Undesirable Liaison (19 page)

His attention
was on the quill between his fingers. There was an uncharacteristic
hesitancy as he spoke.

‘It is—a trifle
difficult—after what passed, to seem to be criticising you, but
what is this I hear about Belinda?’

‘Then the
dowager did speak to you,’ exclaimed Flo, thrown out of her
stride.

‘I had not
anticipated your duties would be arduous,’ he continued, fluent now
in growing sarcasm, ‘but it seems they are excessive, if you have
seen fit to shuffle off your responsibilities onto a girl of
fifteen.’

A surge of
indignation brought Florence to her feet. ‘Shuffle off? You will
not pretend those are your mother’s words, I hope? It is nothing of
the sort.’

The brown eyes
regarded her enigmatically. ‘Perhaps you would care to explain to
me then just how it is.’

Flo flung away
from the desk, forgetting her correct status. ‘I had no thought of
bringing Belinda into the equation at all.’

‘Then why did
you?’

‘I didn’t! It
was the veriest accident.’

‘How so?’

She swung back
on him. ‘I will tell you, if you will give me a chance!’

Jerome fell
silent, watching her. After a moment, the fire died out of her eyes
and she moderated her tone.

‘The case is
Belinda came upon us while we were out walking.’ A conscious look
intrigued him, and he could not resist pricking at her.

‘You look
guilty, Florence.’

Flo shot him an
irate glance, but it would not do. He had gauged her too
accurately.

‘If you insist
upon knowing the whole, she was chasing a cat and fell through the
hedge right in our path. Your mother found it excessively
funny.’

Jerome could
not withhold an appreciative grin. ‘I am scarcely surprised.’ He
amended this. ‘At least, now I think of it, I am surprised. Humour
is rare in her.’

‘That is what I
thought,’ agreed Flo. ‘In five minutes, Belinda managed to amuse
her, where I had not done so in the best part of a week.’

He made no
comment, and she turned away, crossing to the nearer window. It was
difficult to confess her failure, but it was better out. Perhaps
then he really would dismiss her.

‘I have not had
much success with Lady Langriville, I’m afraid.’ Then, on a rueful
note, ‘She finds Bel far more congenial.’

‘Yes, she said
she thought you very different. Not much like sisters.’

She turned and
her startled look alerted Jerome. He had not meant to mention that.
There was a moment of silence—intense. Quick suspicion leapt into
his mind. If there was nothing to it, why no instant response?

‘You
are
sisters, aren’t you?’

Flo’s tongue
had cleaved to the roof of her mouth, and her pulse, having skipped
several beats, was fluttering uncomfortably. She willed herself to
answer.

‘Naturally we
are sisters. What a nonsensical question!’

‘Is it?’

Florence began
to babble. ‘Merely because Lady Langriville said she would prefer
Bel to me for her companion is no reason—’

‘She said
that?’ interrupted Jerome, abruptly annoyed.

‘Outright.’ Flo
swallowed down a rush of protestation. Least said, for the love of
heaven! ‘Naturally I said it was impossible.’

‘Quite so.’ His
tone was a snap. ‘But you did let Belinda spend time with her.’

Florence tried
not to sound defeated. ‘It seemed churlish to prevent it.
Especially when it was the only thing that had cheered her
ladyship.’

A sigh escaped
her, and the hurrying of her heartbeat steadied a little. She had
averted that threatening disaster—for the present. She tried for a
note more fitted to an employee.

‘If you are
displeased, sir, I cannot blame you. I promise you I have felt
useless enough to be ready to seek another post, for all the good I
am doing. Only Bel would have to come with me, and now her ladyship
derives so much pleasure in her company, I would feel it unkind to
deprive her of it. But it is not true to aver I gave over my
responsibilities to Belinda,’ she added, rallying and coming back
towards the desk. ‘I said Belinda must continue with her studies—it
was the dowager’s notion to assist with them, not mine—and I kept
the visits strictly to two or three hours in the afternoon.’

His expression
gave nothing away, but at this he frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Why? What do
you mean, why? Because I am employed here, not Bel. Because Belinda
is too young to be relied upon. Because it will not do for her to
be allowed to suppose she has a special status in this house.
Heavens, for any number of reasons, which I should have thought
must be obvious to a man of intelligence!’

Jerome bowed an
ironic head. ‘I thank you. Your opinion of my mental capacity is
noted.’

‘Oh, don’t be
nonsensical,’ snapped Florence. ‘You know very well I did not mean
to suggest any such thing.’

A faint smile
showed in his eyes. ‘I wish you will sit down again. You are making
me nervous.’

She laughed out
at that, and moved around the desk, much to his relief. She was
making him amorous rather than nervous, in truth. Her distress at
failing to engage his mother’s good will was evident. It angered
him for her sake, and Jerome had to withstand an urgent wish to
comfort her—in a way that must prove disastrous. To confine her to
the chair with the desk between was the only sure measure of
safety.

‘Can’t you find
ways to induce my mother to accept you?’ he asked, when she was
ensconced out of his reach.

‘I don’t know
how,’ said Flo, trying not to feel aggrieved. ‘I can hardly foist
my attentions upon her, when all is said and done.’

‘You could
spend more time with her, I imagine. How much time do you spend
with her?’

She thought
about it. ‘I am with her in the mornings, and we invariably go out
for a short walk. After luncheon, I bring Belinda to her.’

‘You take
luncheon with her?’

‘No, with
Belinda.’ Florence frowned at him. ‘Should I do so? I don’t want
Bel to feel neglected, though.’

Jerome looked
away. He ought not to suggest it. Command it? It would be both a
curse and a pleasure—for him. But for his mother’s sake, it made
sense. He drew breath and turned back, meeting her gaze.

‘You had best
make it dinner.’

A wary
expression came into her eyes. ‘Dinner?’

‘Yes, dinner,’
he uttered in a curt fashion that in no way expressed his feelings.
‘You ought to dine with—the family. You are my mother’s companion,
after all. Indeed, I questioned why you were not dining with us
yesterday.’

Flo gazed at
him, beset by bewilderment. ‘You are saying I must dine with you?’
A flood of relief assailed her. ‘I thought you meant to dismiss
me.’

His response
was swift. ‘Yes, so I did, but how could I?’

Her glance
locked with the deep-set brown eyes, and within them, she read the
urge that had driven him yesterday to seize her mouth. An answering
urge ran through her, and she knew he saw it.

Florence could
not move. Neither did he. It was as if a stillness descended,
charging the very air with what lay between them. All the rest
became nothing. This only was real. Dangerously real.

The sick dread
rose up in her, and she wrenched her gaze away, throwing herself up
and heading for the door. She heard the scrape of a chair and his
footsteps, and hastened to reach it before he could stop her. But
when she got there, he was standing in her way, one hand flat
against the door so it would not open.

‘Not this
time!’

He sounded
furious, and Flo backed away. ‘Let me by, if you please.’

Instead, he
reached for her, strong fingers digging into her shoulders. ‘Will
you run away again? Is that all you ever do, run away? Florence,
listen to me!’

She threw her
hands over her face. ‘I dare not.’

‘Look at me,
for God’s sake!’

She shook her
head, too afraid of the power of his eyes. But releasing her
shoulders, he seized instead her wrists and pulled her hands away.
Flo kept her eyes tight shut.

‘You are the
most obstinate woman I have ever met,’ he told her roughly. ‘I’m
not going to touch you.’

‘Then release
me!’

To her mingled
surprise and disappointment, he did let her go. Florence’s lids
lifted, and she raised her eyes to find his features immediately
before her. The strong jaw line was tight and the long nose gave
him a taut look. There was hunger in the deep-set brown eyes, and a
gruff note sounded in his voice.

‘I can’t kiss
you again, because I couldn’t stop there. I meant to send you away.
I never intended to speak of this. But my intentions are at war
with my desires, Florence.’ There was a slight pause. Then, on a
note of anguish, ‘This cannot go on! What is to be done?’

***

It was a living
nightmare to be obliged to dine in his presence. To know, to have
heard him speak the truth, and yet to come to this enforced
pretence. Florence had had no satisfactory answer for him. She had
shaken her head.

‘Nothing, my lord.
There is nothing to be done.’

For a moment he had
kept her there, imprisoned by the fever in the dark eyes. Then he
had stood aside, throwing open the door. Flo had managed not to
run, but she had been obliged to make her way swiftly to her
bedchamber, there to sit in trembling despair, longing for the
courage to leave him.

She had dragged herself
up at last, for her duties could not be neglected. The dowager
looked a trifle petulant when Flo arrived in the parlour and
resumed her place without comment. She had certainly expected to be
rid of her companion.

Somehow Flo got through
luncheon, allowing Belinda to chatter unchecked, and grateful she
was herself able to maintain an appearance of normality. A respite
came when she left her sister with the dowager.

Walking between the
high hedging in the walled garden, she thought and thought about
the interview with Jerome. It was strange to think of him thus, and
yet not strange at all. After what had passed between them, his
rank and status were alike no sort of barrier. But barrier there
was.

She was no fool. Not in
a peck at a daydream would she think of a bridal. She had grown up
knowing that particular destiny could never be hers, and nothing
had changed. If anything, she would be offered a
carte
blanche
. Become his mistress? Heaven send she had strength
enough to resist that fate! What did she not know of such a life?
Ironic to have escaped her cousin only to fall victim to another.
More than irony, if Lord Langriville, who had lost his wife to a
career as a courtesan, should in his turn ruin a respectable female
and leave her fit for nothing else. No, she had not yet come to
that.

But she could no longer
hide from the inescapable truth. If she did not remove herself from
his vicinity, her will was as vulnerable as his. It was tempting
fate to stay. A hateful fate to go.

Almost she had
forgotten his decree that she dine with Lord Langriville and his
mother. But a reminder was issued via Mrs Brumby and Flo dared not
ignore it. In no little trepidation, she dressed in her taminy
chemise gown, one of the few she had fashioned for evening wear.
Its folds leant her modesty, despite the V-shaped neckline, and the
fawn colouring was appropriately subdued. Entering the dining
parlour on the given hour, she saw, to her instant relief, no trace
in his lordship’s demeanour of their earlier conversation. Indeed,
although he rose while she took her seat, he merely nodded a
greeting and thereafter held his gaze upon his food.

Not so the Dowager Lady
Langriville. She stared with a look of bewilderment, first at
Florence, next at her son. Her eyes followed the spoon as it
travelled to Flo’s mouth, as though she resented her eating. No
word came from his lordship, despite a number of questioning looks
in his direction. The dowager said nothing, and at last turned her
attention to her own bowl of a sustaining green pottage.

Florence was sorry for
it, since it gave her immediate leisure to take notice of Jerome at
the head of the table. He looked pale. Or was it the candlelight?
If so, it also made the cast of his features more severe. Blood
flittered through her veins. To conceal the sudden quiver of her
fingers, she reached for the glass into which Fewston had poured
wine, and sipped at it. Over the rim, her eyes secretly sought
him—and caught him looking at her. Flo almost choked on the
wine.

She set down the glass,
and discovered her bowl had been removed. In its place was a plate
upon which Fewston’s hand was laying a round of meat. She picked up
her knife and fork. They clattered on the plate, and she silently
cursed the uncontrolled motion of her fingers.

She had drawn the
dowager’s glance, and had to look down for fear of giving herself
away. She placed a morsel of meat in her mouth and chewed without
having any notion whether she was eating pork or beef. It stuck in
her throat and she was obliged to take another sip of wine.

She could feel his
eyes! She dared to look. Lady Langriville’s attention had shifted,
and Jerome’s gaze was upon his plate—apparently. Only Flo knew it
was not. Several yards of white cloth laid upon the hard wood of
the table separated her from him. Yet her awareness of his need for
her grew every second.

A flush spread across
her skin, making her feel hot. She poked at French beans that had
appeared beside the meat upon her plate, longing for dinner to be
over. And yet, a stronger longing beset her, and for the life of
her Florence could not avoid glancing at Jerome. A mistake, for she
caught a hiss in his breath and knew he was aware of the sensations
she was experiencing.

The silence grew
oppressive. There had been almost no exchanges among the three of
them. It was too late now. Flo chided herself for not introducing
some topic of conversation earlier. At this present, she was devoid
of all inspiration. Nor could she trust her voice had she been able
to think of anything to say. She began to feel as if she was living
through a tortured dream.