Moving through the salons, he saw Lady Merion ensconced in a corner, chatting amiably with Lady Bressington. He stopped to audaciously compliment them both on their dashing new toilettes and stayed to exchange the usual pleasantries.
Suddenly becoming aware they had been approached by some others, he turned to view the newcomers, surprising a look of annoyance on Lady Merion’s face as he did so. The cause of this was immediately clear: the couple who approached were none other than Herbert and Marjorie, Lord and Lady Darent.
Hazelmere had been introduced to Herbert Darent years ago when that sober young man had first come on the town. Two years younger than the Marquis, Herbert was also a full head shorter and, in his ill-fitting coat, cut a poor figure in comparison.
After two minutes’ conversation Hazelmere fully appreciated Lady Merion’s decision to take the Darent girls under her wing. The idea that two such pearls could have made their début under the auspices of the present Lord and Lady Darent was too awful to contemplate. What a mess they would have made of it. To his experienced eye, Marjorie Darent lacked any degree of style or charm, and her austere observations on modern social customs, delivered for the benefit of the company without any invitation whatever, simply appalled him.
Lady Merion was so thunderstruck that she was literally speechless. When Herbert tried to engage Hazelmere in a discussion of rural commodities she was even more incensed. However, as she listened to Herbert, who had little real idea of what he was discussing, lecturing Hazelmere, who, as one of the major landowners in the country, had a more than academic interest in such matters, her sense of humour got the better of her. She rapidly hid her face behind her fan.
Looking up, her eyes met Hazelmere’s, full of heartfelt sympathy as he adroitly extricated both himself and Lady Bressington, on the pretext of taking her ladyship to find her errant daughter.
As she moved off on his arm Augusta Bressington heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, Marc. If you hadn’t rescued me I would have been stuck. Poor Hermione! What a dreadful couple!’
‘Definitely not one of the hits of the Season,’ he agreed.
‘And to think Herbert comes from the same stable as those two lovely girls,’ she continued, quite forgetting his interest. As this came to mind, she blushed, but, glancing up at him, found he was laughing.
‘Oh, no! I feel sure Herbert’s mother must have played his father false, don’t you?’
Lady Bressington gasped and then burst out laughing too. Drawing her hand from his arm, she bade him take himself off, adding that she now saw why all the girls fell to mooning over him.
Hearing the strains of the Roger de Clovely drifting from the ballroom and knowing it to be the dance before the supper waltz, Hazelmere accepted his dismissal with easy grace and moved back to the ballroom to find Dorothea. He had little difficulty in picking her out, whirling down the dance with Peterborough. Pausing for a moment to catch the tune and work out where they were likely to finish, he stationed himself near the end of the ballroom. As the dance concluded, Peterborough whirled Dorothea to a halt a few paces away. He strolled towards them. ‘How obliging of you, Gerry, to bring Miss Darent to me.’
Peterborough whirled around, an entirely unacceptable oath on his lips. ‘Hazelmere!’ he groaned. ‘I might have known!’ As the Marquis possessed himself of Dorothea’s hand he continued, ‘I suppose you have the supper waltz?’
‘Precisely,’ said Hazelmere, his amused glance clearly baiting his friend.
Lord Peterborough turned to Dorothea and in a serious tone, belied by the expression on his face, said, ‘I shouldn’t have anything to do with Hazelmere if I were you, Miss Darent. Don’t know if anyone’s told you, but he’s far too dangerous for young ladies to deal with. Much better to let me take you away.’
Dorothea laughed at this graceless speech. But Hazelmere’s voice again drew Peterborough’s attention. ‘Oh, Miss Darent knows just how dangerous I am, Gerry.’ At this outrageous statement Dorothea’s eyes blazed. Looking up, she found the hazel eyes quizzing her as he continued smoothly, ‘But she has agreed to overlook my dangerous tendencies. Haven’t you, Miss Darent?’
Aware that to answer this provocative question in any way at all would be highly improper, Dorothea threw him a fulminating glance.
Smiling, he turned back to Peterborough and said, quite simply, ‘Goodbye, Gerry.’
‘Oh, I’m off, never fear. Take care, Miss Darent!’ he added insouciantly as, sketching a bow to her, he disappeared into the crowd.
Turning to Dorothea, Hazelmere saw she had opened her fan. ‘You’re flushed, Miss Darent. Now I wonder if that’s due to these overheated rooms, the Roger de Clovely, Peterborough’s remarks or mine?’
Smiling up at him, she calmly answered, ‘Why, a combination of all four, I should think.’
‘Then, instead of waiting for the next dance, why don’t we repair to the terrace, where I see quite a few others have already gone to enjoy the cool of the evening?’
Looking in the direction he indicated, Dorothea saw that the long windows at the end of the ballroom giving out on to the terrace had been thrown open. A number of couples were strolling in the moonlight. She had definite misgivings of the wisdom of venturing into such a fairy-tale scene at Hazelmere’s side, but she was certainly feeling overly warm and the cool night air beckoned invitingly.
Hazelmere, correctly guessing her thoughts, made her decision for her by taking her arm. Together they strolled through the windows. Dorothea exclaimed at the sight of the formal gardens touched with moonlight. A few adventuresome couples had descended to the parterre below, where they appeared as pixie-like characters in the soft light. Without breaking the spell, Hazelmere strolled by her side to the far end of the terrace. He had a very good memory. There was an orangery built along the side of the house below the ballroom which could only be reached from the terrace. Knowing the Duchess of Richmond was a considerate hostess, he felt the orangery would be open. Coming to the end of the terrace and turning, he found that his confidence in the Duchess had not been misplaced.
‘There’s an orangery down these steps, which, if memory serves, gives on to the fountain court. Shall we investigate?’
The question was merely a formality. Dorothea was literally enthralled by the silvery beauty about her and, without thought, went down the steps by his side.
Inside the orangery, deserted save for themselves, they found the doors giving on to the fountain court thrown wide. Hearing the music of the fountains, Dorothea drew her hand from his arm and, looking very like a fairy queen, drifted to the open door to look out on the magical scene. The three fountains in the court were playing and the moonlight glistened and sparkled on each drop of water thrown up in the still night air to fall back with a silvery tinkle into the large marble bowls. She stood in the doorway, rapt in the beauty of the scene.
Silently Hazelmere shut the doors from the terrace and, coming up behind her, gently drew her back to lean against him. Feeling his hands about her waist, she allowed her head to rest against his shoulder. For some moments they were as still as the statues in the fountains. Then, prompted by her own particular devil, Dorothea turned her head to smile up at him. There was, after all, one certain way to precipitate matters.
His response was all she could have wished. Turning her slightly, Hazelmere swiftly bent his head to drop the gentlest of delicate kisses on her lips. As he raised his head her eyes opened wide. For one long moment they remained perfectly still, the hazel and green gazes fusing in the moonlight. Then, slowly, he turned her fully and deliberately drew her into his arms. She lifted her face and his lips found hers in a kiss that possessed her senses with gentle certainty. With infinite care he started her sensual education, his caresses deepening by imperceptible degrees so that her senses were never overwhelmed, but taught, step by steady step, to savour the exquisite delight he created. His control was absolute and Dorothea, enfolded in his care, for the first time in her life, willingly let g
o of the reins.
She lost all track of time, gently led down paths where joy, as exquisite as dew on a buttercup, lay waiting to greet her. The sensual landscape conjured forth by his touch was a new frontier in which each discovery brought its own thrill. When, finally, he drew her back to reality she was dazed and breathless and exquisitely happy.
Then they were waltzing in the moonlit orangery to the music wafting through the open windows of the ballroom above. In no mood to protest, she gave herself up to the enjoyment of the moment. Hazelmere, looking down at her lovely face, serene and untroubled in the starlight, did likewise.
As the last chord sounded and they glided to a halt he firmly drew her arm through his and made for the door and the steps back to the terrace.
‘Do we have to leave?’ she asked, hanging back. ‘It’s so very lovely here.’
‘Yes,’ he replied uncompromisingly. If they stayed in this isolated spot a moment longer he knew very well what would happen. Which would all be very pleasant, except he had no idea what would happen next. After that little interlude he was no longer sure how far he could trust himself with her, and he had a shrewd suspicion that, innocent though she was, she was no more enamoured of the rules restricting their conduct than he was. It was bad enough that he had to exercise restraint for the both of them, as he was magnanimously doing at present, but if she started pulling in the opposite direction the temptation to capitulate might become too great. He groaned inwardly and closed his eyes to rid his mind of the intoxicating possibilities the thought conjured up. Opening them again, he tightened his grip on her arm and inexorably drew her back up the steps to the terrace. ‘If we are missing at supper, your grandmama will have all her worst fears concerning me confirmed and will in all probability forbid me to speak to you!’
As she imagined the likelihood of his paying any attention to Lady Merion’s strictures, a small, happy smile curved Dorothea’s lips, and she allowed him to lead her back into the ballroom.
Almost immediately they came face to face with Edward Buchanan. ‘Miss Darent, you’re flushed! Perhaps I might take you for a walk in the gardens? I’m sure Lord Hazelmere will excuse you.’ The accusatory look he cast Hazelmere nearly did for Dorothea.
Hazelmere, who knew very well the cause of the delicate flush still apparent on her alabaster skin, smiled in a devilish way that brought his reputation forcibly to Edward Buchanan’s mind, and said, ‘On the contrary! Lord Hazelmere is about to escort Miss Darent to supper. If you will excuse us?’
Receiving a curt nod, Edward Buchanan found his quarry had somehow side-stepped him and escaped. The first uneasy glimmer that Miss Darent might fall prey to the wicked blandishments of tonnish society awoke in his unimaginative mind.
Out of earshot, Dorothea asked, ‘Am I really flushed?’ She felt delightful; not uncomfortable at all.
She could not interpret the slow grin that spread across the Marquis’s face. ‘Delightfully so,’ was all the answer she got.
After much stopping to talk to acquaintances on the way, they finally gained the supper-room. Fanshawe and Cecily had saved them seats at a corner table well provided with an array of delicacies. As Hazelmere helped Dorothea to her chair Fanshawe, after one glance at her, caught his friend’s eye, his look clearly stating that he had every idea of what they had been up to. Hazelmere grinned back.
Relieved to see him no longer in the hips, Fanshawe turned back to assure an excited and insistent Cecily that he would take her to see the fountain court.
When they rose from the table Fanshawe said to Hazelmere, ‘Don’t forget your promise to your mother! I’ve kept my side of it. I couldn’t bear it if she was to quiz us all the way back to Cavendish Square.’
‘Ye gods! I’d forgotten.’ Hazelmere turned his most charming smile on Dorothea. ‘Miss Darent, my mother is here somewhere in this mêlée and has made me promise to introduce you. Will you allow me to take you to her?’
She raised her fine brows, but consented to be led on a search for the Marchioness. As she moved through the crowd on Hazelmere’s arm she could not resist saying, ‘I’m tempted to ask why Lord Fanshawe is so anxious you keep your promise.’
Laughing down at her, he replied, ‘I wouldn’t if I were you. The answer would do nothing for your composure.’ The caress in his eyes made her feel decidedly odd.
He finally located his mother, seated on a chaise in a corner of one of the salons, busily chatting to an acquaintance. On seeing them approach, this lady tactfully withdrew and Hazelmere made the promised introduction.
Lady Hazelmere had been prepared by her friends’ letters to find Dorothea Darent a particularly pretty girl. The stunning goddess her son introduced was considerably more attractive than she had anticipated. She smiled delightedly at this vision in ivory satin.
Motioning Dorothea to sit beside her, the Dowager made very large eyes at her son, signifying how impressed she was by his taste. Hazelmere, correctly interpreting the glance, returned it with a smile clearly saying, ‘Well, what did you expect?’ Receiving in reply an unmistakable sign that she wished to be left alone with Miss Darent, he had little choice but to obey. Making his adieus to Dorothea, he bethought himself of another matter and departed to find Lady Merion.
Relieved of his distracting presence, Lady Hazelmere found that she was being regarded by an enormous pair of green eyes. With an ease born of long experience, she instituted a conversation on totally unexceptionable matters, carefully steering clear of any mention of her son. She quickly discovered that the child before her had poise and confidence, combined with a refreshing frankness. It was not difficult to understand her son’s desire for the lovely Miss Darent. That he meant marriage she had no doubt, else he would never have consented to introduce her. As their conversation progressed she discovered that humour and a ready wit could be added to Miss Darent’s charms and was well satisfied with his choice.
By the time Lord Alvanley came to claim Dorothea for the last dance of the evening Lady Hazelmere was wondering how much longer her son would wait. As Dorothea moved away on Alvanley’s arm she wondered whether his conquest of the elegant young woman would be as smooth as he would certainly expect. In a flash of very unmaternal feeling she hoped that, for Dorothea’s sake, it would not be quite that easy. Hazelmere was far too used to getting his own way—a set-down would make him much more human.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE NEXT AFTERNOON found the Marquis perusing various documents dealing with estate business which his mother had brought from Hazelmere. Over the years he had developed the habit of paying flying visits to his numerous estates while stationed in London for the Season, fitting these between his social engagements. This year, however, he had neglected business while pursuing Miss Darent. Never a lax landlord, he knew he could not put off visiting Hazelmere.
Glancing up at the clock on the mantel, he saw it lacked a quarter to three o’clock. The weather was fine, with a light breeze tossing the cherry blossoms from the trees in the Square. He rang for Mytton and gave orders for his curricle with the greys to be brought to the door immediately. He then went upstairs to throw a series of orders at Murgatroyd’s head. Ten minutes later, immaculate as ever in top-boots and a coat of Bath superfine, he descended the steps of Hazelmere House. Climbing to the box-seat of his curricle, he nodded a dismissal to Jim Hitchin, adding, ‘Be ready to leave for Hazelmere when I return.’
He tooled the curricle around to the other side of the square and pulled up outside Merion House. Tossing the reins to an urchin, he strode up the steps to the door. He was admitted by Mellow. ‘Is her ladyship in, Mellow?’
‘I regret to say, her ladyship is presently unavailable, my lord.’
Hazelmere frowned. ‘In that case, perhaps you’ll enquire whether Miss Darent can spare me a few minutes?’
‘Certainly, my lord.’
Mellow showed him into the drawing-room and left to find Miss Darent. Climbing the stairs, he wondered if he should risk awakening h
is employer. After weighing the matter, he rejected the idea. His lordship had his horses with him and would not like to keep them standing. Finding Miss Darent alone in the upstairs drawing-room, he conveyed his lordship’s message.
Dorothea, their visit to the Richmond House orchangery in mind, was unsure of the propriety of seeing Hazelmere alone. But Cecily had gone out driving with Lord Fanshawe, and Lady Merion had still not emerged from her bedchamber. So she descended to the drawing-room but cautiously left the door open when she entered.
Hazelmere, on whom such little subtleties were not lost, smiled warmly as he took her hand, kissed it and, as was fast becoming his habit, did not release it.
‘Miss Darent, will you come for a drive in the Park with me?’
Ferdie had told her that Hazelmere, for the most chauvinistic of reasons, rarely took ladies driving in the Park. She was therefore perfectly conscious of the honour being done her. Deciding that she could not possibly forgo such an invitation, she replied with alacrity, ‘Why, yes, if you’ll give me time to find my pelisse.’
Releasing her hand, Hazelmere, long inured to feminine ideas of time, felt constrained to add, ‘Ten minutes, no more!’
Dorothea laughed over her shoulder as she disappeared from the room. She surprised him by returning in less than ten minutes and, as they left the house, revealed something of her knowledge of him by exclaiming, ‘Good heavens! You have your greys!’
Retrieving the reins and suitably rewarding the attendant urchin, Hazelmere climbed to the driving seat. As he leant down to help her up to sit beside him he answered, ‘As you say, Miss Darent, my greys. And what do you know of my greys?’
This shaft fell wide, however, as she could reply with perfect composure, ‘Ferdie told me you rarely drive your greys in the Park.’
Ferdie had told her rather more than this. Hazelmere’s greys were considered to be the fastest and best matched pair in the country. His lordship, if Ferdie was to be believed, had been offered vast sums for them but, as he had bred and reared them on the Henry estates, he would not part with them for any price.