Lovers in London (5 page)

Because they were so persistent and made such a fuss, he had announced firmly to them that he had no intention of marrying at all.

“I like being a bachelor,” he told them to their dismay, “and wish to remain one.”

As far as he was concerned, if he died without an heir, there were quite a number of his relatives who could easily take his place at the head of the family.

Of course his decision to remain single was known to a far wider public than just his close family.

Everything he did was always spectacular and he would have been inhuman if he had not, to a certain extent, found such attention to be amusing.

He had only to appear at any race meeting for the crowd to shout,

“Rake! Rake! Rake!”

“Good luck and God bless you!”

“May your horse win!”

They would shout a thousand more such greetings at him until he was out of sight.

His horses almost invariably won, which made him extremely popular, except with the bookmakers.

His carriages, like the colours worn by his jockeys, were painted bright yellow and this distinction only added to the glamour surrounding him.

Considering his fine looks combined with what was described as ‘an irresistible charm,' it was not surprising that women had only to look at him to decide that they were in love.

As the Marquis had no wish to be married, he was wise enough to keep away from
debutantes
and he avoided like the plague the many plots set for unwary bachelors by ambitious Society mothers.

It had given him a sharp warning when a friend of his, Lord Worcester, was forced into marriage with a girl he had merely talked to alone in the garden of a country house while he was enjoying a surreptitious cigarette that was not permitted inside.

The girl's mother had said that her reputation was ruined because she had been found alone with him un­chaperoned.

She had persuaded the Prince of Wales to tell Lord Worcester he must behave like a gentleman and marry her daughter.

This story spread very quickly around all the Clubs in St. James's and it was a red warning to all bachelors who had no wish to be dragged to the altar.

The Marquis had listened to the jokes made at poor Worcester's expense and his fate had merely strengthened his resolve never to be married and to continue to ‘play the field'.

However he was wise enough to be wary of jealous husbands.

The Prince of Wales had set a new fashion when he found himself infatuated with an actress who had become his mistress and was at the same time accepted by Society.

Attitudes had certainly changed considerably and it was Lillie Langtry, with her exquisitely beautiful face and lovely eyes, who was responsible for this Social revolution.

The Prince of Wales escorted Lillie, nicknamed the ‘
Jersey Lily
', everywhere, insisting that she should be invited to every house where he stayed and every party he attended.

As heir to the throne it was just impossible for the Social world to refuse him.

Only a number of the older Dowagers were deeply shocked at what they considered to be a new immorality that would never have been accepted even ten years ago.

In their day a gentleman might keep a mistress, but such a practice was spoken of with bated breath behind closed doors.

There had been no question of a mistress being seen with her protector outside of the house he provided for her in Chelsea or St. John's Wood. There were, of course, select restaurants and nightclubs where he could take her without meeting anyone from his own background, but in Society it would have been considered a scandal.

But the Prince of Wales himself had opened the floodgates to something new and very different, quickly copied by his friends and those who liked to think they were in his ‘Marlborough House set'.

It was no longer the sole prerogative of gentlemen to take lovers either. This new morality meant that once an heir – and preferably an extra son – had been legitimately provided, a number of husbands were also expected to close their eyes to the way their wives were misbehaving.

Some cuckolded husbands went shooting or fishing in other parts of the country, refusing to believe anything untoward was happening. The majority skulked in their Clubs, whiling away the afternoon until it was time to return home.

These deceptions were greatly helped by the fact that at teatime a husband was not expected to intrude into his wife's boudoir. Left alone to entertain as she saw fit, men were only welcomed home when it was time to change for dinner.

The Marquis, of course, took full advantage of this state of affairs, but all the same there were exceptions to the rule.

The Marquis was told by a dozen of his friends to steer clear of the Contessa de Vallecas.

He recognised that this was excellent advice, but the Contessa, certainly had different intentions and she made that very clear to him. Inez, which was her name, made that very clear to him.

From the moment the Marquis had first touched her hand he sensed that she wished to see more of him.

Since then they had met at several fashionable dinner parties and had one dance at a fashionable ball.

The Marquis had been aware as he put his arms around her thin sinuous body that she desired to grow closer to him, which she told him, without words, he would find most enjoyable.

He had to admit that her beauty stood out.

Her thick glossy hair was so dark it had blue lights in it and her brilliant green eyes made most English women look insipid.

Her skin was white as marble.

Every word she spoke and every movement of her hands and body were provocative.

She was undoubtedly a major challenge and a challenge was something the Marquis had always found hard to resist.

Last night at Marlborough House he had known as he looked at her across the dining room table that she was sending him a message with her eyes.

There was dancing after dinner and he deliberately waited until he had danced with the Prince of Wales's wife, Princess Alexandra, and one or two other beautiful ladies before he approached the Contessa.

By that time it was getting late and she told him in a low voice that her husband wished to leave.

“Tomorrow he has to attend an appointment outside London,” she whispered, “and I thought perhaps, my Lord, that you would like to take tea with me at four o'clock. We are staying at
The Langham
.”

“I never drink tea,” replied the Marquis.

“Nor do I,” the Contessa answered coquettishly.

She looked up at him laughing and then she said,

“I will offer you something
very
different.”

“Something new, Contessa? I think that is rather unlikely.”

Her green eyes seemed to almost gleam at him as a tigress's might have done.

Then she replied,

“I promise you will find something very different in room 200!”

He felt it was impossible to refuse this fascinating invitation so he nodded,

“Very well,
Excelentisima Señora
, I will be there.”

He deliberately used the Spanish manner in which she was usually addressed by her inferiors and because she understood that he was teasing her, she merely laughed.

“Your Lordship is too kind and it would be such a pity for you to be disappointed.”

“A great pity,” agreed the Marquis.

He turned away from her just as the Conté, who had been talking to the Prince of Wales, came to her side.

He was a dark man, a little taller than most Spaniards and good-looking in his own way, but he had a kind of ferociousness about him that made people feel he was more like a savage animal.

One that could easily get out of control.

Bowing curtly the Conté greeted the Marquis and moved to lead his wife away.

Although there was no fault in his manners, the Marquis thought the suspicious way the Conté looked at him was almost insulting.

In return the Marquis merely bowed formally to the Contessa, gave her husband a brief nod and walked away.

*

The following morning the Marquis remembered that he had promised to visit the Contessa.

He thought that if he was sensible it was something he should not do, but equally she had challenged him and it was against his nature not to accept a challenge.

The Marquis was naturally astute enough to check that as she had said, the Conté was actually going to the country. The last thing he needed was to bump into the brooding Spaniard again.

Not wishing to ignite gossip about himself and the Contessa, he casually dropped in to see a friend who he knew was trying to interest the Conté in a new machinery development that could be of great advantage to the Spaniards.

Upon discovering that the Conté had already left London, the Marquis sent a hasty message to the Contessa accepting her kind invitation and drove to where he was having luncheon.

This was with an extremely attractive lady who had held his attention for nearly three months.

He had, however, admitted to himself several nights ago that, as far as he was concerned, their
affaire-de-coeur
had come to an end.

As usual he had become bored, but sadly the object of his affection was even more eager to keep him at her side than she had been in the first place.

The breaking off period was always unpleasant, but because she had arranged this luncheon party especially for him, the Marquis had felt obliged to attend, as it would have been too unkind not to do so.

The beauty in question was fair, blue-eyed, very English and undoubtedly most attractive.

Yet all through luncheon, despite the best attentions of six of his most intimate friends, the Marquis kept visualising the dark hair of the Contessa.

The glint of fire in her green eyes was completely unforgettable.

Because the party was so amusing, the conversation witty and the food and drink excellent, no one wished to leave.

Only the Marquis became aware that after a while his hostess was longing to be rid of her other guests, as she wanted to be alone with him.

It was the one confrontation he wished to avoid, but no one made a move to leave.

It was half past three when he rose to his feet and there was a little cry of resentment when he did so.

“You are not leaving us so soon, Rake?” asked the beauty he had found so attractive three months ago.

“I am afraid I have to go,” he replied. “I do have an appointment at precisely four o'clock this afternoon and I must not be late.”

She now looked at him reproachfully and with what he knew was also a look of despair.

He was very conscious that she was counting on this moment for them to be alone and she was obviously thinking that she could make him as ardent in his pursuit of her as he had been last February.

“Forgive me,” said the Marquis as he took her hand in his. “I am very grateful to you for all your kindness.”

For a second her fingers clung to his.

She knew he was saying goodbye and she wanted to throw herself on her knees and beg him not to go.

Just for one second they looked into each other's eyes and then the Marquis moved away towards the door.

Outside, as he stepped into his chaise and picked up the reins, he knew he had escaped lightly. He was afraid of tears and recriminations and the inevitable question,

“What have I done to lose your love?”

He had heard those words so often.

Yet he had never intended to hurt any woman, let alone one who had given him her heart. He thought of himself as a kind man and definitely an honourable one.

It was just that inevitably he found, after quite a short time, the women he chose bored him.

It was something he had fought against, something he told himself he was not feeling – yet he did.

He could never explain to himself why, when they had all seemed wildly attractive, desirable and passionately exciting, they could suddenly become so banal.

He knew before they spoke what they were going to say and that knowledge, he reasoned, was the real reason why they bored him.

It was impossible for him to pretend that he was not bored when he was.

Now as he drove his chaise away from the house he had visited so often, he realised that he would never go back and there was nothing he could do to make the parting less poignant than it had been.

Then as he turned his horses down Bond Street, he felt that inevitable sparkle of excitement coursing through his veins.

He was chasing something new, something thrilling that was entirely different.

It was a sensation he always felt at the beginning of an
affaire-de-coeur
, only to find far too quickly and before he was even ready for it that the chase was over.

He had known last night that the few words he had spoken to the Contessa had ignited a little fire inside him.

She had told him that there was something sensational for him to uncover, which would be different from anything he had known before.

He could not imagine what it could be, but there was always a chance it would be fantastic.

He was not certain what he was looking for or what he desired and yet he was drawn, as if by a magnet, to the temptress with green eyes who was waiting for him.

When he reached
The Langham
, he drew his horses up outside the front entrance and as he handed his reins over to the hotel groom, he ordered,

“Come back in an hour and a half.”

“Very good, my Lord.”

The Marquis stepped out of his chaise and walked up the steps into the marble hall with enormous palm trees in each corner.

Several guests were enjoying early tea and because he knew the way, he walked past them.

Instead of taking the lift he decided to walk up the stairs. He knew the hotel well and was a frequent visitor.

None of the servants in attendance bothered to ask him what he wanted or who he wished to visit.