Rogue's Kiss (Scandalous Miss Brightwell Book 2) Page 19

  “Atonement? What kind of atonement?” Thea gasped before she could stop the naïve question. No, she really had no desire to know when she needed to escape from this hateful situation and put as much distance between Mr Bramley and herself as she could.

  “What kind of atonement?” he repeated, pulling her closer to him and tucking her head beneath his chin in a parody of affection. “Well, if you came with a fortune I could bear the idea of being saddled with you for a life sentence. You’re decorative and I’d enjoy tutoring such a wife in the arts at which your worldly cousin Antoinette excelled.” He sighed, unexpectedly releasing her and with a shuddering gasp, Thea staggered back a step and was about to turn tail and run when he went on with simply too much provocation, “Alas, you bring no benefits to any man who needs to consider their long-term future, which clearly is why Mr Grayling has dropped you like a hot potato. I believe he thought your pretty face was accompanied by a portion, no matter how meagre. Perhaps your aunt or your cousins led him to believe such was the case and then he discovered the truth. You’ll have to ask him that.”

  “How dare you!” With a cry, Thea whipped back her hand and dealt him a stinging blow across the face as the tears threatened to flow. “Antoinette and Fanny were right. There is not one single redeeming thing about you, Mr Bramley! Now do not try to stop me from leaving and do not even think to ask me to dance should the occasion arise.”

  “Oh, I had ideas that were a lot more exciting than dancing. Good lord, Miss Brightwell, what a little termagant you are!” Touching his cheek where she’d struck him, his obvious shock was replaced by amusement. Thea picked up her skirts and ran as fast as she could, back towards the French doors through which she’d come, his mocking laughter and the words, “I have long looked forward to the day a Brightwell begs me for mercy and I believe it is nearly upon me. You have only whetted my appetite, dear Madam!” ringing in her ears.

  Once inside Thea hurried to a less populated corner of the ballroom where she stood alone for a moment, unable to stop shaking.

  “Whatever’s the matter, Thea?”

  Immediately Fanny glided over to her side, her calm concern like a balm for Thea, who was then able to take a deep breath and draw back her shoulders and behave with the dignity current circumstances required.

  “I…I was such a fool,” she whispered, trying not to cry and gratefully taking the dainty muslin handkerchief Fanny offered her. “I saw Mr Grayling look at me like he wanted to tell me something, so I went outside. Only, there was that awful Mr Bramley instead.” She hiccupped as another fit of trembling seized her and Fanny marched her out of the view of several interested spectators, tripping over a young man with a florid complexion and bulbous eyes who looked as if he’d never been so entertained. Thea nearly expired on the spot at having spoken so openly of her indiscretions, but as her time in Bath was nearly at an end, as were her hopes for any possibility of a future filled with happiness, or even punctuated with brief patches of it, she told herself fiercely that she didn’t care.

  “Now sit.” Her cousin pushed her down onto a velvet-upholstered banquette and caught the attention of a passing footman, from whom she procured two glasses of champagne at the same time as requesting that her brother, Mr Brightwell, be summoned. “Drink this, Thea dearest,” she ordered. “Yes, don’t mind the spluttering. A bit of fizz is always guaranteed to ease a dire situation.” When Thea had finished her glass, Fanny immediately replaced it with the second, even though Thea protested that she’d be quite dizzy in the head if she drank any more, but as Bertram then appeared and Fanny went into quite a huddle with the young man, Thea was left to stare at the nearly full glass. Deciding that the first had gone down rather easily, she thought that if the second could do an even better job of drowning her sorrows, she might as well do as Cousin Fanny ordered.

  But the moment Fanny sat down beside her and focussed a look full of sympathy upon her, Thea promptly dissolved into tears. “I want to go home.” She put her head into her hands. “I thought that coming to Bath would be so exciting and that I’d enjoy opportunities I’d never have had if I spent my days attending to Aunt Minerva, but now I see what I should have seen before. That money counts for everything!”

  Fanny patted Thea’s shoulder. “And so does a great deal of cunning. Now, I’ve sent my brother on an errand but Cousin Bertram will be back in our midst soon enough and then we shall all return home. I’ll arrange for a lovely and calming posset when you’re safely tucked up in bed, and hopefully this terrible night won’t haunt you beyond the witching hour.” Her voice gentled. “Hush Thea, you’re so much sweeter and deserving of a kind and loyal husband than I am, but I’ve always been mindful of the dues I must pay for having secured such unlooked-for happiness. Fenton is a treasure and it’s my duty to ensure others—such as you—find similar joy in life.” She squeezed Thea’s hand and her pert, beautiful face was surprisingly tender. “Trust me, Thea, to do whatever is within my power to see you find it. If there’s one thing you can depend upon, it’s that I keep my word.”

  “If there’s one thing you can depend upon, it’s that I keep my word,” Bertram muttered as he made his way unsteadily down the front steps and around the side. The stables would not be far but he had to be quick if he were to do as Fanny suggested. Each time he encountered Cousin Thea’s lovelorn eyes and observed yet another dip in her spirits he felt somehow responsible. Of course, his plan would have been perfectly marvellous had the odious George Bramley not spoiled everything with his malicious public remarks, which had all but made it quite clear to Mr Grayling that he’d been duped and that Thea were as hearty and robust as, well…Miss Huntingdon, with whom Bertram had observed Mr Grayling appeared to be on increasingly familiar terms.

  Well, Fanny’s little plan had merit too, he was prepared to conceded, if only to further the far more cunning plan he, Bertram, intended to properly put in place.

  Once he’d found Mr Grayling’s groom, telling him his master had no more need of his services this evening, Bertram headed inside.

  His sisters—and Thea, of course—would be delighted with him, he decided as he rubbed shoulders later that night with the other young bucks who were challenging each other to ridiculous wagers in the billiards room.

  Lord Milton had just announced he’d bestow five hundred pounds upon Lord Cardigan if he worked as a footman on his father’s estate for one whole day without being recognised.

  Bertram raised his voice above the hubbub. “Who’ll propose five hundred that Miss Brightwell won’t receive a marriage offer from Mr Grayling in a hot-air balloon?”

  The other young men looked at him with scorn and for a moment there was silence. “I observed Miss Brightwell slapping the face of our esteemed friend here, Mr George Bramley,” interjected Lord Darington, a sandy-haired Corinthian in his cups. “Therefore I’ll wager Mr Bramley five hundred pounds he dare not propose marriage to Miss Brightwell in a hot air balloon.”

  “Make that seven hundred and I’ll accept your wager.” George Bramley chuckled. “At least then the chit might be worth the trouble. I say,” he added, “where’ll we get a hot-air balloon?”

  “Lord Quamby is arranging for a hot-air balloon at his estate for the celebrations in one week marking the christening of his heir,” someone told him.

  Bertram tried to speak above the hubbub. “Not George Bramley,” he protested. “I wager that Mr Grayling be the one to propose.”

  But the rest of the company ignored Bertram until someone reminded him that, as it was clear Miss Brightwell and Mr Grayling were clearly interested in one another — only Miss Brightwell had not a feather to fly with — such a wager was not worth anything at all.

  “I say! I wager that Lady Quamby makes Mr Freddy Rotheringham her next lover before he goes up to Oxford and that she’ll give birth to a lovely bouncing, bonny bairn before next Christmas!” cried Lord Darington, at which suggestion Bertram, who’d seen the sheep’s eyes each had sent the other, immediatel
y upped the stakes another two hundred, dolefully concluding it was going to be his only means of lining his pockets.

  Chapter 19

  IT was early—not yet midnight—when Sylvester slunk out of the ballroom. For a moment he’d contemplated going to the billiards room, as was his wont, but tonight he felt ill, dispirited and out of sorts. As the doors closed behind him and he breathed in the warm night air, he had to push back his shoulders to counteract the sense that he was indeed slinking away from any sense of nobility.

  In terms of what his mind dictated, the night had been a success. The glint in Miss Huntingdon’s eye was smug and self-satisfied. Indeed, he’d given her every reason for feeling smug and self-satisfied and he detested himself for it.

  For his heart dictated a very different outcome from the course he was navigating.

  Miss Brightwell, who exuded an innocence untarnished by his initiation; an innocence belied by the very real suggestion that she was up to her neck in skulduggery—that of tricking him into matrimony—was still far and above the one miss he’d cross crocodile-infested waters in order to whisk into his arms and ride with into the sunset.

  But, apart from the fact that devious means had been employed to trick him into losing his heart to the chit, what happiness would they both enjoy when penny-pinching was the order of the day? He had a modest enough income to keep himself in the manner to which he’d become accustomed: an excellent tailor, a fine enough address and sufficient largesse to pay the vails required to gain him admittance to the best country house parties.

  But two of them could quickly become three, and then four or more. Miss Brightwell adored children. He was rather partial to them himself. But what of a large family and the inevitable bills? How could he provide dowries to daughters that would ensure they’d not endure the unhappy lot currently facing Miss Brightwell? The irony struck him keenly.

  The simple truth was that he did not have the funds to provide for the lovely, sweet Miss Thea Brightwell as she deserved. Love would soon turn to recrimination as the bills mounted.

  The night’s warm air was no relief as waited in the portico for his carriage, which he’d ordered be brought round early. He was surprised Tom, his coachman, wasn’t already there, for he’d sent word ten minutes before and he was leaving well before the departing throng.

  A flurry behind him, and excited female voices, made him turn.

  “Lord Benton certainly paid you a lot of attention, Thea,” he heard as the doors were opened, and as he turned, he found himself locking eyes with lovely Lady Fenton. Her smile was instant and radiant but as he transferred his gaze to the young lady beside her, he felt an unwanted clamping somewhere in the region of his chest. This was accompanied by a decidedly hefty dose of guilt, for he’d not even addressed Miss Brightwell, much less asked her to dance. And this, when three days ago he’d whisked her off to the Oriental Pavilion Room to show her…

  He bowed extravagantly, as if that might somehow ameliorate her warranted hurt and confusion but before he could speak he was surprised to see one of the grooms appear at the bottom of the stairs, on foot, a look of great consternation on his face.

  “Beg pardon, sir, for the delay but your carriage copped a sideswipe, which has knocked the wheel off. Your coachman is fetching the wheelwright now.”

  “Oh, too bad, Mr Grayling.” Lady Quamby smiled at him past her aunt’s waving feather—not her dreadful aunt’s, he realised, for she appeared to have already left— while her husband conversed with Lord Fenton. “There’s room in ours. Let me oblige you.”

  Sylvester sized up the party and decided that, as Miss Brightwell appeared to be travelling with Lord and Lady Fenton, he’d be safe enough. He didn’t think he was up to the young woman’s warranted reproachful looks.

  He was also very aware that after her initial sizing up of him, Miss Brightwell appeared to be studiously avoiding him. It was just as well, he decided, though it only stabbed him with even greater remorse.

  However, as Lady Fenton moved towards the carriage with her husband, and Miss Brightwell appeared to be under the illusion she was travelling with them, Lady Fenton turned and waved her away. “Darling Thea, you must go with Antoinette, as Fenton and I have been invited to another party. Didn’t I tell you? Antoinette, you’ve room, have you not?”

  And with Lady Quamby’s assertion that it was a case of “the more the merrier”, Sylvester found himself ushered into the cramped interior of the same carriage in which Miss Brightwell travelled, his knees touching hers, and as she lowered her head to do something with her dancing slipper, her egret feather brushed across the side of his cheek. It was the most sensuous feeling he’d enjoyed in a long while and a shudder of longing racked his body. But he made sure to have his face studiously averted when she straightened though after inadvertently making eye contact once more, she blushed furiously, which Sylvester found curiously discomposing and rather touching. Gad! If he had any choice in the matter he’d divest himself of familial responsibilities and entailed estates and do what was in his heart: make the girl an offer and look forward to a life of rare and exceptional happiness.

  Quamby engaged Sylvester in some light banter during the journey home then, to his surprise, announced he was stopping off at some gaming den and did Grayling wish to accompany him?

  Sylvester shook his head. He’d stayed away from the cards lately and his pocketbook was healthier as a result. But now he was alone with the two ladies and he felt distinctly uncomfortable under Lady Quamby’s assessing eye, while Miss Brightwell said nothing.

  Suddenly the carriage came to another stop outside one of the new addresses, a fine townhouse, and Lady Quamby leant forward. “This is where I get off.” She looked both coy and just a touch defiant though she gave no explanation. “Mr Grayling, there’s no need to see Thea home, though I do trust to your discretion. It’s the only way to get on, don’t you think? Goodnight, Thea darling, but I’m expected and I can’t possibly break such an important engagement.”

  “Where are you going?” Miss Brightwell sounded panicked, as well she might, and Sylvester felt another surge of anger. Was this a deliberate ploy to put him in a compromising situation with Miss Brightwell so that he might be forced to do the honourable thing?

  To his surprise, it appeared Lady Quamby knew what he was thinking, for she said quite openly, “Please don’t worry that it’s a trap. I know your interest in my cousin has faded for reasons known only to you, and so I wanted to give you this opportunity to explain why. I promise you I haven’t staged anything that will force you to the altar. I merely want you to take the next two minutes en route to your residence to explain matters to Thea, since I think she deserves at least that from you. The coachman will ensure she’s delivered home safely once he’s deposited you.”

  Then she was gone, the tense atmosphere such a speech occasioned within the small space in which they were cocooned so thick he could have sliced it with a billiard cue.

  With difficulty he tried to articulate some coherent words as the carriage rolled down the bumpy road, Lady Quamby having directed the driver to take a circuitous route around the town. Ten minutes to unburden himself and then Miss Brightwell would be under no illusions as to the cad he was while he would be…free. The thought should have made him relieved, if not altogether happy.

  Careful not to come too closely into contact and so compromise his intention of being open and, sadly, brutal, Sylvester cleared his throat. “Miss Brightwell, it does me no credit to say it, but nor could I have been the gentleman to bring you happiness if we were to live on my income alone. Truly, I did not mean to dash your hopes.” He hated to see her distress but forced himself to go on. The genuine perplexity and hurt in her expression finally convinced him she had no knowledge of the duplicity which had been orchestrated by the rest of the Brightwell clan in her own interests. As a result, he felt even worse as a flood of feeling washed over him; but he forced himself to go on, as sensitively and earnestly as he could, s
tiffening against the side of the carriage so he was not distracted by her unsettling nearness. “Your cousins led me to believe you were not long for this world and exhorted me to show you the pleasure you’d not otherwise have experienced. The truth is, my initial feelings for you were tenderness and pity which, I regret, became something deeper at the same time that I realised you were were not in fact dying and that I was entirely unable to make you the offer you were no doubt expecting after—” He shrugged helplessly—“I, and possibly you, discovered we were both deceived as to the true state of affairs. Truly, I am…sorry.” He watched her dismay turn to horror.

  “What are you saying, Mr Grayling? Not long for this world? Why, I am in greater health than anyone I know!”

  He almost laughed out loud at her offended expression as she went on to catalogue how very full of health she was, but then she seemed to finally acknowledge what he was saying and burst out, “How could my cousins have misled you like that? Why would they?”

  She choked on a sob and instinctively he put out his hand and placed it upon her forearm, not minding when she moved it to grip his fingers as if he could provide her the comfort he was in the process of denying her. Now he was the one to choke on his emotion. How desirable she looked with her moist eyes staring at him as if he were documenting someone else’s failings and not his own.

  He turned slightly and took her other hand. The horses were moving at a gentle clip now. Inside, they could barely make out one another’s features, but the interior was thick with feeling. Sylvester drew in a strained breath. “Your cousins conceived of a cunning plan to entrap me when they saw how much I admired you. They thought they could achieve your happiness by securing me as a husband.” His heart hitched and he didn’t move away when the carriage rounded a bend and she was thrown upon him, though she moved back quickly. “Yes, they tricked me and they tricked you, too, by saying you were not long for this world, and they’ve made neither of us the happier for it. I’m sorry you’ve been deceived.”