A Little Deception Read online

  ‘How little you must think of me if that is what you believe.’ His voice was cold.

  Fear that he would simply walk out prompted Rose to say, ‘And how little you must think of me to accuse me of treating my little sister like a sacrificial lamb. Yarrowby has asked to speak to Charles tomorrow at noon.’

  His look was grim. A nerve twitched at the side of his mouth. Rose was not a gamester but a thrill of anticipation ran through her as she watched him master his anger. No, she could not let it abate. She had to say something more. Something so outrageous that not all the willpower in the world could prevent him from laying his hands on her. Her body stirred at the thought. How she wanted him; to reassure herself that she could still stir up the desire which had led to their marriage. Yes, she was angry and upset with him but she still desired him and if they couldn’t sort out their problems in her dressing room, perhaps it would happen in the bedroom.

  ‘So you would openly defy me?’ He spoke the words quietly, but they resonated with danger. ‘I have asked you for time in which to furnish you with proof but you are do decided that the cause is nothing but my injured pride that you would defy me?’

  Rose turned from her seat at the dressing table and levelled her contemplative stare upon him. Finally she said, ‘Rampton, you’ve had plenty of time to furnish me with the truth. Weeks, in fact.’

  ‘I had no idea Yarrowby was still a contender,’ he muttered, beginning to pace.

  Rose bit her lip, torn between apology despite the suspicion she harboured as to the reasons behind his dislike of Yarrowby, and her desire to whip up some feeling within him that went deeper than his current frustration with her.

  She’d not felt his arms around her in days. Without physical contact, they were drifting further and further apart.

  ‘Well, Rampton, why don’t you speak to Charles so he’s fully cognisant of Lord Yarroby’s black nature instead of telling me what I must do and not why I must do it. It seems you like putting me in my place.’

  He stopped and glared, as if he couldn’t believe what she’d said. ‘Putting you in your place? I’m accusing Yarrowby of being such a man. It’s rich to hear it from you, Rose.’

  She’d really angered him now, when that hadn’t been her intention. Trying to keep her voice lights, she said, ‘Well, I’m sure that you’d like to put me in my place for tricking you into marriage, just as you’re trying to put me in my place for defying you the moment I oppose you.’

  She turned back to the looking glass and her task of combing out her long, rippling hair but out of the corner of her eye, she saw her husband freeze.

  ‘You accuse me of being puffed up with pride and nursing grudges.’ His voice was low and dangerous. ‘What of your true nature, Rose? What do I really know of you?’

  Shame burned her upon the instant and she had to hold back the tears, instead rising to face him as she countered, ‘So, it is as I feared. Not one month since we are wed and you accuse me of false pretences to …’ she almost choked on the words, ‘trick you into this marriage.’ She heaved in a shaking breath. ‘Well, I am your wife, Rampton, and for all your insinuations as regards my character I will endeavour to be a dutiful one. Clearly your interest in me took no account of my character. No, you were looking for a mistress who would conveniently set sail from English shores when your natural ardour was waning.’ She took a step towards him, her breath catching. ‘Am I to take it that your displeasure with me will lead you to look elsewhere when it comes to satisfying your carnal nature?’

  His eyes blazed in response. She saw the way his gaze flickered from her face to her breasts, which were heaving with anger and – yes – fear, for the thought he may be enticed back to the scheming Catherine Barbery’s bed was unendurable. So unendurable that when he gripped her shoulders and pulled her against him she welcomed the touch, even with the knowledge that there was no tenderness in him for her at that moment.

  Well, she had no tenderness for him either, but she wanted him. More than she’d ever wanted a man … or ever would.

  She yielded, slackening in his arms, her breath leaving her in a soft sigh as she arched against him, giving him access to her neck, her breasts. Yearning for his touch which sent sensation skittering through her and pooled in her womb, making her desperate and jittery for more of the hot molten kisses he rained upon her cheeks, her lips, her throat.

  She needed proof that he still harboured feelings for her. Anything to affirm that she had the power to move him to something more than contempt or anger.

  It was a lust-driven coupling, intense, physically satisfying, but quickly over and emotionally draining.

  And Rampton, as he lay above her, spent and exhausted a short while later met her cool gaze – was it disgust, contempt, or triumph? – and could bear it no longer. This was not the woman he thought he’d married. Shutting out the sight he rolled over, slid to the floor and quickly retied his banyan. With a last, cold backwards look at her lying upon the tumbled bed, he left the room.

  Only when he had regained the sanctuary of his own bedchamber did he let out his breath in one long ragged sigh, sagging against the door frame of his dressing-room. This was not how he had imagined marriage. He rubbed his eyes. He had never felt so weary, so despairing. Was this his punishment for marrying his mistress … or at least, the woman he had intended to make his mistress, as Catherine Barbery had suggested?

  Chapter Thirteen

  LIKE GILDED PEACOCKS the guests at Lord Yarrowby’s lavish entertainment promenaded across the lawns of the grand house in which he would soon ensconce his intended. His unexpected offer was the subject on the lips of many of his guests that night, although Charles had only given his consent that morning. Lord Yarrowby’s long-planned fireworks spectacle coincided well with the news of his impending nuptials.

  Helena, watching the setting sun from the balcony, felt it was setting upon her dreams. Time was running out. Charles would remove her from England within the fortnight and she had not yet discovered a way to stay, though she was closer than she had been since Rose’s wedding. Rose had married money and Rampton had been generous to his new wife’s impecunious relatives, though not yet generous enough.

  Irritation bubbled within her as her mind roamed over the few avenues open to her.

  ‘Any glittering baubles you see here with which you’d like to adorn your swanlike neck?’

  Flinching at the familiar voice, she cast a baleful eye over the crowd. ‘Even if you were clever enough to do it so that no one could lay the crime at my door you’d probably mistake the real thing for paste.’

  ‘I hear that it was not paste that adorned your lovely sister-in-law’s neck when she ventured out wearing the stolen necklace belonging to her intended’s erstwhile lover.’ Oswald looked enquiring. ‘I also heard Lady Barbery’s ire only brought our star-crossed lovers closer. Very close. Does that please you, Helena?’ Gripping the balcony railing so their hands nearly touched, he asked, ‘Perhaps you know more than I do. You look like you do. What’s more, you don’t look terribly pleased.’

  She only realised she’d stamped her foot when he laughed at her childish display. Helena heaved in a breath. ‘Rose has me to thank for her marriage but how have I been rewarded?’ she demanded. ‘I came to England, Charles’ wife and as poor as a church mouse. It appears I shall leave the same way while Rose and Arabella remain here, drowning in wealth and admiration.’

  Oswald scratched his nose. ‘That hardly answers my question. Since you love to claim credit, were you behind the strange affair of Lady Barbery’s necklace?’

  ‘Rose received the necklace from an anonymous admirer, only Edith, who works for the family, declared it would be scandalous to wear it. I recognised it as that belonging to Lady Barbery. I’d seen her wearing it the week before, in fact-”

  ‘Indeed, you would notice what the rest of us would consider trifles.’

  Helena sent him a disdainful look before continuing. ‘A diamond necklace is hardly
a trifle. Nor were Lady Barbery’s actions. As you may or may not know, Lady Barbery was Rampton’s mistress before he married Rose and it occurred to me that the anonymous giver was the lady herself. So I insisted Rose wear the necklace…and you know the rest.’

  Her irritation increased when his gloating laugh at the flash of anger she was unable to hide revealed her plight only amused him. ‘Do not laugh at me,’ she demanded. ‘Rose thought marrying Rampton was the culmination of her dreams. She will soon understand that the greater one’s happiness and attainment of one’s desires, the greater the despair when it all ends in tragedy.’

  She was surprised by the fascination on his fox-like face. He stroked his chin as if he were contemplating a rare specimen and she snapped, ‘It’s rude to stare.’

  He grinned. ‘I had no idea you hated your sister-in-law quite so much. Why, I believe you despise her more than I despise my addle-headed step-mother.’

  Helena felt the bitterness rise up her gullet. She feared she might drown in it. ‘Rose condemned me to this life I despise,’ she hissed. ‘For five years I have lived in penury in a barren prison with a feeble husband whose attentions I must at least pretend to endure if he’s not to sulk like the pathetic child he is and make my existence even more hateful.’

  Oswald clicked his tongue. ‘Poor Helena. And you at the height of your beauty. Is there nothing I can do to ease this terrible burden of yours?’

  Angrily, she slapped away his hand while she narrowed her eyes, gazing into the distance at Rose who appeared the picture of self satisfied smugness as she fingered the handsome diamond necklace Rampton had given her for her wedding. A Rampton heirloom. Meanwhile, the best Helena had received from Charles was an all but worthless gold chain.

  Following the direction of Helena’s disconsolate gaze, Oswald chuckled. ‘Nothing so desirable as the unobtainable, is there?’

  ‘Unobtainable?’

  Her tone should have warned him to tread warily, but Oswald clearly thrived on danger. ‘Well, word is that Rampton is unfashionably mad for his wife. I hardly think he’ll slip between the sheets at a crook of your little finger.’

  ‘Mad for his wife?’ Helena repeated, ignoring his other insinuation for though she’d once desired it her interests had been very definitely swayed in a different direction. ‘It might interest you to learn that the charming Lord Rampton has promised to appear enslaved in public only until such time as his wife is enceinte.’

  ‘Listening at keyholes, dearest?’

  It was Helena’s turn to feel smug. ‘Not on this occasion. Her maid told me. Or words to that effect. Behind closed doors all is not smelling of roses as their outward display of felicity would suggest.’

  Indeed, as they watched, the pair looked the very picture of marital harmony.

  ‘That’s a very lovely necklace your sister-in-law is wearing,’ Oswald remarked. When Helena did not reply he went on, ‘So, has your husband graced your lovely neck with a precious memento of your London tour? You’re due to draw anchor soon, aren’t you?’

  ‘A gentleman would have observed by now that I am surely dying of thirst,’ Helena said, rapidly tiring of the conversation. ‘You have not even offered me refreshment.’

  ‘I had thought to offer you something else.’ His voice was suggestive as his thin mouth stretched into a smile. His pewter eyes darted over her, lizard-like, assessing. Keeping her in suspense.

  ‘Tell me,’ she demanded.

  ‘I am offering you any jewel your heart desires.’

  She snorted. ‘Much good that would do me when I could never wear it.’

  Oswald gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m in thrall to your beauty and your cunning, Helena, but you’re not being terribly clever right now. I could procure diamonds you could take back to your little island home. Or …’ he paused. ‘You could sell it. You’d like a necklace like Lady Barbery’s, wouldn’t you, Helena, since your lily-livered husband hasn’t provided you with the promised diamond choker?’ When he brought his head so close she could feel his breath on his cheek, she did not move away. Her heart was hammering as he went on, softly, his voice full of promise. ‘Like the diamond necklace Lady Barbery pretended was stolen and which she sent to Lady Chesterfield. A little plan in which your intervention had the opposite, perhaps, of what was desired. Is that what happened?’ He gave a crack of laughter as he caressed her arm and Helena swung round.

  ‘Do it, if you think you’re so clever. I want one for me to keep, and one which Rampton will find in his wife’s possession.’ Her body crackled with the delicious idea of it all.

  ‘I have nothing against Cousin Rose.’

  ‘I do.’ Impatiently, she swung back to Oswald. ‘Rose leads a charmed life. Look at her tonight, dripping with jewels while I have only this.’ It had become a compulsive gesture to finger the gold chain around her neck when she watched others parade their jewels as if such wealth were nothing. ‘My husband will never have the funds to do justice to my beauty. But Rose,’ she pointed to her sister-in-law weaving leisurely through the crowd, smiling at her husband beside her, ‘Rose has her heart’s desire, all thanks to me … and I can’t bear it.’

  When Oswald took her hand between both of his and brought it up to kiss, she did not pull it away. Oswald wanted to perform some act that would please her. No doubt he wanted to be rewarded but she could deal with that another time. Right now, she sensed her opportunity. Her heart had never thundered with such passion. ‘My dear Oswald,’ she whispered, keenly aware of his desire which she must nurture while holding him at bay. ‘Just think how grateful I would be with a diamond collar…or two.’

  ‘Very grateful? I would hope so for the risks are great.’

  She allowed him a few seconds in which to soak in the promise of her warm, fragrant cheek which she pressed briefly against his neck. She sighed, twining one hand up behind the back of his head while the other trailed from his breastbone to his thigh. ‘I would think you the cleverest man in all England.’

  ***

  With pleasant smiles glued in place there was nothing to indicate to the casual observer that Lord and Lady Rampton were anything but the most content of newlyweds. While they did not always attend the same ton parties they were seen sufficiently in one another’s company, their manner suggesting a most harmonious union. Yet reproach dripped from every utterance.

  ‘Have you seen how happy Arabella has been since his offer?’ Rose bit her lip, anxiously, despite her question. It had all been so sudden.

  ‘She didn’t look very happy yesterday,’ Rampton remarked mildly. ‘I found her in tears in the drawing room.’

  ‘Yes, because Edith wants to return to the West Indies with Helena. They were both torn. Edith has been with us since before Arabella was born. But Edith’s family is there….’

  ‘Arabella says you’ve promised to find someone to attend her?’

  Rose nodded.

  ‘Who? Beth?’

  Rose rolled her eyes and Rampton chuckled at her obvious aversion. ‘Dismiss her if you dislike her. You’ll not offend Mama. But haven’t any of the other girls volunteered to attend Arabella? Weren’t you going to ask them?’

  Rose sighed. ‘I spoke to them this afternoon. No one wants to go. Arabella is such a sweet-tempered girl. And for some of them it would have constituted a very real elevation in position.’

  After a moment’s silence Rampton said, ‘Don’t lose too much sleep over it, my dear. This wedding will never take place.’

  Rose gritted her teeth as they passed a throng of revellers, ‘Your arrogance astonishes me. You might hate him but my sister happens to love him. And to me, that counts for much, much more.’

  Rampton gripped her none too gently by the upper arm as he steered her along a more private path. ‘You shall have your proof. As for your remark regarding my arrogance, I find it wounding. I had warned you on several occasions that he was an undesirable suitor. Little did I know matters were proceeding behind my back until the betrotha
l was all but announced. Since, however, you need proof I am arranging it.’ He frowned down at her. ‘Do you remember the very first time I warned you against him? I hardly even knew you then!’

  ‘That was simply an excuse to entice me to be alone with you.’

  Rampton gave a wry smile at the memory. ‘That may have been part of the reason,’ he admitted. ‘But do you think even I would besmirch the good name of an acquaintance for such ulterior motives?’

  Rose, who was feeling increasingly uncomfortable and beleaguered for her part in Arabella’s impending nuptials, could only whisper, ‘Your reasons for hating him are personal.’

  One eyebrow lifted disdainfully. ‘Give me credit for some finer feelings, Rose.’

  ‘I do,’ she whispered, her voice heavy with irony. ‘You displayed them to me only last night.’

  Referring to it made her blush. Their love-making had been fuelled by lust and anger though from a physical point of view it had been satisfactory in its culmination. She studied the half moons of her fingernails and felt the weight of her unhappiness upon her shoulders. All satisfaction had quickly drained from her when Rampton had rolled off the bed and left, instead of nuzzling close as he used to do.

  She felt she was in the wrong. But so was he.

  Fireworks lit the dark sky. The crowd murmured their anticipation for the next burst but Rose had no heart for the entertainment. She raised her head and said, ‘I’ve been told Celia Baxter was the opera dancer who was your mistress before Yarrowby took her over.’

  Rampton’s mouth dropped open. ‘Good God, Rose, do you seriously think I would stand in the way of your sister’s happiness because of personal animosity?’

  He seemed to withdraw, though he had not moved. ‘You insinuated something to the effect that personal dislike was at the heart of my objections but you’ve clearly been digging deep.’ His dark eyes smouldered as he gripped her shoulders. ‘The reason for our altercation, I assure you, went far deeper than Celia Baxter?’