Unbefitting a Lady (16 page)

Chapter Sixteen

T
he Grand Saloon stood at the south end of
the Marble Hall, a testament to refinement and Rome. Lights blazed from sconces
of Venetian glass placed strategically around the enormous circular chamber. The
room was turned out in its best form tonight. Even in her cynical frame of mind,
Phaedra could appreciate the beauty of the room.

Designed originally to reflect the best forms of Roman
architecture, the room was round and columned; the walls held niches to act as a
sculpture gallery when the room wasn’t being used as a ballroom. But obviously,
her ancestors had known it
would
be a ballroom and
had had the wooden floor ‘sprung’ especially for dancing.

For the occasion, the columns were wreathed in garlands of
evergreens and tea roses as were the arches over the four double doors set at
various intervals leading into the room. The only space not bearing the stamp of
Aunt Wilhelmina’s decorating was the soaring skylight sixty-two feet above the
whirling dancers. Like the massive Marble Hall leading to the chamber, the
saloon, too, rose the full height of the house, making the room seem even
larger.

It was a fairytale setting and Phaedra tried to make the best
of it, truly she did. She danced with each of her partners, none of who grimaced
when she stepped on their toes. She rather wished they had. After an hour and a
half of what passed for chivalry among ‘nice suitable gentlemen,’ Phaedra had
had enough.

Where were they, all those nice young men Henny had been so
hopeful about? Phaedra’s borrowed optimism had faded considerably. Not one of
the young men listed on her card had sparked her attention. In short, not one of
them was Bram Basingstoke. Not one of them showed a proclivity for taking off
his shirt or swimming naked with her in the Castonbury lakes.

Not that she wanted them to, Phaedra hastily amended her
thoughts. She had no desire to see Mr Chesterton the poet without his shirt. It
wasn’t just Bram’s penchant for the daring and indecent that drew her. It was
him
,
the
devil-may-care grin, the deep blue eyes that looked straight through her, the
shockingly honest truths he was wont to exhort. Oh, she knew where those nice
young men were, they were right here in the Castonbury saloon and she didn’t
want any part of them.

Phaedra didn’t want to look into one more pair of placid eyes
that revealed no flicker of inner fire. She didn’t want to engage in polite
conversation that gave no hint of a person’s true feelings. Would anyone miss
her if she slipped away?

A quick survey of the room suggested she might manage it. Aunt
Wilhelmina was talking with Reverend Seagrove and her father on the sidelines.
Giles was with Lily, getting ready to take their places in the next set starting
to form on the dance floor. Her own partner would be coming to claim her any
moment. If she meant to disappear, she needed to go quickly.

Framed by four sets of double doors that allowed guests to
enter the room at various points of the circular chamber, the Castonbury saloon
was relatively easy to slip out of unobtrusively. And that’s precisely what she
did.

She was in the library, a semi-private location tonight and it
had been prepared as such. Low light lit the room enough to keep it from being
dark and a fire had been laid for those who might wish a place for quieter
conversation. But music from the saloon could be heard through the door, a
constant reminder that the occupants were not truly alone. Anyone could burst in
at any moment, a potent deterrent for guests seeking a rendezvous of a more
clandestine nature. For now, it was empty and that suited her fine. Phaedra
breathed a little sigh of relief. Alone at last.

Except for the man rising from the sofa. Oh, dear, she wasn’t
alone, after all.

‘Hello, Phaedra.’

Phaedra stifled an undignified yelp. She’d know that sexy drawl
anywhere, but it took a moment to recognise him in the dim light and fine
clothes. ‘Bram?’ It was unmistakably him once her eyes adjusted. He was the last
person she’d thought she’d see tonight but not for lack of wishing. ‘I—I thought
you’d left.’

‘I thought you’d be dancing.’

Phaedra shook her head, smiling. Bram was here. He’d come back.
He did care, after all. ‘I’ve had enough of dancing for the evening. No one
seems to measure up to my latest dancing instructor.’ She wanted to do more than
stand there and trade banter with him. She wanted to throw herself into his arms
and confess how much she’d missed him in just one day. But he wasn’t the sort of
man who appreciated a clingy woman and they’d made each other no promises. It
would have to be enough that he was here.

Bram stepped towards her. ‘Perhaps you haven’t found the right
partner.’

‘That’s what my instructor tells me.’ Phaedra laughed, thinking
of the island.

Bram held out his hand. ‘Will you dance with me, Phaedra?’ His
eyes glowed like cobalt flame and he was in deadly earnest. The very propriety
of his request made it seem all the more provocative.

‘Here?’ Phaedra moved into his arms. His hand closed around
hers, warm and firm, fitting her to him, his other hand at her back. Phaedra
smiled up at him, savouring the clean-shaven jaw, the handsome planes of his
face with their high cheekbones and razor-straight nose, the way his eyes looked
just before he kissed her.

‘Yes, here.’ Bram moved her in a slow circle to the strains of
the music outside the door. He whispered against her ear. ‘If we dance here, no
one can count this as one of our dances. We can still have two dances out
there.’

Not like this we won’t.
The
ballroom would not tolerate the closeness with which he held her, the intimate
way his hips pressed against her, his hand at her back helping her find the
gentle rhythm of the dance.

Phaedra knew this dance; it was one of the scandalous
waltz-style dances Prinny had introduced in London last summer. One didn’t have
to be in the capital last Season to know the outrage the prince’s choice had
spawned. The outrage had drifted up north to Derbyshire with shocking haste.

‘We’re waltzing. Aunt Wilhelmina would be scandalised.’ Phaedra
locked eyes with her bold partner.

Bram gave a wicked smile, his eyes laughing. ‘Rightly so if one
truly understands the dance.’

‘And I suppose you do?’ Phaedra teased. Her body was finding it
easy to follow the movements of his, easy to answer the desire rising in his
eyes.

‘I do. Are you ready? We’re going to turn, this is the top of
our ballroom.’ He swept through a turn that brought her up against the hard
planes of him. ‘Does that give you a clue as to the real source of scandal?’ He
leaned close to her ear. ‘It’s a metaphor for lovemaking, Phaedra, for
courtship. The man is in pursuit and the woman is a coy mistress leading him a
merry chase.’

His words, low at her ear, conjured hot images. ‘Are you
certain?’ Put that way, the scandal was understandable.

‘I am very certain.’ Bram gave a deep, sonorous chuckle rife
with wicked mischief. ‘Have I succeeded in shocking you?’

He’d like that, the idea that he’d finally shocked her after
weeks of trying. Phaedra tipped her head to the side with a considering gaze.
‘No, you’ve merely intrigued me.’

The music came to a halt, he nipped at her ear. ‘Good. I’m
going to get us champagne. When I come back, let me intrigue you some more.’

‘Use the far door so you don’t have to go through the
ballroom.’ Phaedra sighed, reluctant to let him go. ‘If Giles catches
you...’

‘He won’t,’ Bram assured her. ‘He’s not expecting me.’ With a
wink, Bram slipped through the door at the far end leading into the drawing
room.

Phaedra sat down on the long sofa, a little smile dancing on
her lips.
He’d come back
.
At
risk to himself
. She wasn’t sure what that meant exactly but for the
moment, it was enough. Perhaps it would be easier to let him go if she knew he
cared too. It was as she suspected. Somewhere between railing against his
arrogance and dancing in quilts, she’d fallen in love with a most unsuitable man
and the best she could do now was mitigate a broken heart. But that would come
later. For now, she still had tonight.

* * *

The little minx was up to something. Sir Nathan
Samuelson skirted his way along the perimeter of the ballroom making his way to
the last place he’d seen Phaedra Montague. He was going to make it very clear to
her that she couldn’t avoid him all night. Her aunt might have succeeded in
keeping him off Phaedra’s dance card, but Sir Nathan thought he might have a
brand of persuasion that would change Phaedra’s mind. It would do his reputation
wonders if he was seen dancing with a Montague. It wouldn’t hurt his more
private agenda either. He could hardly court her if he couldn’t even dance with
her.

Sir Nathan scanned the ballroom, catching sight of the side
doors. With the crowds, he hadn’t noticed the doors earlier. He’d already
checked the exits leading out to the wide veranda overlooking the south lawn.
Many couples strolled out there, taking advantage of the mild evening but
Phaedra had not been among them. He’d also checked the Marble Hall where others
were admiring the artwork on display in the long foyer. She’d not been among the
groups there or in the drawing room where the refreshments were being
served.

Sir Nathan approached the doors. He was running out of options
which meant the chances were good these doors held the answer. There weren’t
many more places she could be. Sir Nathan turned the handle and it gave.

* * *

Someone was coming, someone who wasn’t Bram. Phaedra
watched in morbid fascination as the handle on the door from the ballroom
turned. Bram would have used the other door. Sir Nathan Samuelson stepped into
the room. Phaedra rose quickly from the sofa, eager to keep the furniture and as
much distance between them as possible. It boded poorly that he was here at all.
How could he have known she’d left the dancing unless he’d been watching her?
The thought that he’d made her the focus of his attentions sent an unpleasant
chill down her spine. Bram would be back soon.

‘My dear, we’re alone at last. I thought I’d never find you.
You’ve given your own fete the slip,’ Sir Nathan drawled, shutting the door
firmly behind him. ‘These parties make it difficult to have a decent
conversation.’

‘There is nothing I wish to say to you,’ Phaedra replied
coldly, standing her ground. She didn’t want to be afraid of him, but he made
her so very uncomfortable with his leering eyes, the way they would move up and
down her body, so different from Bram’s appreciative gaze.

‘Splendid, my dear.’ Sir Nathan rambled about the room, looking
behind curtains for hidden strangers. ‘What I really want you to do is listen. I
have recently come across some information I think you’ll find highly
interesting and perhaps even motivating.’

Phaedra crossed her arms defiantly. ‘I doubt it.’

‘Well, my dear, I don’t.’ He rubbed his hands together with a
hearty chortle.

Chapter Seventeen

P
haedra stepped backwards in answer to his
advance, putting the long sofa between them. She wished she were at the stables
where there were pitchforks aplenty for makeshift weapons. Libraries were a bit
lacking in impromptu weaponry.

‘What’s this, Phaedra?’ Sir Nathan continued to move towards
her, hands outstretched in a gesture that supposedly meant he came in peace but
his gaze told another story. ‘I think you and I got off on the wrong foot in
Buxton, and really it wasn’t my fault. It was Webster’s. He was the one
mishandling the horse.’ Sir Nathan tsked with fond disapproval. ‘Such a wastrel
he is. It just proves we’re right about outsiders in our part of the world. Like
should stick to like, and we are alike, Phaedra, you and I.’

Phaedra swallowed hard, looking about for some tool of defence.
In the semi-darkness her hand groped about the table behind her, closing around
a porcelain vase. ‘You’re nothing like me.’

He smiled, a condescending grin. ‘Allow me to argue the point,
my dear. We both enjoy the turf, we’ve both spent our lives in Derbyshire, we’re
both used to the finer things in life. I would deny you nothing my worldly gains
could afford.’

‘Which isn’t very much from what I hear,’ Phaedra interrupted.
‘You couldn’t even afford Warbourne.’

His eyes narrowed, the silken persuasion gone, replaced by
something more predatory. ‘You couldn’t either as I recall. You sold family
jewellery for that colt. Now you listen here, you come on out and dance with me,
show the world the Montagues and I are friends, more than friends, and I won’t
tell your brother what I know.’

‘And what is that?’ She would not dance with this man, would
not tolerate even the most civil of touches from him. Her grip on the vase
tightened. A nice cosh on the head would do him an immense amount of good.

‘That you and I have something else in common. We both like to
go slumming on occasion. In short, I know what you did and who you did it with
the day you went swimming in the lake.’ He held out his hands expansively,
examining his nails. ‘I don’t mind really. Slumming can be a bit of fun. Your
sister Kate knows all about it. Apparently it runs in your fine Montague
blood.’

Phaedra’s temper fired. ‘Virgil is a prince among men. If
anything, she’s married above herself.’

‘Not in our world she hasn’t,’ Sir Nathan said smugly. ‘Now,
come on over here and take my arm. We’ll walk back to the ballroom and you can
give me that dance you owe me.’

‘No.’ Phaedra backed up. At her back was the door joining the
library to the saloon. If she could reach it, she could slip into the crowd
there. Sir Nathan would not risk a scene.

Sir Nathan’s eyes flicked behind her, noting the outline of the
door. ‘I’m not in the mood for “no” tonight.’ He growled. He lunged for her in a
quick movement that belied his heavier bulk.

Phaedra darted aside but the move took her away from a clear
path to the door. He was stalking her now and she had no outlet. He closed in,
penning her between the wall and himself. She was going to have to fight.

‘Have a care, Sir Nathan.’ Phaedra gathered her bravado, her
eyes indicating the door to her left. ‘Anyone could walk in at any time.’

The reminder didn’t have the desired effect. He was close
enough to smell now, his strong cologne overpowering at this range. It was not a
subtle scent, not like Bram’s spices. ‘I wouldn’t mind if they did.’ He leered.
‘In fact, I hope they will. A compromising position is all I need. Your brother
would be hard-pressed to deny me after that, and so would you.’ He grinned
evilly. ‘Perhaps you’ll think about that before you decide to scream. Do you
really want anyone to see you with your skirts up?’

His hand was at her cheek now, his rough knuckles stroking her
jaw. His other hand was on himself, caressing the bulge in his trousers. ‘How
about a kiss for your future husband?’ His face angled towards her, his breath
rife with the remnants of his dinner, his mouth open. This was her moment.
Phaedra raised her arm and swung her vase, catching him on the side of the head.
The vase shattered. Sir Nathan stumbled, momentarily stunned from the blow.

His hand went to his head and came away with blood.

‘You bitch, you’ve cut me!’ he roared. He lunged for her.
Desperate, Phaedra sidestepped his off-balance grab and flung open the door,
sending him stumbling into the ballroom where he promptly careened into Bram.
Champagne spilled on clothes, crystal shattered on the floor and the music came
to an undignified halt while everyone stared. It wasn’t every night a man
bumbled into a ballroom with blood streaming from his head.

Phaedra sucked in her breath. Bram’s eyes flicked over Nathan’s
shoulder to her. She bit her lip. For a moment she thought Sir Nathan wouldn’t
recognise Bram. ‘Well, look who we have here. It’s Lord Bramford.’ Sir Nathan
sneered in contempt, pressing a white handkerchief to his head.

Lord Bramford? The reference made no sense. What was Sir Nathan
playing at? From the corner of her eye, Phaedra caught sight of Captain Webster
with Alicia on the periphery of the ballroom.

Webster stepped forward. ‘Are you sure about that, Sir Nathan?
He looks like the head groom to me, that fellow they picked up in Buxton.’ Bram
had gone stiff, his jaw clenched.

The crowd drew a tight circle around Nathan and Bram, sensing a
noteworthy drama was about to unfold. If she had any sense, she’d fade back into
the library and put a discreet distance between herself and the scene. Maybe
everyone would forget to ask why Sir Nathan was bleeding. But she couldn’t tear
herself away any more than the guests could.

‘Well, hey, maybe he is.’ Sir Nathan squinted in contemplation.
‘No, no, I am sure this fellow is Lord Bramford, the Earl of Hartvale’s
son.’

Earl’s son.
Phaedra clutched the
door frame for support. The little inconsistent pieces reeled like the glass
shards of a kaleidoscope in her mind, forming a pattern of truth; the sense of
command, his effortless grace in dancing, his reluctance to discuss his family,
even the boots she’d noticed the first day testified to what her intuition had
screamed all along—Bram Basingstoke was no mere groom. But she hadn’t
listened.

She’d been too wrapped up in the sensual game they’d played.
She’d been duped, absolutely, thoroughly and completely. Phaedra felt sick.
Giles was going to kill her for this.

Giles.
The full import of Sir
Nathan’s revelation struck her anew. Not only had she been duped, Giles had too.
She wasn’t the only one who was going to suffer. Giles would bear the scandal of
having hired an earl’s son to work in the stables in the first place. After the
year he’d had, it was the last thing he needed. She forced herself to
concentrate on the scene unfolding.

‘I could be wrong.’ Webster gave a casual shrug. ‘Hard to know
really, the last time I saw him he was...’

Naked
. The situation which had
seemed bad a moment ago was about to get a whole lot worse, proving that all
things were indeed relative. Any moment the whole story was going to come out
and the district would know of her folly, unless Bram’s fist got to Captain
Webster’s mouth first.

It did, and within an hour the party had disassembled entirely,
the last carriage pulling out of the Castonbury drive on the stroke of eleven,
an early night even by country standards. The fete had been a complete
debacle.

‘They’re all going home to write letters.’ Aunt Wilhelmina
harrumphed as Giles gathered the family in the blue sitting room where they’d
toasted an evening of success just a few hours before.

Giles shot Aunt Wilhelmina a quelling look, his grey eyes twin
storms. ‘I think letters to petty relatives are the least of our worries at
present.’ Phaedra did not think she’d ever seen her brother this angry, except
for the other night. But this was a different kind of anger. This anger was
boiling under a lid, in an attempt to remain contained, far worse than honest
anger given free rein.

Lily put a gentling hand on his shoulder. ‘Giles, we should
give people a chance to explain.’

‘What is there to explain?’ Giles ground out, taking a seat
near the cold fireplace. He glared at Phaedra. ‘Sir Nathan has a head wound and
you were in absentia from your own party at the time.’

Phaedra pleated the thin fabric of her skirt. ‘I would hardly
call it a head wound.’

‘I would hardly call it a coincidence,’ Giles pressed. ‘I’m not
interested in quibbling over the particulars.’

‘I had gone to the library. I’d wanted a moment to be alone,
but he followed me.’ She told the story carefully, leaving out certain elements.
She made no mention of Bram or of the information Sir Nathan had threatened to
reveal. The rest of the story poured out in cautious bits. Sir Nathan had
touched her, had forced her to the wall when she’d resorted to shattering the
vase against the brute’s head.

‘I will call him out over this,’ Giles said tersely when she’d
finished. ‘Scores will need to be settled. I shall call on Sir Nathan
tomorrow.’

That was the last thing she wanted. ‘Whatever for?
I
settled the score tonight, and an expensive score it
was. That was Wedgwood porcelain I broke over his head.’ She didn’t doubt
Giles’s prowess with firearms but Sir Nathan wouldn’t hesitate to reveal the
rest of what he knew. Who knew what Giles would do
then
?

‘There are things men should settle between themselves,’ Giles
insisted. ‘Sir Nathan thought to compromise you in your own home. Such an action
cannot go unaddressed. Which brings us to you, Mr Basingstoke. Care to explain
what an earl’s son is doing working in
my
stables?’

Heavens, it was true. If Giles was saying it, there could be no
doubt. Phaedra had hoped Sir Nathan had been making wild accusations but those
hopes hadn’t lived long. She looked at Bram, all nature of emotion warring
inside her. Anger over being duped, anger at not seeing what had so obviously
been in front of her from the start, anger, too, at herself.

‘I’m up here on a repairing lease.’

Phaedra’s stomach fell. She knew what a repairing lease really
was. Her old worries came back. He’d been passing the time and she’d been a
foolish dalliance to while away the hours of his banishment. He clearly wasn’t
in Derbyshire for his health. There were few reasons young, healthy gentlemen
came to Derbyshire other than to mend their reputations.

All the
I told you so’s
of the
world seemed to be pounding their victory in her head. He had used her and all
the while she’d been falling in love. She’d told him her dreams, told him things
she’d not shared with another
ever
,
and in return, he’d
used
her.

Bram was looking at her. She could feel his gaze but she could
not look at him. She couldn’t bear to see the truth of it, that this cruel
subterfuge had been a game. Bram was about to disclose all his secrets. In a
moment she would know all about him. She’d spent weeks wondering. Now that the
moment of truth had arrived, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know, after all.

He began to speak, his gaze moving away to Giles. ‘I told you
in Buxton, Montague, that I worked at Nannerings, the riding school in London,
and I’ve mentioned as much to Phaedra as well. I have not lied to you about my
qualifications.’

‘You left out some pertinent details,’ Giles interjected. ‘Such
as the fact that you weren’t just a riding instructor, but an earl’s son. And
secondly, why were you forced to leave?’

Bram’s eyes shifted back to her but Phaedra wouldn’t look up.
‘A woman,’ Bram answered tersely. ‘I left over a woman.’

Phaedra’s eyes focused on her hands in her lap. Of course it
was a woman. He was a handsome man and he’d all but admitted he’d been highly
sought after.

‘Did you love her?’ Phaedra asked quietly. There might have
been no others in the room except for the reminder of Aunt Wilhelmina’s sharp
indrawn hiss of a breath.

‘Phaedra, such a question!’ she scolded, a bastion of propriety
to the last. ‘That’s hardly appropriate.’

‘I think it’s very appropriate, considering what you’ve been up
to,’ Giles broke in. ‘Go on, tell us about this woman.’

‘No. I did not love her,’ Bram announced to the room at
large.

Phaedra
did
look up at that. ‘You
gave up your job over her and yet you had no feelings for her?’ She didn’t like
where this analogy was leading. The situation was far too reminiscent of what
had happened here. He was leaving over
her
.

‘I had no choice. I shot her husband in a duel,’ Bram said
matter-of-factly. ‘Many people thought it should have been me who’d taken the
bullet. After all, he was a wronged husband and I a mere cuckolder.’

‘Did you kill him?’ Giles asked with a great amount of
sangfroid. Phaedra couldn’t help but notice Aunt Wilhelmina leaning forward,
careful not to miss a single word in spite of her teachings to the contrary
about gossip and rumour.

‘No, I did not.’ Bram was speaking to Giles now. ‘But the
incident was enough to make it necessary to leave London. My father thought it
best I leave town for the duration of the Season.’

‘Your father the earl,’ Giles put in.

‘Yes. I am the Earl of Hartvale’s second son, Lord Bramford
Basingstoke.’ To his credit, Bram didn’t try to deny it, although there would
have been little point to it at this juncture. The jig was up and he knew
it.

‘And now you’re here.’ Phaedra rose, wanting to pace and spend
some of the angry energy she’d accumulated. What had begun as the most
marvellous interlude of her life had taken a dark cast. It was ending poorly.
‘You’re repeating the same pattern. I understand. I was just another student at
Nannerings to you.’