Tarnished Amongst the Ton Page 16

  ‘You are mine now, Phyllida.’ He rolled the glove back, freed her hand. ‘And I hold what is mine and I do not let it go. Remember that.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  On my own front step… Phyllida stood, her right hand cradled in the left at her breast, staring up at Ashe. Her pulse was thundering in her ears, her whole body felt sleek and tight and as wet as the flesh he had just sucked into his mouth in a blatant erotic statement that she had no answer for. No words at all.

  It took an effort of will to unclasp her hands, to reach for the knocker, her eyes still locked with his, to bang it down and then stand there, waiting, waiting until the door opened.

  ‘Clere!’ Gregory opened the door wide. ‘Do come in.’ Despite his tone his eyes were hard.

  ‘Thank you.’ Ashe stood aside courteously to let her past. Phyllida made her unreliable legs move, crossed the threshold and went straight into the drawing room and the nearest couch, throwing aside gloves, bonnet, parasol before she collapsed on it, hands over her face.

  Behind her she heard the door close and Ashe’s voice, pleasant and normal, just as though he had not been wreaking indecent havoc on her nerves a moment before. ‘I hope you will be the first to congratulate me, Fransham.’

  ‘Cong… You are marrying Phyllida?’ She could almost hear his jaw drop.

  ‘You feel I should have asked your permission first? But Miss Hurst is of age and very independent.’ Ashe sounded friendly and not in the least bit apologetic.

  ‘No, no not at all. Delighted.’ The relief in Gregory’s voice was clear. ‘But last night…’

  ‘If a match had been announced last night, then it would have been quite obvious that something untoward had occurred.’

  ‘But it hadn’t.’ Gregory sounded suspicious again.

  ‘Of course not, but your sister had been at Eldonstone engaged on an activity she does not want to be public knowledge. She was found in my arms, her gown was disarrayed. People have such nasty minds. Now they will see a perfectly conventional, respectable courtship taking place. I have compromised Miss Hurst, I will marry her—but not with any unseemly rush.’

  ‘Then you have my blessing.’ By the sound of it Gregory was pumping Ashe’s hand enthusiastically. And no wonder. He would be round at the Millington house immediately, telling them the good news that Harriet would be sister-in-law to a viscount, the heir to a marquess. Phyllida kept her eyes closed and tried to get her unruly body under control.

  How could Ashe speak so piously about an unseemly rush? Unseemly! What he had just done verged on the indecent and now she wanted more, wanted him, and he knew it perfectly well.

  ‘I must go now. Shall I call tomorrow so we can have a preliminary discussion about the settlements?’

  ‘Yes, certainly. About three suit you?’ Their voices became fainter as they went to the front door.

  Phyllida lay back against the sofa cushions and tried to work up the energy to be indignant. Gregory did not control her money, she did. If Ashe wanted to discuss settlements, he could do it with her and her lawyer.

  But just now she did not feel as if she could add up a simple column of figures, let alone work her way through the complex maze of a marriage settlement—and one she intended to wriggle out of the moment she could.

  ‘Phyll? Are you all right?’ Gregory bounded in, full of enthusiasm, and perched on the end of the couch.

  ‘Just tired, that is all. It has been an eventful few days.’ Should she tell him what she intended? No, too risky, she thought, studying his open, cheerful face. He would never be able to stop the knowledge colouring his reactions to Ashe.

  Her hands lay in her lap, curved palm up, the swell at the base of her right thumb pinker, plumper than the left. The Mount of Venus, they called it on fortune-telling charts. She had thought it just a pretty name, but Ashe had known its sensual potential and had used it ruthlessly. What else did he know that he was prepared to use in her undoing?

  There were whispers amongst some of the more daring ladies of erotic pictures and books from the East. Lady Catherine Taylor had confided that she had found just such a volume high up on a dusty shelf in her grandfather’s library, but had been too flustered to do more than take a few shocked peeks inside. The next day it had vanished. Others spoke of stone carvings in private collections.

  Her imagination presented her with images of Ashe surrounded by beautiful Indian women all highly skilled in the erotic arts, of him studying ancient love texts, viewing carvings, refining his technique…

  What would it be like to lie with a man who made love instead of using her bodily brutally for his own gratification?

  ‘Phyll? You are very flushed. Shall I ring for tea or should you go and lie down, do you think?’

  ‘Luncheon,’ she said with decision. ‘And then I shall do the accounts.’ There was nothing remotely erotic about debit and credit columns. ‘Tomorrow, please do not commit to anything with the settlements. I would prefer to go through any proposals with my lawyer first.’ Old Mr Dodgson could prevaricate for weeks given the slightest encouragement.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Gregory agreed amiably. ‘I’ve enough to do working through all the stuff for my own wedding. I don’t imagine for a moment there will be any problem once they realise you are to marry Clere. They want St George’s, which is fine with me.’

  ‘And in only a few weeks’ time? Until this blew up Mrs Millington appeared very calm about a wedding at such short notice. There must be so much to organise.’

  Gregory grimaced. ‘It seems Millington simply throws money at it. His secretary could organise the invasion of a small country, from what I’ve seen of him, and he has hired two lady assistants for Mrs M. who spend all their time planning flowers and drafting lists. I can scarcely get a word with Harriet because she’s being fitted for her bride clothes, which is why they are quite relaxed about us exchanging notes.’

  ‘So where will you live?’ Phyllida sat down again, all thoughts of luncheon and the accounts forgotten.

  ‘After the visits we are being organised into, you mean? Apparently we will be away for about three weeks and by the time we get back the town house will be transformed.’

  ‘Our town house?’ No wonder Gregory looked faintly stunned. ‘But we rented it to Sir Nathaniel Finch for three years.’

  ‘He has been persuaded that the alternative offered by Mr Millington, at a lower rent and a longer lease, will suit him admirably.’

  ‘What a wonderful father-in-law to have.’ It seemed she had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams in finding the right match for her brother.

  ‘He will do anything for Harriet, I think. And it is also very clear that if I am not a good husband my body will be found in several pieces, widely scattered.’ Gregory coloured up and regarded his boots with rapt attention. ‘Not that I would ever do anything… I mean… I’m in love with her, Phyll.’

  ‘And that is wonderful.’ She jumped up and went to kiss him. ‘You see—all our troubles are over.’ Until Ashe Herriard realises I have no intention of marrying him.

  The next day’s post brought a letter from Lady Eldonstone. She was most grateful to Miss Hurst for offering to handle the unwanted and undesirable items from the country house, she wrote. She wondered if Miss Hurst would care to come and stay for a few days to expedite that and to get to know the family.

  It was a charming note, friendly and informal, and quite definitely an order. That was where Ashe had got his assumption of command, perhaps. Phyllida wrote that she would be delighted to come the next day as Lady Eldonstone suggested and was most appreciative of the offer of the family carriage to collect her and her maid.

  Phyllida had thought her poise equal to the most trying social occasion, but she found her hands were trembling as she walked up the steps to the big Mayfair mansion. It would be bad enough if she really had any intention of marrying Ashe, but while she had some scruples about deceiving him, she felt thoroughly guilty over accepting his parents’ ho
spitality.

  The Herriards were waiting for her in an airy reception room decorated in cream and greenish-greys. The celadon vases that Ashe had bought at the warehouse gleamed on the mantelshelf, flanking the family group before the hearth.

  Lord and Lady Eldonstone were seated, their son and daughter standing beside them. It seemed they had been looking at a book the marquess was holding open on his lap. Lady Sara bent slightly forwards, her hand on her father’s shoulder. Ashe was smiling. They looked beautiful, poised, exotic and so at ease with each other that tears came to Phyllida’s eyes.

  To have grown up in a family like that, with so much obvious love and affection, would have been wonderful. The money and the insecurity would have seemed trivial, if only they had been together like this. She swallowed and blinked hard. What on earth would the marchioness think if she stood there with tears pouring down her face?

  ‘Miss Hurst, here you are.’ Lady Eldonstone came forwards, holding out her hands, and caught Phyllida’s as she was about to sink into a curtsy. ‘None of that, please! This is just a family gathering.’ She did not release her, but looked deep into her eyes. ‘Is everything all right?’

  The blinking had obviously not been hard enough. ‘Some dust just now in the street. The wind caught it and it went on my eye, ma’am.’

  ‘Then come and sit with us and I will ring for tea. Oh, you are here already, Herring. Take Miss Hurst’s things, if you please, and send in the tea. Now,’ she said, hardly waiting until Phyllida was relieved of bonnet, pelisse, gloves and parasol. ‘You know my son, of course.’

  Of course. ‘Lord Clere.’

  He bowed as his mother continued, ‘And this is my daughter, Sara, and my husband.’

  ‘Lady Sara, Lord Eldonstone.’ She attempted another curtsy and this time it was the marquess who took her hand and guided her to a chair.

  Ashe’s sister sank down on to the footstool beside the chair, as exquisite as a piece of amber with her blond hair, golden skin and creamy yellow gown. ‘Sara, please. We are going to be sis… Friends, are we not?’

  ‘I hope so. I am Phyllida.’

  ‘Ashe has told us all about you.’ She seemed not to notice Phyllida’s blush. ‘And he says you worked so hard making a nice room for me at Eldonstone. But he is being very stuffy about showing me what is in the boxes that have been sent down. Are they very naughty?’ she asked, low-voiced, as her parents were distracted by the arrival of the tea tray.

  ‘Distasteful, is how I would describe them,’ Phyllida said.

  ‘Then Ashe should just have had a bonfire and not made you look at them!’

  ‘Unfortunately some of them are valuable and there were all sorts of things mixed up together, so I had to sort them out. This is a lovely room, Lady Eldonstone. The silks are exquisite.’

  ‘Thank you. I seem to spend all my time throwing things away but gradually a rather fine house is emerging. The silks are one of the things I managed to pack and bring with us in quantity. Which reminds me, Nicholas, we have been invited to a fancy-dress ball the day after tomorrow. We must all go in Indian dress. I am sure we can find something that will suit Miss Hurst.’

  ‘But I have no invitation—it is Lady Auderley’s masquerade ball, I assume?’

  ‘And you are not invited? I shall tell her we have a house guest and that you will accompany us.’

  ‘But she… Lady Auderley is one of the hostesses who has never received me,’ Phyllida said, wishing the exquisite silk carpet would envelop her.

  ‘Because of your birth,’ Lady Eldonstone stated bluntly. ‘Well, if she does not receive you, she must have the same objection to me. When I consider some of the rakes and loose screws I have been introduced to in the noblest of houses here, that is completely hypocritical.’ Her chin was up, her eyes were sparking like flint struck against iron and she looked ready to pick up a rapier and run Lady Auderley through on the spot.

  ‘I really do not wish to cause you any embarrassment—’

  ‘I will not have anyone in this family—’ the marquess cleared his throat and his wife changed tack neatly ‘—or who is a guest of the family treated like that.’

  ‘You outrank her, Mata,’ Sara said with a giggle. ‘And she is in love with Papa, so you could arrive on an elephant, let alone with a charming guest such as Phyllida, and she will not object.’ She turned to Phyllida, who was torn between the desire to sink gently into oblivion and fascination with the marchioness. ‘All the ladies are in love with Papa,’ Sara explained.

  ‘Not with Lord Clere?’ Phyllida ventured.

  ‘Papa is safely married. They can flutter their eyelashes all they like, whereas with Ashe their husbands would become agitated and lock them up.’

  ‘I do not think you have quite grasped how things work in English marriages,’ Ashe drawled. ‘The wives do as they like and the men have duels about it afterwards. Is that not so, Miss Hurst?’

  ‘As an unmarried lady I could not possibly comment,’ she said demurely.

  ‘Of course. You will have been living a life of blameless, chaperoned respectability,’ he murmured as he passed her a plate of biscuits.

  ‘Naturally, Lord Clere.’

  ‘We must see what we can do about that,’ he replied, making her choke on a biscuit crumb. ‘We are decided, then?’ he said to the family. ‘Miss Hurst will join us at the masquerade to give us a tally of three Indian beauties.’

  ‘Shall we find clothes for Phyllida now, Mata?’ Sara said. ‘She would look lovely in jade green.’

  ‘I think I should start to prepare those items for the sale room,’ Phyllida interjected. ‘The specialist sale I told you about, Lord Clere, is in two weeks’ time and, if we delay much longer, we will miss the catalogue.’

  ‘Very true. If you have finished your tea, I will come and assist you, Miss Hurst.’

  She could hardly protest that the last thing she wanted was to be in one room alone with Ashe Herriard and a quantity of erotic art, not in front of his mother and sister. ‘Thank you,’ she said politely and smiled despite the urge to wipe the satisfied expression from his face.

  He showed her into an empty room at the back of the house where the crates had been stacked on arrival from Eldonstone. ‘The ones of, shall we say, esoteric content are in the boxes marked with an X, according to Perrott, who added a note to say that he did not know what we were paying you, but that it was not enough.’

  ‘When one does this sort of thing for a living one cannot afford to be too nice about it,’ Phyllida said prosaically. ‘We must list each item and it had better be in my hand as the auctioneer is expecting them to come from Madame Deaucourt and he knows my writing.’

  ‘I will unpack them, call out a description and you can list it.’ Ashe set paper and ink in front of her at a desk and went to the first crate. ‘Small bronze of a group of satyrs, signed Hilaire.’

  They began to work steadily, although Phyllida did wonder what on earth any society lady with her ear to the keyhole would make of it.

  ‘… six naturalistic carvings in ivory of phalli, possibly French. Size, improbable.’ Startled, she glanced up to find Ashe eyeing one of the objects with scepticism. ‘Well, I ask you! Have you ever seen…? No, of course not.’ He slammed the lid down on another completed crate. ‘This stuff is about as erotic as a plate of boiled cabbage.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Phyllida drew a neat line and wrote a new heading for the next box.

  Finally Ashe hammered a crate closed. ‘That, thankfully, is the lot. I just hope it was worth the work.’

  ‘It will make a thousand, possibly,’ Phyllida said, running her pen down the list.

  ‘Pounds?’

  ‘Guineas. Gentlemen will pay high figures for erotica.’

  ‘They’d do better to spend it on flesh-and-blood women.’ He sat on the edge of the desk next to her, one booted foot swinging, took the pen and put it firmly back in the standish.

  ‘You do not enjoy looking at it?’ she asked boldly, th
inking of the tales of Indian love texts.

  ‘Nothing is as arousing as being close to a lovely woman, touching her skin.’ His fingers ran slowly over the back of her hand. ‘Watching her pupils dilate.’ He held her eyes with his. ‘Seeing the colour come up under her skin as though an artist has brushed it with the palest wash of rose.’ His other hand lifted to caress her cheek. ‘That stuff in the boxes is for men who don’t have a woman or who are incapable of making love to one if they have.’

  ‘I thought India was famous for its erotic texts.’

  ‘Those are for a man and a woman to use together. In the Far East they call them pillow books. You will enjoy them.’

  It was a promise that had the fine hairs standing up all over her body. Phyllida shivered. ‘When we are married.’

  ‘Why wait that long?’ His fingers slid up into her hair, capturing her, holding her for his kiss.

  ‘Not here,’ Phyllida said against his lips. ‘We cannot—’

  ‘No,’ Ashe agreed. ‘Not here.’ His tongue, firm and insistent, caressed along the seam of her lips, wanting entrance.

  ‘I mean, not at all. Not until we are married.’ It had to be said, but it was a mistake to open her mouth at that moment. The words were swallowed by his kiss and she let herself go with them, unable to resist the urgings of her own feelings, needing to touch him, hold him.

  He broke the kiss, not she. And it should have been her, she knew it and could not find it in herself to feel guilty. He’s mesmerised me, she thought, her hands still fastened on his lapels, her back arched against the chair rail. But, no, she could not blame him. Persuade, not seduce, Ashe had said. He was showing her what she wanted, needed as much as he did. It was up to her to resist.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Are you frightened of consequences, of becoming pregnant?’ Ashe asked with the directness she was coming to expect from him. ‘It is such a short time until we will be married that it need not worry you.’