Midsummer Eve at Rookery End (5 page)

“Charley,” he growled, “I intend to speak to Deborah this evening, with or without your consent. Stand aside or I’ll be forced to throw you over my shoulder and deposit you – albeit gently – in Lady Allingham’s ornamental lake.”

She goggled at her antagonist. “Brute!”

“Quite possibly, but I am determined,” said Sir Benedict, arms folded across his chest. “What is it to be? Am I to carry you off to the lake or will you allow me to pass unheeded?”

Miss Tonbridge glared at him. Her desire to protect Deborah battled with the realisation that in practical terms she could do little to stop Sir Benedict entering the conservatory. It would be like re-enacting David against Goliath, and she had no sling and stone to hand. She only had her reticule and, if she were lucky, a well aimed kick. Neither seemed likely to impede his progress, given Sir Benedict’s impressive physique. A temporary retreat might be more politic when faced with six foot two inches of unflinching male resolve. Her decision made, her lashes fluttered downwards in a submissive gesture.

“Very wise, Miss Tonbridge,” he murmured in a silky voice. “Give me half an hour with your precious lamb. I promise to be a gentleman, but even if I were not, Deborah is no milk and water miss – she can easily scythe me down with her sharp tongue. And if that fails,” he added drily, “she can always scream for help.”

As he strode towards the glass-paned door, Charlotte cried to his retreating figure, “If you make Deb shed further tears, I will think you the most dastardly creature alive, Sir Benedict Catesby!”

He made no reply as he entered the conservatory.

Deborah jumped when she heard the door creak. She had been enjoying the humid, sweet-smelling air, the silence broken only by the hooting of an owl drifting in through the door that opened onto the garden.

The conservatory housed a magnificent display of plants – roses, lilies, citrus trees, numerous brightly coloured geraniums and delicate ferns – and was built along gothic lines. Arched windows rose up to a vaulted glass roof, through which Deborah could see pinpricks of starlight. Footsteps on the tiled floor announced someone’s approach and she wondered if Charley had returned unexpectedly.

Sweeping aside the fronds of a climbing vine to investigate, she cannoned into a broad masculine chest. Firm hands shot out and grasped the top of her bare arms. The breath was driven from her body after colliding with this wall of muscle, but also from the sensation of being crushed against the dark evening coat covering that solid torso. She was aware of the rise and fall of his chest and of warm breath stirring the curls next to her ear. To Deborah’s embarrassment, pleasurable heat and sensual awareness danced through her veins like liquid fire and although she had not yet looked up into the face of the gentleman who was holding her, she recognised him on an elemental level.

Furious with herself and with Sir Benedict, Deborah allowed her gaze to travel slowly upwards. First, she saw the snowy folds of a carelessly tied cravat and a strong tanned neck; a firm jaw line followed, covered with the faint shadow of stubble; her gaze moved onwards and noted the tiny cleft in his chin which – oh, how she blushed to recall it now! – she had once loved to kiss; a thin-lipped but sensuous mouth, curved in a mirthless smile, came into view next; then his patrician nose and, finally, those remarkable hazel eyes which looked down into hers, a mocking expression in their depths.

Dazed, Deborah swallowed hard. He had not slackened his grasp and his fingertips seemed to sear her skin where they touched it. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt as if it had cleaved to the roof of her mouth. Deborah put out the tip of her tongue to moisten her upper lip, aware that Sir Benedict watched the movement intently.

It was ironic, given the many angry diatribes she had rehearsed in anticipation of this moment, that her first words sprang into her head from nowhere and sounded idiotic even to her ears.

“You have an ant on your cravat,” she whispered.

Sir Benedict’s leonine gaze shifted lower. “So I have – it must have fallen from one of the plants,” he said in a deep, mellifluous voice.

He flicked the insect away with one finger, but did not lift his eyes back to her face and Deborah, blushing furiously when she realised Sir Benedict was being afforded an excellent view of her breasts, stepped back out of his hold. “I cannot say this is a pleasure, Sir Benedict,” she snapped. “Why have you followed me here? I don’t wish to speak to you.”

“But I wish to speak to you.” He raked her with a contemptuous look before scanning the conservatory. “Where is your current beau hiding, Miss King? You may as well advise him to show himself.”

Deborah gasped. “I am alone.”

“Are you sure?” he drawled.

“Quite sure. And I find your comments and manner offensive.”

Sir Benedict, looking into a pair of achingly familiar grey eyes which sparkled with indignation instead of their usual humour, felt distinctly unsettled. Already stirred by Deborah’s voluptuous body pressed against his, he was surprised to discover she was alone after all. But even if he had wronged her on this occasion, he was certain that she generally played the coquette – he had the broken heart to prove it.

In the intervening years, her victims must have been legion because Miss King was indeed a siren’s daughter. She was built on statuesque lines yet she moved with such grace that she seemed to glide across the floor. Added to this, rare intelligence, a dulcet voice and pretty face, combined with the curves of a goddess, endowed Deborah King with a beguiling charm, and he pondered grimly on the paradox of how so cruel a lady could look so adorable. She had bewitched him in the past and Sir Benedict, angry at his weakness then and now, replied in a curt voice,

“Don’t play the innocent, Deborah – I know how fickle you are.”

She regarded him scornfully. “I suggest you study your own behaviour.”

“As I expected, you are still an unprincipled jade.” His appreciative but sardonic gaze ran over her. “One thing puzzles me: I looked in the newspapers for notice of your marriage and yet it did not appear. Why have you never married? I’m surprised that you haven’t duped some rich fool into wedlock by now.”

Another gasp escaped Deborah and in reply she administered a ringing slap to his cheek. “A true gentleman would never address a lady in that fashion. You have not changed either, sir!”

His expression altered and a flush spread across his cheeks under the tan. “I deserved that,” he muttered, half to himself, half to his companion. “Forgive me – that was an abominable thing to say. My temper is uncertain this evening. I have already had to apologize to Miss Tonbridge.”

“You have seen Charley?” said Deborah in surprise.

“She was guarding the door. Her attitude was almost as vitriolic as yours.”

“I’m surprised she let you pass.”

“I gave her little choice,” he admitted with a slight smile. “I wanted to see you.”

“What,” began Deborah in a scathing voice, “could we possibly have to say to each other? No man is lower in my estimation than you, Sir Benedict. The most licentious rake would not have treated a woman as despicably as you treated me. I only wish I’d had the opportunity to plant you a facer!”

“You have not lost your spirit, I see.”

“I have needed every ounce of it.” Deborah turned away, a quiver of emotion in her voice. “I-I heard you had left England. Where did you go?”

“To India. I wanted to get as far away as possible.”

“That I can believe,” she murmured.

“I’m surprised you are interested in what became of me.” He shrugged and continued. “As I said, I journeyed to India and once there, worked for the East India Company. The relationship proved a successful one and I made my fortune, only returning to England last month. Shortly afterwards, I received an invitation from the Allinghams to attend their Midsummer ball. The
ton
holds little interest for me, but at the last moment something prompted me to attend. Now I am glad I did–”

“So you can insult me?” she retorted.

“No, so I can lay some ghosts to rest.” His mouth twisted in a bitter smile and, goaded beyond endurance by Deborah’s nearness and her deceptively innocent mien, Sir Benedict cried, “You are a heartless, conniving little baggage, Deborah, but, God help me, I have found no one to match you in the intervening years. You have ruined me for other women! Whenever I dared hope I might learn to love again, your image came back to mock me.” Running his fingers through his hair in exasperation, he began to pace back and forth. “I wanted to revile you for duping me, to hate you for deserting me, but above all I wanted to forget you. And I still do. You haunt my dreams, damn it! Oh, I expect you will find that admission amusing – no doubt you have utterly forgotten me – but I am past caring. Put simply, Miss King, I crave release and thought that by reacquainting myself with your immoral nature, my fascination with you would be broken at last.”

Deborah spun around. “What nonsense is this? It was you who deserted me!” She choked back a sob. “E-Even if you had decided you did not love me, you were aware of my situation … you knew that since the death of my father I had been desperate to escape my aunt’s aegis and yet you abandoned me without a word!”

Sir Benedict, now standing perfectly still, stared down into her face. “I did not abandon you. I waited at the church for over an hour. When you did not arrive–”

Deborah blinked. “W-What did you say?” she interjected faintly.

“I said I waited for you.”

“But you cannot have done so!”

“I tell you I did,” he replied curtly.

“I was at the church too and you were most definitely not there,” she said. “Don’t lie to me.”

He raised his brows. “I may be many things, but I am not a liar, Deborah. I sat on the front pew with my head in my hands when I realized you were not coming. The clergyman at St. George’s was anxious to leave, but I persuaded him to wait in case–”

“St. George’s!” cried Deborah, her eyes wide with shock.

“Of course. That was where I arranged to meet you for the ceremony at eleven o’clock – the details were all in the letter I sent you.”

“I never received it.” The colour had drained out of her face and she slumped down onto a wrought-iron chair.

“But I gave it to Mary, your maid,” said Sir Benedict, frowning heavily. “She promised to pass it to you.”

“Then that explains everything,” she replied in a stricken tone. “Mary was loyal to my aunt and not to me.”

The import of this statement was not lost on Sir Benedict. “Oh, my God,” he muttered, aghast.

Deborah regarded him again directly. “Mary only gave me a message, Benedict,” she whispered. “She said I was to meet you at Grosvenor Chapel in South Audley Street at eleven o’clock.”

They regarded each other in silence as the awful truth dawned. Sir Benedict uttered a savage curse. “So your maid and your contemptible aunt colluded to send you to the wrong church!” He stopped, his breath rattling in his throat as he struggled to control his emotions. “What an obnoxious pair of tabbies! Shameful!” He then entered into a wide-ranging animadversion on Mary and Lady King; it was remarkably fluent, littered with expletives and concluded with a fervent wish that Deborah’s aunt spend the afterlife in purgatory.

“Benedict,” demurred Deborah, reproach mingling with the tears now standing in her eyes, “you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead.”

He pushed his fingers through his hair once more. “I mean it, Deb. Don’t expect me to be a hypocrite, for I never liked Lady King and you know it! She was a spiteful old crone who didn’t show you any kindness. Indeed, she went out of her way to make you unhappy and did not look on my suit with favour, although Lord knows why when my background and financial circumstances were acceptable.”

“She became my guardian when my father died, but she did so against her will – she was only my aunt by marriage,” said Deborah, rising to her feet and smoothing out her gown with shaking hands. “I did not discover until many months later that Mary had been spying on me in all manner of things. Even then it was only by accident that I uncovered her duplicity and demanded that she be dismissed. My aunt evinced no remorse. I own I did not like her much and never understood why she set her face against our marriage.”

“Out of sheer spite and bloody-mindedness, that’s why!” he cried. “When you failed to appear at church, I wrote to you, but all my letters were returned unopened. I considered trying to see you, but when I received no word at all, not even an explanation, I assumed you had undergone a change of heart. I realize now the letters must have been intercepted by your maid under Lady King’s instructions. If you recall, you had just passed your twenty-first birthday, Deborah; your aunt could no longer forbid us to marry, but we had arranged to wed in secret anyway. Having discovered our intentions, she clearly found another way to scupper our plans. She ruined our lives with this heinous act!”

“I wrote to you too, through Mary,” she admitted in an anguished voice. “I should have realized you were too honourable to have abandoned me, particularly when Mary’s treachery came to light, but I had been hurt so much.” Deborah closed her eyes briefly. “Every time one of my letters to you came back unopened, I died a little inside.”

He came towards her, his gaze locked on her face. “I felt the same. I loved and hated you in equal measure, something I didn’t think possible. I tried to forget you but I couldn’t. Secretly, I dreaded reading about your marriage, even though I told myself you were heartless and I was well rid of you. Forgive me, Deb! I have wronged you greatly – you were nothing of the kind – but it was easier for me to think the worst of you than to dwell on what I had lost. Oh God, so much heartache and wasted time!” Benedict groaned and, grasping her shoulders, he added in a choked, urgent whisper, “Is it too late? Has fate given us another chance by bringing us together this summer night? I never stopped loving you … I still love you with an intensity that frightens me, but perhaps there is someone else in your life now–”