Tarnished Amongst the Ton Read online

  Such a sweet fantasy. Just a minute more. Or perhaps not. Phyllida became aware that however gallantly Ashe had protected her at the warehouse, and however brotherly this embrace might have been at the beginning, he was not thinking brotherly thoughts now.

  He was aroused. As she snuggled into his lap there was no mistaking the matter, the crude physical reality of male desire. His hands might be still, but his breathing had changed. His body was tense, as though he was holding himself in check. It would not take very much encouragement, she sensed, to shatter that control. She was not the usual unmarried lady, fenced about with rules and assumptions that a gentleman was expected to observe, and she had given him every reason to believe her unconventional and reckless.

  The temptation to twist around in Ashe’s arms, to seek his mouth, to savour his heat and passion and strength, fled like mist in the sun. He would, she sensed, be a generous, careful lover, but even if she could subdue her fears about making love with him, she could not hide what had happened to her from a man with experience.

  And afterwards? Had she really been thinking of risking that hard-won acceptance in society, her good name, simply for the dream of an hour in this man’s arms? Besides, Ashe might well reject her encouragement, she told herself. Just because his body reacted to a woman on his lap it did not mean that he wanted her.

  The shock of the confrontation with Buck, the heart-stopping threat of violence, had disordered her emotions and her judgement.

  ‘Oh, good Heavens, look, we are nearly at Great Ryder Street,’ Phyllida said with a brightness that sounded entirely false to her own ears. ‘What on earth has happened to my bonnet?’ She regained her seat with as much dignity as she could muster and found the hat lying on the dusty floor of the cab. ‘Thank you, I am so sorry I allowed my nerves to be so overset.’ She swiped at the dust with enough violence to crumple the bunch of artificial violets tucked under the ribbon.

  ‘Where do you want the porcelain taken? Here or the shop?’ Ashe asked, as though they had not been entangled in an embrace in a public vehicle, with no window blinds, for the past ten minutes.

  ‘Here, please.’ She would not be flustered or allow him to guess how she had so nearly allowed her feelings to overcome her good sense just now. The cab drew up at the kerb, Ashe helped her down and took the key to open the door for her before lifting down her package and carrying it into the hallway.

  ‘You will not go back there.’ He seemed to tower over her in the narrow space and she could feel her resolution not to reach for him weakening again.

  ‘The warehouse? No.’ She could promise that with heart-felt sincerity.

  ‘Too much to hope that you will not go into that part of London again, I suppose.’ Ashe touched her cheek with the back of his hand. ‘I have been able to distract Buck twice, I might not be there the third time.’

  ‘I will be careful.’ Her own hand was over his, although she had no recollection of lifting it.

  ‘Here, guv’nor! You want to go on, or wot?’

  ‘My coachman awaits,’ Ashe said. He stopped at the foot of the steps and looked back. ‘Au’voir.’

  ‘Au’voir,’ she echoed as she pushed the door closed. The box sat in the middle of the hall, something immediate to do. Something real. Phyllida took a deep breath. ‘Gregory! Are you home? I need some help.’

  ‘This is from Lady Arnold.’ Anusha Herriard looked up from a letter in her hand. ‘She invites us for a few days at the end of the week to their estate near Windsor. I had been speaking to her about Almack’s and the importance of vouchers for Sara and she tells me that two of the patronesses will be there, which is thoughtful of her.’

  ‘Ashe and I were going down to Eldonstone,’ the marquess said. ‘Are these vouchers so important?’

  ‘Essential, Papa.’ Sara shook her head at him in mock reproof. ‘You have not been paying attention. If you want to marry me off well, then Almack’s is the main Marriage Mart.’

  ‘Ghastly expression.’ Ashe put down his own afternoon post and shuddered. ‘Someone asked me if I was taking part, as though it is a sporting event.’ He supposed it might be, if he saw himself as the waterbuck pursued by the hounds.

  ‘There is no hurry for you,’ his mother said, passing the letter to her husband. ‘Do not look so harassed, Ashe.’

  ‘There is no denying that a daughter-in-law who knows the ropes would be a help for you,’ Ashe pointed out. It was one of the reasons for marriage that he kept reminding himself about and his mother’s rueful smile only reinforced the point.

  ‘It sounds as though you would have plenty of choice if you come to this house party,’ his father remarked as he scanned the sheet in his hand. ‘And several of the peers I want to talk to will be there by the look of it. Sooner or later I must sort out my political affiliations and a relaxed country gathering is probably a good a place as any to make a start.’

  ‘So you want to postpone our trip to Eldonstone?’ Ashe asked him.

  ‘I would say, yes, but then there is this letter from Perrott.’ He handed it across the luncheon table. ‘It seems my father had no patience with the ornaments and collections of his forebears and the place is stuffed with crates and boxes filled at random with every kind of stuff. Perrott frankly confesses himself at a loss as to know how to begin to sort it out and what is of value and needs special care and what is not.’

  ‘Poor devil,’ Ashe said with a grin. ‘He sounds thoroughly exasperated. I’ll go by myself, if you like. At least I can sort out Oriental porcelain and ivories for him and have a stab at any gemstones.’ His father was expressionless and Ashe tried to assess how many bad old memories the thought of the family home was stirring up. ‘Of course, if you want to be the first one to return there…’

  ‘No.’ The marquess shook his head. ‘I only ever saw the place once. My father and grandfather were at odds, as you know. By the time I came along my father was not received. I went there in the hope the old man would stop my father packing me off to India. I got as far as his study and no further.’

  ‘I’ll go, then,’ Ashe offered. ‘I can manage to postpone my plunge into the Marriage Mart for a few days.’ The feeling of reprieve was a surprise. He had not expected to actually enjoy the experience of finding a wife, but neither, he thought, had he been dreading it. Not that Eldonstone, haunted by his ancestors and heavy with the burden of unwanted responsibility, was likely to be much of a holiday.

  ‘We’ll have to hire an expert, I suppose,’ his father said. ‘Get it sorted, cleaned up, catalogued and evaluated.’

  There was a murmur of agreement from his mother. No one, it seemed, was eager to tackle the chaos of the big house. The gloom of the town residence was bad enough. ‘I have made some progress here,’ she said. ‘Most of the clutter has been stripped out of the main salon and I had that cream silk I brought with us made up into curtains. Come and see what you think.’

  They followed her through into the largest reception room, full of admiration for the transformation. ‘This is just the right setting for a present I have for you, Mata.’

  Ashe fetched the celadon vases from their packing case and set them on the grey marble of the mantelshelf. The subtle green seemed to glow in the light the cream curtains allowed into the room.

  ‘Now those are perfect. Thank you, darling. Where did you find them?’

  ‘A warehouse in the East End,’ Ashe said. ‘Miss Hurst mentioned it at dinner the other evening and I escorted her to look around.’

  ‘Miss Hurst?’ Sara said. ‘Lord Fransham’s sister? Why was she interested?’

  The plan seemed to present itself fully formed in Ashe’s head. ‘Because she is an amateur expert in objets d’art,’ he said. ‘Rather more than an amateur, but you won’t mention that to anyone, I’m sure. They are somewhat short of funds and she buys items that appeal to her and then sells them discreetly. Auctions and so forth.’ He was not going to mention the shop and her other personas. He had promised, and this was qu
ite enough to explain what he was about to suggest. ‘You might have noticed that fine suite of cameos she was wearing at the Richmonds’ ball. If we were to offer her a fee…’

  As he expected, none of his family seemed shocked. ‘How clever,’ Sara approved. ‘I know they are not well off—I was warned not to set my sights on her brother—but that must be a great help. No wonder she always dresses with such style. I was wondering about that shopkeeper in Jermyn Street, where we bought my moonstone, but Miss Hurst would be much better.’

  ‘Certainly,’ Ashe agreed, straight-faced. ‘We wouldn’t want a Frenchwoman.’

  His mother was frowning. ‘Miss Hurst can hardly go off with you unchaperoned, Ashe.’

  ‘There is Great-Aunt Charlotte in the Dower House. She could stay with her,’ Ashe pointed out. ‘Or Aunt Charlotte might prefer to come to the house. If I hired a chaise for Miss Hurst and she had her maid with her, I cannot imagine that would be a problem.’

  ‘All I know of my aunt is that she cordially disliked my father,’ the marquess said. ‘But I can write, see if she’s willing to assist us in this, if your Miss Hurst is prepared to oblige us.’

  My Miss Hurst. Now there was a concept that appealed to him. Ashe kept his face neutral. ‘I will sound her out in principle. If Great-Aunt is not willing to have a guest or move to the main house, then we will just have to think again.’

  Great-aunt or not, he was going to offer Phyllida a fee that would keep her from the necessity of going into the East End for months. Months while he persuaded her into his bed, months while he enjoyed her as his mistress.

  ‘You want me to come with you, alone, to your family home?’ Phyllida sorted through a jumble of emotions. Surprise, a surge of wicked excitement, rapidly suppressed, outrage if this was deliberate plotting, delight that she might earn a fee so easily and in such surroundings.

  ‘I am asking you to accept my escort, with your maid. My great-aunt Charlotte has condescended to move into the main house for the duration—largely out of curiosity, I suspect, but she will make an unexceptionable chaperon should anyone discover your presence.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I am suggesting a generous fee by the day, as we have no idea of the extent of the problem, and you have the first opportunity to negotiate on items we wish to sell.’ Ashe Herriard sat back in the chair, crossed long legs in elegant relaxation and waited. ‘Naturally we will not be making it known that we have employed an expert, let alone who it is,’ he added.

  ‘I suppose I could develop exhaustion from all the gadding about I have been doing and need to visit a friend in the country for a few days’ rest,’ Phyllida pondered aloud. A generous fee and time alone in Ashe’s company. It was very tempting. But could she trust him? Or, rather more to the point, could she trust herself?

  ‘You would not have to venture anywhere near Buck’s territory for months,’ Ashe remarked.

  Cowardice? Or the perfect excuse to yield to Ashe’s persuasions? Whichever it was, that was a powerful argument. ‘I will be glad to do it,’ she agreed before she could talk herself out of it. ‘Gregory is going to the same house party as your family, and so is Miss Millington. Lady Arnold has promised to exert her best endeavours to secure her vouchers for Almack’s because she is Gregory’s godmother and thinks Harriet will be good for him.’

  ‘And you are not invited?’

  ‘Best not to remind the patronesses about our parents’ casual approach to marriage,’ she said with a lightness she was finding hard to maintain lately.

  ‘May I ask what happened? I do not mean to pry if it is not something you choose to speak of.’

  There was a faint snort from Anna, sitting in the corner with a basket of mending to keep up the appearance of propriety. Phyllida shrugged. ‘It is no secret. They were madly in love—or, at least, Mama was—eloped and then Papa just kept vaguely failing to get round to marrying her.

  ‘He made every excuse you might imagine. His father would forgive them in time and then they could have a proper society wedding, he’d run out of funds for Mama’s bride clothes, he had to come back to London from Tunbridge Wells where she was in lodgings in order to make money for the rent by gambling. One pretext after another.

  ‘And once Mama was expecting me she was hardly the slender girl who had attracted him in the first place, so she saw even less of him. Finally a frantic letter brought him back to marry her. But, of course, he stopped off for a prize fight on the way, got drunk and surfaced a day later. A day too late, as it turned out, for I had been born the night before.’

  ‘That,’ Ashe said austerely, ‘is outrageous.’

  ‘Mama put it rather more strongly, apparently. But she loved him, at least enough for Gregory to be conceived. After that we hardly saw him. Money would arrive erratically.’

  And then Mama had become ill and so, with no family alive on her mother’s side, Phyllida had set out for London to find Papa. But that had cost more than she had imagined. He was not to be located, not immediately, so she had to pay for lodgings and food and gradually she had become more and more desperate until there had been only one stark choice. Sell the last thing of value she had, or starve and fail her mother and brother.

  ‘Miss Hurst?’

  She started, looked up and found Ashe watching her, his faint frown at odds with the relaxed pose he still held. ‘Sorry. I was just remembering. It was not a happy time. But that is all in the past now. Anna, we must pack and prepare for a trip of— How long, Lord Clere?’

  ‘Five days? We can do the journey in a day, easily, I understand, so that would give you three to assess the situation. I hoped to leave the day after tomorrow at nine.’

  ‘Very well. I will be waiting.’

  Phyllida found herself staring rather blankly at Ashe’s broad shoulders as he made his way out in Anna’s wake. Had she just made a terrible mistake in trusting his discretion? The consequences of this getting out were serious. Not for her reputation, as such, for if Ashe said his great-aunt was to be there as chaperon, she was certain she would be. But she was risking being exposed as a dealer, as not just dabbling in trade, but being deeply immersed in it.

  It was, she thought with a sigh, thoroughly unfair. If Gregory pulled off the successful wooing of a mercantile heiress he would be warmly congratulated by everyone and his wife accepted everywhere.

  ‘Penny for them?’ Her brother was lounging in the doorway, an amused smile on his face at her abstraction.

  ‘I was just thinking about you. Have you seen Harriet today?’

  ‘Barely ten minutes ago. I took her walking in Hyde Park under the eye of her mama. The approving eye, I flatter myself.’ He came and sat down where Ashe had been, another long-legged, attractive aristocrat to grace the little room.

  Phyllida’s conscience gave a twinge. ‘You do like Harriet, don’t you, Gregory? Really feel some affection for her, I mean? I like her very much and I would hate to think she was going to end up the loser in a transaction between her parents and you.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you asking if I will be faithful to her?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose I am. And kind to her, a proper companion. She is too intelligent and sensitive to be fobbed off while you gallivant about town spending her money.’

  ‘Ouch.’ To her surprise he neither laughed it off or became angry. ‘You are right, of course. If she was one of those empty-headed little geese who only wants a title it wouldn’t matter, but I do like her and I think we could make a go of it.’ He grimaced. ‘If she’ll have me.’

  ‘Are you going to speak to her father?’

  ‘They’ve asked me to their box at the theatre on Monday. I was going to see how Millington seems towards me then. If he looks amiable, I’ll go and talk to him on Tuesday. If he’s starchy, I’ll expose them all to my many charms and talents for a few more days before I put it to the test.’

  ‘Would you mind if I left town for a while?’

  ‘No, of course not. Where are y
ou going? Amanda Lewis in Essex?’

  It was harder to explain than she thought it would be. Phyllida found herself scrabbling round for the right way to word it, almost as though she had a guilty conscience. This is business, she told herself. ‘Lord Clere has asked me, on behalf of his father, to assess some items at their country seat in Hertfordshire. I would need to leave the day after tomorrow. It should take about five days in all.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Gregory said. ‘I should imagine you’ll get on well with the marchioness and Lady Sara. Finding the pace in town a bit hectic and needing a rest, are they?’

  ‘Actually…’ Oh Lord, how to put this? ‘They aren’t going. Nor the marquess. Lord Clere is arranging a chaise for me and Anna.’

  Gregory, it seemed, was not quite as relaxed as he looked. ‘What?’ He sat bolt upright. ‘Are you telling me you are going off with that rake?’

  ‘He is not a rake! Is he?’ she asked, suddenly dubious. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘It takes one to know one,’ her brother said darkly.

  ‘Oh, really, Gregory! Either come up with some evidence—ruined maidens, drunken orgies or three-day gambling sessions—or stop slandering the poor man. I thought you liked him and, besides, he is not coming in the chaise and his great-aunt will move from the Dower House, so I will be perfectly adequately chaperoned.’ I hope.

  ‘I ought to go and talk to him about this.’ But her brother sat back again, apparently mollified.

  ‘Certainly,’ Phyllida said, hoping she did not sound uncharacteristically meek. Please don’t! ‘I really appreciate you doing something so potentially embarrassing for me,’ she added with sisterly cunning.

  He rolled his eyes. ‘I suppose it would be a bit awkward, asking him his intentions like that. Might be open to misunderstanding.’

  ‘Whatever you think best, Gregory,’ Phyllida said. ‘But the real danger is that anyone discovers why I am away. So, if you’re asked, just say that I’ve gone into the country to stay with friends for five days for a rest. Will you do that?’