Nicola Cornick (31 page)

She was formidably ranked by the Dowager Countess of Stansfield on one side and the ubiquitous Christopher Westwood on the other, whom James was beginning to detest. In lilac silk Alicia looked at once impossibly exquisite and fragile, and her expression as she greeted him was serene and remote. James tried to place her mood but was unable to read anything beneath the surface. Already in an advanced state of irritation and frustration, he had to subdue a violent urge to take her in his arms there and then and kiss her out of her Society calm. Could this ice maiden be the same Alicia who had responded to him with such searing intensity only two weeks before? It seemed impossible. Wishing that he could regain his own lost equilibrium, James took her hand.

‘You had my note, I hope,’ he said, with a polite formality he hoped would mask his true feelings.

‘Yes, thank you, my lord. And the flowers were beautiful.’ There was no animation in Alicia’s voice at all. She could match his own courtesy effortlessly. A faint, distant smile touched her mouth, but left her eyes blank.

James gritted his teeth. He considered—and reluctantly rejected—a very real desire to pick her up and carry her out of the ballroom to somewhere more private where he could dispense with the tiresome business of trying to tell her how he felt by simply proving it in other
ways. Something of how he was feeling must have shown in his eyes, for he had the satisfaction of seeing Alicia recognise his expression and withdraw her hand from his rather hastily.

The queue was buckling behind them. ‘I look forward to a dance later, Lady Carberry,’ James said with the same smooth courtesy, and turned to greet Lady Stansfield, who had been flirting with his grandfather. She gave him a very quizzical look indeed, but fortunately made no comment. Alicia and Westwood moved away, he holding her arm in a proprietorial grip which made James want to hit him.

The reception of the guests was almost over when Lady Corinna Dawe arrived. Exotic in clinging yellow gauze, she had certainly dampened her dress to make it even more transparent, and appeared to be wearing absolutely nothing underneath it. She greeted James with confident aplomb as though their quarrel had never occurred, and looked him over with a distinctly seductive glint in her melting dark eyes. She clung to his arm, then reached up to kiss him lingeringly, smiling with satisfaction as she caught Alicia’s eye across the ballroom.

‘I see Lady Carberry has chosen your ball as her first social engagement since becoming betrothed,’ Lady Corinna observed, with an artificial tinkle of laughter. ‘How absolutely charming of her, and such a good way to refute any rumours linking the two of you together!’

Not a muscle moved in James’s face. ‘Just so,’ he said calmly. ‘Westwood is fortunate indeed. But is it yet an official engagement, or do you expect an announcement tonight?’

Lady Corinna shot him a sharp glance, but James’s face was impassive. For a moment she had the frightening feeling that he had seen through her words for the fabrication they were, for he was not really reacting in the way she had hoped, either by showing any chagrin or turning his attentions to her instead. She gave a light, petulant shrug, provoked by James’s very lack of reaction into taking matters further.

‘As to that, I only know that the happy couple are to be congratulated,’ she continued mendaciously. ‘I hear that Lady Stansfield is
aux anges
at having achieved a family alliance!’ And so saying she tripped away, pleased to have had the chance at least to plant her barbs.

James turned to watch Alicia, conscious of his exasperation growing with every moment. Alicia’s usual coterie of admirers had gathered effortlessly about her and she was shimmering among them like a pale flame. It was an accomplished performance and James found it grated on him. Westwood clung to her like a burr and she did not appear to mind at all. Could it be true? he wondered suddenly. He was not such
a fool as to fall for Lady Corinna’s spiteful needling, but Caroline had mentioned a little while ago that Westwood had made Alicia an offer. He looked at her again, as though he would be able to divine the truth simply from watching her. Surely Alicia could not simply disregard the affinity between them and tie herself to a man of Westwood’s stamp? James could not believe it; but equally he could not quite ignore that nagging doubt. A feeling akin to rage rose in him as he considered Christopher Westwood’s smugly satisfied expression.

Leaving some very late arrivals stranded, James abandoned the receiving line and cut a path through the throng to Alicia’s side. He knew it was not the time or place for a serious discussion, but at least he could try to establish some sort of contact. It was like a repeat of the scene in Mrs Bingley’s ballroom—all conversation in the vicinity ceased as he reached her side.

‘May I beg the honour of a dance with you, Lady Carberry?’ James asked, smiling down at her.

Alicia’s green eyes opened very wide. She plied her fan in a quick, nervous gesture. ‘I am so sorry, Lord Mullineaux—’ she even sounded nervous ‘—but all my dances are already spoken for.’

She saw the flash of real anger in his eyes before he bowed abruptly and turned on his heel to walk away. Her heart, which had been hovering in the vicinity of her feet, sank even further.

If James was suffering agonies of frustration, Alicia was feeling even more miserable. Her fortnight’s illness had given her too much time to think. At first convinced that James had made love to her to teach her a humiliating lesson, then that he had proposed out of chivalry, she had been completely dumbfounded by his parting shot that night. She considered herself to be an independent lady, but she was aware that she could not simply ask him to confirm if he was in love with her. For two weeks she had agonised over whether it was really possible and she shuddered to imagine her embarrassment if she had misunderstood him. Besides, he had had plenty of time to change his mind. Earlier that evening, after all, she had seen him with Lady Corinna hanging on his arm again in apparent possession.

She turned her head to meet with the unappetising sight of Lady Corinna and James dancing the boulanger together with every appearance of enjoyment. Pain sliced through her and she damned herself for a complete fool. Even if James had been sincere, he hardly had a reputation for fidelity. In utter confusion, she wondered what she could have been thinking of, to consider committing herself to such a man.
If she felt miserable now, it was nothing to the grief she would feel were she to lose him to another woman after they had married.

Christopher Westwood was pressing her to dance again. Alicia turned listlessly to him and allowed him to lead her out onto the floor. She could smile and chat and dance, but she felt as though all life and light had finally gone out of her, and it was a pale ghost of herself that was left in the Cardace ballroom.

It seemed as though the gods were finally smiling on James, for just after supper he went back into the ballroom and found Alicia waiting for her partner for the cotillion by the French windows, temporarily alone. He took his chance quickly, catching her arm and pulling her out onto the terrace before she even had time to realise what was happening.

‘Disgraceful conduct!’ observed Mrs Eddington-Buck, watching their departure with avid eyes. She turned to her companion, her turban wagging. ‘A scandalous example to set, do you not agree? But then, I fear they are lost to all sense of propriety, those two!’

Once outside, James did not speak, but ushered Alicia back inside the garden door to his grandfather’s study, which he had thoughtfully left open for just such an eventuality. That he succeeded at all was mainly down to Alicia’s stupefaction at the manoeuvre which had rendered her temporarily speechless, but by the time they were in the study shock had been replaced by outrage and James kept hold of her arm, correctly surmising from her look of fury that she would run away if he let go. Now that he finally had her to himself he fully intended to have his say.

Alicia was furiously angry, both annoyed and nervous to find herself outmanoeuvred by his high-handed behaviour. One touch of his hand had been enough to awaken all the feelings that had tormented her since that fevered night in her drawing-room, and it just made her more distressed. She drew breath for a blistering attack. It was the only way she could think of to protect herself.

‘Lord Mullineaux, what is the meaning of this? Let me go at once!’

James ignored the request. ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘Well, I do not want to talk to you! We have nothing further to say to each other!’

James realised that Alicia was afraid, but his own emotions were by now in such a state of pent-up turmoil that he was incapable of defusing the situation. He had intended only to tell her that he needed the op
portunity to speak to her properly. What he actually said came out quite differently.

‘I think that there is plenty to say! For example, what is the nature of the relationship between yourself and Christopher Westwood?’

Alicia wrenched her arm from his grip. Far from the protestations of love and devotion she might secretly have hoped for, he was actually daring to interrogate her! She remembered the way in which Lady Corinna had draped herself all over him and felt a wave of defiance overtake her. He took too much for granted, behaving as he chose and yet expecting her to act like some poor creature whose happiness depended on his notice!

‘If you must know, sir—not that I consider it to be
any
of your business—Christopher and I are betrothed.’

James went cold with shock. Regardless of what Lady Corinna had said, he had not really believed that she would do such a thing, either to spite him or to escape from him. He felt all his good intentions for reconciliation slip away as the situation slid irretrievably into all-out war.

‘Indeed, madam? And is Mr Westwood aware that I consider you to have made a prior commitment to myself?’ he asked, with cold menace.

Alicia’s shocked gaze searched his face. ‘You are mistaken, sir. There never was such an engagement.’

James gave her a look which brought the blood rushing into her face.

‘I am sure,’ he said with slow deliberation, ‘that your…betrothed…would be glad to know of the circumstances under which I proposed to you!’

The colour left Alicia’s face as quickly as it had come. ‘You would not dare!’

‘Would I not?’ Even James could hear the insulting drawl in his own tones. It was as though one part of him, icy cold, was watching the other half make quite the most unforgivable mess of his whole life and was incapable of intervening. ‘I assure you, my dear, that if that was what it took to get you to marry me I should not even hesitate!’

‘And you may be assured, sir,’ Alicia said with a cold magnificence that brought to mind her Stansfield forebears, ‘that hell will freeze over before I ever accept your hand in marriage! You have clearly misplaced the manners of a gentleman during your sojourn abroad—that is if you ever had them.’

She turned on her heel with a whisper of lilac silk and James did not even try to stop her. The study door closed behind her with a soft click
which sounded to James very loud and very final. A moment later he heard Alicia’s voice in the corridor outside, speaking in low, impassioned tones, and Lady Stansfield’s quiet response, then there was silence.

James reached automatically for the brandy decanter and noticed with the same detached interest that his hand was shaking. He could not even begin to analyse how he had managed to mishandle the situation so disastrously, for his senses seemed mercifully numbed except for a wholly understandable inclination towards violence. It would have given him great satisfaction to smash the brandy glass in the fireplace, but as it was one of his grandfather’s finest pieces of crystal he managed to restrain himself. The dispassionate observer in his mind chose that moment to point out with sickening clarity that it was very unlikely that Alicia would ever speak to him again. Clarity was not something that he wished for at all, so he settled down with the brandy decanter and prepared to get seriously drunk for the first time since his salad days.

Several glasses of brandy later, matters had not improved at all. Marcus Kilgaren, coming in search of him, found James with an empty glass dangling from his long fingers and an expression of almost murderous intent on his face as he contemplated the things he would like to do to Christopher Westwood. Marcus, quick to define the cause, was not sympathetic.

‘Devil take it, James, you really have made a deuced mess of this whole situation!’ Marcus moved the brandy decanter beyond James’s reach, and fixed him with a severe frown. ‘You may come out now, for Lady Stansfield has retired from the ball with a sick headache, taking Alicia with her. It didn’t exactly require Dr Johnson to tell which of them really was feeling sick—I’ve seldom seen Alicia looking so bad! Anyway, I am sent by your grandfather to recall you to a sense of duty!’

He took his friend’s unresisting arm. ‘Come along, you might as well go to the card-room. You know you play your best piquet when you are half cut!’

Deverson knew better than to disturb his master so early in the morning, particularly when he had had a heavy night. Or, he corrected himself morosely, a series of heavy nights. First there had been the Cardace ball, which had apparently had some kind of transforming effect on the Marquis. Gone was the fair and considerate master he was used to, to be replaced by an ill-tempered, impatient gentleman frequently the
worse for drink. To be fair, James had not vented his bad moods on Deverson, but merely being in the same house with him was uncomfortable. Two nights of heavy drinking and heavier losses had followed the ball, and Deverson knew that his master would not appreciate being disturbed from his much needed rest.