The Dutiful Rake (21 page)

‘Why, Lady Rutherford! How delightful. I have been longing to further our acquaintance.’ The arch tones of Lady Hartleigh were as welcome as manna from heaven. No doubt, thought Meg ironically, as her brain started to function again, she is annoyed with me for purloining another of her lovers.

Lady Hartleigh showed all the skill of a prize collie bitch as she cut Meg out neatly and appropriated Winterbourne’s arm. She chattered without ceasing of this person and that, of the scandalous price of candles and the outrageous way in which her dressmaker was dunning her.

‘Too dreadful!’ she said mournfully. And flashed a quick glance at Meg. ‘Tell me, do they dun you, Lady Rutherford?’

‘Er…no,’ admitted Meg. There was no opportunity for that. Cousin Samuel’s training had been far too thorough.

‘Outrageous,’ said Lady Hartleigh. ‘Here am I, a poor widow, who cannot in the least afford to be dunned, being pestered to within an inch of my life, and the Countess of Rutherford, with one of the wealthiest men in the land to husband, doesn’t get a single one!’ She shook her head sadly at the injustice of such a thing.

Meg stared at her suddenly. Why, she was mocking
herself.
Why should she do such a thing? Then, as Sir Blaise stepped away momentarily to respond to the greeting of a friend, the green eyes flashed towards Meg. ‘Stay away from Winterbourne, Lady Rutherford.’
Nothing more. The brilliant eyes were veiled instantly and Meg could not decide whether she had been given a warning or a threat.

Later that evening in the privacy of her carriage Lady Hartleigh said casually to her escort, ‘The Countess of Rutherford seems to be making quite a hit in certain quarters.’

‘Quite so, my dear,’ he responded suavely. ‘One must grant that Rutherford’s taste is, on the whole, impeccable.’

She nodded thoughtfully. ‘And, of course, it coincides so neatly with your own.’ There was a faint hint of speculation in the lilting voice.

‘But of course, my dear.’ Sir Blaise smiled. ‘No doubt you are feeling his unexpected marriage to be an unfortunate lapse of taste.’

She shrugged her slim shoulders, elegant in their low-cut gown. ‘What should I care?’

‘Oh, merely for the loss of a fortune and a title.’

A mocking laugh rippled from her. ‘You forget, Sir Blaise. I have a title and…sufficient money for my wants.’

‘It is always pleasant to have a little more than is sufficient,’ he suggested.

‘Very pleasant,’ she agreed. ‘But what is done is done. I see no way of altering the facts. Do you?’

‘It is
always
possible to alter the facts, my dear Althea,’ he assured her. ‘Perhaps you might like to give me some assistance. For which, of course, you would be suitably…er…rewarded.’

Another ripple of laughter eddied through the darkness of the carriage, this time laced with triumph. ‘Behold me, Sir Blaise. All ears, I do assure you!’

L
ady Rutherford gazed nervously around Almack’s crowded assembly rooms as she waltzed with Jack Hamilton and wondered why she had ever let Marcus persuade her that she would enjoy London. True she had made friends and met with more kindness than she would have believed possible. Yet she felt totally alone. Of all her acquaintance only one seemed to suspect that Lady Rutherford was merely a disguise.

Jack Hamilton would not let Meg hide when they were alone. He was the one person she could relax with slightly, but not even to Jack could she explain what was the matter. She could have told Marc, but she had not seen him for a long time. Only Marcus, Lord Rutherford, who greeted her politely, bought occasional gifts to adorn his countess, and had never attempted to come near her again after that dreadful morning in the library. Meg told herself proudly that she didn’t care. Every single night as she cried herself to sleep.

But that wasn’t the only problem. The reason she was scanning the rooms so anxiously was because Sir Blaise Winterbourne, ever since escorting her in the park, had made her the object of his attentions. He never missed
a chance to approach her, soliciting her to dance in situations where she could not possibly refuse him. Only when Rutherford was present did he avoid her, and, as Rutherford so rarely escorted his countess to parties, Winterbourne had ample opportunity to further his pursuit of the lovely Lady Rutherford.

So Meg hid behind her mask, never allowing him to see her fear, deflecting his gallantries as she did those of a dozen others. And dreaded sleep. Sleep, which should have been a haven of respite from her growing unhappiness, but had become a nightmare in itself. Night after night she woke terrified, longing for Marc, but having found him missing that first time and having been informed that it was not her place to come seeking him, she forced herself to remain in her own room. If he were not home, but had gone to take his pleasure with a woman he did not find distasteful, she did not wish to know it. And besides, she had sworn never to be in the position of poor relation ever again, never to beg for anything. Especially not from her own husband with whom she had made a very clear bargain.

Through the silken swirl of dancers she caught a glimpse of Winterbourne’s mocking eyes. Every muscle in her body seized and she stumbled slightly as Jack whirled her through a turn. The feeling of dizzy sickness that had swept over her without warning so often in the last two or three weeks was worse than ever as panic ripped through her. She felt Jack’s hand tighten on hers, his arm like iron about her waist as he steadied her.

‘Whoops,’ he said unemotionally. They continued back up the room, Meg deathly pale and Jack thoughtful.

He made it a practice never to interfere between a couple but he was sorely tempted to break this rule and
take Marc by the scruff of his immaculate neck and shake some sense into him! Meg, he thought, was starting to look like a ghost. And, unless Jack missed his guess, it was not just the unsatisfactory state of affairs between Marc and Meg. Winterbourne had something to do with it.

There he was now! Watching her through the swirl of dancers. And, judging by the way Meg had stiffened in his arms, she had seen him too. No doubt he would claim Meg for the next waltz, after which she would be as glittering and unapproachable as ever. Well, this time he was going to do something about it!

Staking everything on one throw, he said softly, ‘You know, you don’t have to dance with him, Meg. When he approaches you, tell him you have the headache and that you are about to leave. I’ll escort you home.’

She stared up at him in shock. ‘What…what are you talking about, Jack?’ she faltered.

‘I don’t know, Meg,’ he answered honestly. ‘You will not confide in me. Which is fair enough, I am not your husband. But whatever is wrong between you and Marc, you should tell him about Winterbourne.’

‘There is nothing to tell,’ she said. Her heart quailed at the thought of confiding in Marcus. Belatedly she realised that she had not denied Jack’s assumption that she and Marcus were at odds.

‘Just that he upsets you and will not leave you alone when Marc is not present,’ said Jack, tightening his arm as he whirled her around.

She rallied. ‘No more so than half a dozen others. All of whom, Di warns me, are husbands who would dearly like to be able to serve Marc as he served them!’ There was a sting of angry contempt in her voice.

‘True enough,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘But don’t
blame it entirely on the philandering of Marc’s bachelor days. With most of ’em, your own charms have just as much to do with it!’

She snorted, ignoring the last part of his comment. ‘You speak as though my lord’s philandering days were all in the past!’

The bitterness in her voice got through at once. Jack stared down at her. At last! The mask had dropped completely. He said slowly, ‘Take my word for it, Meg, they are. And believe me, I would know if they weren’t!’

Aware that she had slipped, Meg recovered quickly. ‘My dear Jack, you are Marc’s closest friend. I would not expect you to betray him. Nor should you think I mind. It is a marriage of convenience, after all.’

Deliberately he said, ‘I might not betray Marc, but neither would I tell
you
an outright lie by assuring you that if Marc has sought any other woman since marrying you, then he is keeping it very dark. And, if you are refining on that unfortunate meeting in the park weeks ago, then I think you have between you made a mountain out of a molehill.’

Shaken, she said, ‘But he said—’

‘Meg, I don’t know, or wish to know, what damnfool things Marc has said in a temper,’ said Jack firmly as the music drew to a close. ‘But Marc has no more sought consolation elsewhere than you have. Unless you count sparring at Jackson’s, engaging in more curricle races than ever before, consuming far too much brandy and generally behaving like a bear with a sore head!’

‘You mean I’m making him unhappy?’ Meg was horrified. She had thought Marc was entirely happy to be free to pursue his own hedonistic life. He must be! He had exactly what he had asked for.

Jack nodded, adding, ‘But no more so than he’s mak
ing you unhappy. You’re just better at hiding it from the world.’ She was, too. He was willing to bet that, if it hadn’t been for Winterbourne, he might never have realised that she was unhappy. Her next words, though, stunned him.

‘But he finds me distasteful!’ It came out in a stricken whisper.

Jack stared at her and said, ‘Meg, he’s really not
that
stupid! If he gave you that impression it was in sheer self-defence. You two are as bad as each other!’

She would have protested further but Lady Jersey came up just then, full of wickedly malicious gossip, and Meg was claimed by Sir Toby. He never danced, but often claimed Meg to sit out for the more energetic reels on the basis that she was family and would afford him protection from actually having to perform.

He was quite open about this as he steered her to a chair and, when she threatened teasingly to make him dance, he simply said, ‘No, no, my dear! Think of the scandal if I expired on the floor in your arms! And Di is far too young for widowhood!’

Truth to tell, Meg was only too happy to sit out with him for half an hour. He was kind and undemanding to converse with and she was finding that she tired more and more easily in the last couple of weeks. And she felt sick so often; throwing up in the mornings and feeling queasy at the sight of food. Doubtless she was not getting enough sleep, but even the appalling paroxysms of vomiting with which she was afflicted were better than nightmares.

So she acquiesced to Sir Toby’s plan for her entertainment with a certain relief. Apart from a chance to rest, it gave her the opportunity to think. Something she had resolutely avoided for some time.

Jack’s blunt advice had cleared her head appreciably. If he said Marc was not…amusing himself elsewhere, then he probably wasn’t. Jack wouldn’t lie to her. But the question remained, why wasn’t he? She had, albeit accidentally, refused him her bed. It would have been fair enough if he had sought consolation. Then that morning in the library…had he thought
she
was disgusted with
him?
If that were so he would never approach her…

Oh, God! What a mess she had made of everything! If only she had had the courage to tell him how she felt and assure him that she would still abide by their agreement, then it would all be much easier. At least they would have understood each other.

She bestowed half of her attention on Sir Toby’s description of the excellencies of his favourite spaniel bitch and the litter she was nursing.

‘Lovely dog, Meg. Must ask Marc if he’d like one of the pups…’

By the end of their peaceful half-hour Meg was feeling much better and Sir Toby was wondering just what Meg was thinking about. Something was bothering her, but he rather suspected that Jack had the matter in hand. Probably safer if he didn’t interfere.

‘Ah! A family affair! How cosy. My dance, I believe, Lady Rutherford.’ Winterbourne’s smooth tones broke in upon them. Sir Toby looked at him disapprovingly. Couldn’t stand Winterbourne. Oily sort of chap. You practically skidded every time he opened his mouth. Still, the ladies seemed to like him and it was no business of his who Meg danced with. He might just mention it to Jack, though.

So he bowed gracefully to Meg and said, ‘Thank you,
m’dear. Let Marc know about the pup. He can have one if he’s a mind to it.’

He was gone into the crowd, leaving Meg to face Winterbourne.

Made bold by Jack’s advice Meg went on the attack, ignoring the choking fear. She had run for long enough! ‘Really, Mr Winterbourne, I am at a loss to explain your predilection for my company.’

Seeing his raised eyebrows, she said, ‘Oh, dear! How clumsy of me. I have so much trouble remembering your high degree.’

‘I’m sure you do, Lady Rutherford. I always thought that given a little schooling you would turn out quite creditably. And as for my predilection, as you call it, for your charming company…let us say that I always finish what I set out to do.’

White with anger now more than fear, Meg said sweetly, ‘How sad not to know when to give up. Especially when someone else has already achieved the goal ahead of you.’

‘My dear Lady Rutherford, I am not one to measure my…er…achievements against those of another man.’

‘Just as well!’ she said with a glittering smile.

‘Quite so,’ he said. ‘Ah, here is our dear Cousin Henrietta.’ He acknowledged her with a sweeping bow. ‘How do you do?’

‘Dear Sir Blaise, and Marguerite. I am very well,’ cooed Henrietta. ‘How charming a couple you make. I was just saying to Lady Jersey how much pleasure it gives me to see my two cousins so happy in each other’s company.’

Meg’s nausea rose and she forced herself to breathe deeply. Jack was right—she had to tell Marc. What was Sir Blaise saying now?

‘A moment earlier and I should not have known whom to solicit to dance. As it is, I am promised to Lady Rutherford for this waltz. Pray excuse us, Cousin.’

‘But of course, dear Blaise. Good evening, Marguerite. I shall call upon you in the next day or so to arrange a little alfresco entertainment. Perhaps to Richmond with Sir Blaise. Just a family affair, of course.’

Meg murmured a polite rejoinder, all the while vowing mentally to have a full calendar for the next month. Head held high, she permitted Winterbourne to lead her towards the dance floor. Glancing back at her cousin, she saw that Lady Fellowes was watching them go with a faint smile twisting her thin lips. A smile of triumph. Meg’s dark brows snapped together as a sudden suspicion flickered through her head. Could Henrietta possibly know what had happened? Could she be egging Winterbourne on? Hoping that Winterbourne would ruin the Countess of Rutherford and justify her refusal to house her husband’s orphaned cousin? No! Surely not! It was too base! She shook her head to clear it. There was a more immediate problem to deal with. She had to get rid of Winterbourne.

She was damned if she would submit to his persecution any longer! Going on the attack had given her courage and she was on the look out for an opportunity to turn the tables on her persecutor. It presented itself in the large form of Jack Hamilton who strayed into their path with seeming innocence.

Meg took her chance at once, saying clearly for all to hear, ‘Ah, Jack, here you are! Mr Winterbourne…I mean, Sir Blaise has been good enough to escort me to you. I have the headache and would be vastly obliged if you would take me home.’ She turned to Win
terbourne. ‘I thank you, sir, for your escort and your most informative conversation. Be sure I will bear it in mind. Good night.’

‘The biter bit,’ said Winterbourne, acknowledging her appropriation of his own method of forcing her compliance.

She met his eyes and said, ‘As you see, sir, I am an apt pupil.’

He bowed and said smoothly, ‘You relieve my mind enormously, Lady Rutherford.’

Meg placed her hand on Jack’s arm and allowed him to lead her away, heaving a sigh of relief. She should have turned on Winterbourne weeks ago instead of trying to avoid him and dodging him through the fashionable crushes of London’s hostesses. It never paid to run away from your fears, she reflected. And that was precisely what she had been doing, both with Winterbourne and Marc.

Jack had forced her to voice her unhappiness about Marc and by doing so she had found out the truth. Now that she had faced Winterbourne and served him with his own sauce, she no longer felt as though he were dominating her life. She was still afraid of him, but she was not afraid of being afraid, which had been crippling.

Jack called a chair for her and walked back to Grosvenor Square beside it, conversing with her companionably. He did not allude to their earlier conversation and, although tired and a little abstracted, Meg found his presence very soothing.

Meg opened the front door with her latch key, saying, ‘Shall you come in, Jack? I don’t doubt that the servants are abed but there will be brandy in the library if you would care for it.’

A discreet cough informed her that Delafield at least was not in bed. ‘Good evening, my lady, Mr Hamilton. Can I fetch you anything?’