingers held her chin firm. ‘Do as I ask, otherwise the whole house will know you are entertaining a man in your room, which would prove highly embarrassing for you. So if you care for your reputation you will do as I say before I get tired of waiting and go myself.’
Insulted to the core of her being, Alice shot him an angry, indignant glare. She did care. She had no intention of causing another scandal for herself and running the risk of ruining her reputation even further. ‘You seem to forget that this is my bedroom and it was you who insinuated yourself into it.’
Releasing his hold on her chin, he stepped back. ‘Do it.’
Alice’s heart skipped a beat as she gazed up at the powerful, dynamic man looking down at her. Masculine pride and granite determination was sculpted into every angle and plane of his swarthy face and cynicism had etched lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Relenting, knowing she would get no peace unless she did, she turned to the door to do his bidding.
They awaited Lady Marchington’s arrival in silence. From beneath dark brows, Lord Tremain observed Alice with close attention, and with quiet patience he waited for Lady Margaret Hislop, like a cat before a mouse hole.
With arms folded, Alice slowly paced the carpet, aware that the brooding Lord Tremain’s gaze was fixed on her, holding her in its silvery depths. Suddenly she was the captive of those fathomless eyes, but she gave his attention the lack of regard it deserved. Yet she found it hard to be at ease with his gaze following her with an intensity and vibrancy to which she was not accustomed. And if his staring were not unsettling enough, he seemed to possess some mysterious power over her traitorous gaze, as now and then she could not prevent it straying in his direction. It was as if his keen appraisal were tangible—she could feel the heat and weight of it, as surely and distractingly as if he were trailing the tips of his fingers over her flesh.
Feeling a flush bloom in her cheeks, she looked away when the door opened and Lady Marchington walked into the room.
Lady Marchington’s eyes honed in on the man who stood by the fire. When he turned his head and she saw his familiar features her face blanched and her hand lifted to her throat. Her mouth tightened itself into a hard, unattractive line. Confusion, then belligerence, clouded her obdurate features and her narrow face became etched with bitter scorn.
The bow he gave her was sufficiently formal to send a chill through her, but at the same time acted as spur to her determination to keep him away from Roberta. Lady Marchington had recently learned of Lord Tremain’s past, a past he had tried to keep secret, of how he had been captured and held as a slave in North Africa. She had been totally ignorant of this dark past a year ago when she had agreed to a betrothal between him and Roberta. Had it been made known to her then, she would never have given her consent.
Since that day he had become a malignant presence in her mind—a man tainted by what had been done to him, frightful, barbarous things she could not begin to imagine and had no wish to, since to do so was utterly repellent to her. No man could emerge from eight years of slavery in North Africa and not be affected by it. From the moment she had learned of his past, even though it was not of his doing, she had decided that should he return and try to resume his betrothal to Roberta, she would not allow it. The thought of someone as naive and gentle as Roberta being joined in matrimony to such a man was inconceivable. Besides, his pedigree was way below that of Viscount Pemberton.
She assessed this new situation and chose her strategy on the instant. This dramatic and what could have been a very public invasion of the evening’s event displayed that supreme arrogance only achieved through the acquisition of power. Her instincts warned her that she was under threat, but she could not, must not, allow herself to be disadvantaged on her own territory and within sight and hearing of her guests. At all costs her machinations to remove Roberta from her association with Ewen Tremain must be prevented from raising its dangerous head before so many witnesses waiting to receive the latest society scandal.
When she had ended her visit to Paris with Roberta and returned to promenade her in London society in search of a worthier suitor, she had avoided any association with the lower-ranked gentlemen as one might avoid physical contact with the plague. It was fortunate that as soon as he laid eyes on Roberta, Viscount Pemberton was completely enamoured—a sure sign that Providence was supporting her ambition for her niece. Indeed, Lady Marchington was prepared to concede that Fate’s method of bringing Roberta within proposing distance of the Viscount was more ingenious than anything she might have engineered. And now here was Lord Tremain, in London from wherever he had spent the last twelve months since he had left, ready to take up where he had left off.
Her face was hostile, her heart cold as she faced Ewen Tremain. ‘Surely, sir, you are a little late in the day showing your face?’
‘You are perfectly correct, Countess.’ Lord Tremain’s voice was clipped. ‘I was obliged to delay my return for family reasons. I must ask you to excuse me, but you must remember, at the same time, that it does not interfere with my betrothal to your niece.’
‘You are mistaken. There was nothing in writing. You have no claim on my niece—no claim at all. How dare you force your way into my home! And why are you here—in Miss Frobisher’s bedchamber? It is most inappropriate.’
Lord Tremain glanced at the young woman clutching her robe about her person. Frobisher! The name seemed familiar, but he could not place it just then. ‘I apologise for any embarrassment I may have caused. It was not my intention. I imagine Miss Frobisher will explain how I come to be here later. I wrote informing you I would be back next month. However, as things turned out, I found I was able to return sooner—and just in time, it would seem. I believe the festivities taking place as we speak are to celebrate the betrothal of Roberta to Viscount Pemberton.’
‘Roberta is no longer betrothed to you, Lord Tremain. You are correct. Tonight she has become betrothed to Viscount Pemberton, the Earl of Winterworth’s eldest son.’
Ewen’s lips formed a grim smile. ‘I see you have been busy in my absence, Lady Marchington. I expected to be treated with all the welcome of a rabid dog. You do not disappoint me.’
‘Then I have achieved something after all. I did not expect you to come here.’
His mildly amused smile did not waver as his gaze settled on the face of the woman whom he considered had tricked him. ‘And why is that? You must have known I would not stay away forever.’
‘The longer you stayed away, the more I hoped you would. My trust in you was misplaced.’
Alice stepped into the shadows to observe the bitter altercation between these two, her eyes drawn more and more to Lord Tremain. The candlelight touched on his face and for a split second she was halted by the cold, stark features. He was Satan to her. Handsome. Ruthless. Evil? She had no way of knowing, but at that moment she had an overwhelming desire to flee the room and leave them alone.