He dropped her arm, but before she could speak he said curtly, ‘I want you to keep away from Windham, Marianne. Do you understand?’
He had shed his careless air like a sloughed skin, and the effect was electrifying. Marianne could not protest at his use of her name, she could not even remember that she ought to protest, because the atmosphere had become charged with a force so powerful it drove all normal considerations from her mind. Instead of railing against him she found herself fighting a flood of new and unwanted images that had invaded her mind, images of him kissing her hands before pulling her into his arms and kissing her passionately on the lips.
She stood stock still for a moment, overcome by the highly charged atmosphere and her own ungovernable imagination. Where had such images come from? And how had they taken control of her? She shook her head angrily, driving the pictures away. This man had taken charge of her; had steered her out of one room and into another; had told her what she could and could not do; had laid down the law by telling her who she could and could not speak to, and all she could do was imagine herself in his arms?
‘I will decide who I talk to,’ she said, quickly regaining control of herself and redirecting the anger she had built up against herself towards him. ‘If I choose to speak to Mr Windham I will do so. Perhaps it is your custom to cut people you dislike, but it is not mine.’ She ignored the part of her that said she had been about to do exactly that, too angry to be fair. ‘Mr Windham is a guest at this ball and I would not dream of insulting him, or the Cosgroves either, by refusing to make a little polite conversation.’
‘Polite conversation?’ he asked. ‘Was that all it was?’ His eyes were darker now that he was angry, she noticed. In fact, his whole body had changed. It seemed to have grown, and his presence filled the room. ‘Tell me,’ he demanded, ‘what was your conversation about?’
For one moment she nearly told him. So strong was his presence, and so unsettled was she by Mr Windham’s pointed questions, that she longed to talk to him about it – though why she should think of talking to Lord Ravensford, when Mr Cosgrove was older and wiser, and an old family friend into the bargain, she did not know. But she was angry with Lord Ravensford for thinking he could order her life, and the moment passed.
‘Your manners haven’t improved,’ she told him, angered by his high-handed attitude. ‘I will talk to whoever I choose.’
‘Marianne.’ He used her name again, and crossing over to her in one stride he gripped her by the arms, looking intently down into her eyes. ‘This is too important a matter to trifle with. I want to know what he said.’
His eyes bored down into her. He was so close to her that she was made forcefully aware of everything about him: his angular cheekbones, golden eyes and exciting lips. Her own parted in unknowing invitation and she gazed up at him. She had never felt like this before. She had never lost control of herself. But now she seemed to be melting. The Miss Travis who ran her family’s estate and who spent her life on her duties seemed to be liquefying, dropping away, until all that was left at the centre was Marianne. Marianne, who wanted to forget her duties and be free again; Marianne who, innocent though she was, knew there was a world beyond the one she had already experienced and wanted Lord Ravensford to take her there, leading her by the hand. No one had ever made her feel as he made her feel. Not once in her three London seasons had she met a man who made her pulses race, or even made them stir. But Lord Ravensford, newly arrived in the country, made her forget everything else – everything except the fact that she was a woman and he was a man.
She took control of her wayward thoughts. Lord Ravensford might have an enormous effect on her body, but he was overbearing and dictatorial, and must be made to realise that he could not order her about.
She wondered briefly what he had against Mr Windham. He had been very adamant that she must not speak to him. She knew instinctively that it was not jealousy – Lord Ravensford, she felt, was, without being conceited, too sure of his own powers ever to be jealous of Mr Windham, or any other man - but she could think of no other possible reason for his reaction. True, she had not liked Mr Windham either, but she would hardly have ordered someone else to keep away from him. No, there must be some reason for it, she thought, as she looked deep into Lord Ravensford’s eyes.
And then she saw them change. The gold light burned out of them and he let go of her arms, taking a step back.
‘You are right,’ he said in clipped tones. ‘I have lost my manners completely.’
He gave her one more searching look and then, making her a curt bow, he strode towards the door.
He was almost out of it when Marianne called, ‘Lord Ravensford?’
He turned round.
Marianne hesitated. Was it wise to talk to him? But he seemed to know Mr Windham, and she needed the answer to some questions about the man. ‘About Mr Windham . . . ’
His eyes remained hard. ‘Yes?’
‘I . . . didn’t like the man. I was trying to free myself from him when you arrived.’
‘Then why . . . ?’
‘Because I don’t take kindly to being ordered about. I am not a child. I have a mind of my own and I use it. I will not allow you or anyone else to tell me who I can and can not talk to. But all the same, there was something about Mr Windham I very much disliked.’
His eyes were shrewd, and there was an unmistakeable glimmer of respect in them. ‘Your instincts are good. You told me, at our first meeting, that I was anything but a gentleman – and no, don’t tell me again,’ he said with a wicked smile, ‘because I am not about to disagree. You are right. I am not a gentleman. I was born a gentleman and have been raised as one, but the blood of the first Earl runs strongly in my veins and he was a wolf of a man. Earldoms are won by predators: men with ambition, men who take what they want. And so yes, Miss Travis, you were right. I am anything but a gentleman. But Windham . . . Windham is something much worse.’
She nodded. ‘I sensed something devious about him,’ she said. ‘Underhand.’
‘Windham is a vicious man.’
Yes, there was something about him that had seemed vicious, in a cold and calculating way. And the questions he had asked her had been about Kit. Marianne sat down suddenly, as vague yet alarming possibilities forced their way into her mind. ‘He is after my brother.’
He looked at her penetratingly. ‘What makes you say that?’ Then, as if the sound of a distant door opening and closing reminded him they were alone in an out-of-the-way corner of the house, he said, ‘No, don’t tell me here. We must not stay or our absence may be remarked.’ He gave an ironic smile. ‘I am enough of a gentleman, you see, to protect your reputation. Fducation has done something to civilise my instincts.’
She smiled, if a trifle anxiously, and stood up. ‘You’re right. We can’t stay here.’
‘I think it would be best if we returned to the supper room. There is a chance we will be able to talk there undisturbed.’
The supper room was fortunately almost empty. The only person there was Mrs Dalrymple, an elderly lady whose head was nodding on her breast.
Lord Ravensford helped himself to a dish of boiled fowl and, taking Marianne a dish of fruit, joined her at one side of the room. ‘You said that Windham is after Kit?’
‘Yes. I’m sure of it. The questions he asked, they were so very particular.’
‘What did he want to know?’
‘To begin with, whether I had any brothers and sisters, but then he started asking about Kit in a pointed way; whether he was here tonight, or if he was in London. It could have been polite conversation, but somehow it felt all wrong. And so I told him a lie. I told him that Kit was in London. But now I’m worried I’ve done the wrong thing.’
‘How so?’
She shook her head with a worried frown. She did not want to speak ill of her brother, but she was concerned that she might have unwittingly caused him problems and she needed someone to talk to. Someone who would understand the world o
f gambling and debtors’ prisons, and someone who would not be shocked when she - a young lady - asked about them. But where to begin? She opened her fan and shut it again, then said, ‘You know something of my brother . . . ’
‘I do?’ he asked.
‘When I said that Windham was after my brother, you responded by saying that he was after Kit.’
He looked surprised, then angry with himself. ‘I have met him once or twice in town, I believe,’ he said cautiously.
‘Then you must have heard of his disgrace.’
She spoke flatly, hiding her emotion.
‘I . . . have heard something of it.’
‘It’s funny. I never thought I would be worried about Kit. It was always Kit who looked after me. There were only two years between us, and he taught me how to do so many things. He taught me how to climb trees, and he taught me how to swim.’
She smiled as she told him about her happy childhood.
Lord Ravensford smiled, too, at the charming picture she painted. As he listened to her talking about the fun she and Kit had had on their father’s yacht, and how they had enjoyed swimming in the nearby sea, his smile widened. ‘It sounds as though you were very happy.’
‘We were,’ she said, warmed by his tone. ‘At least for a time.’ She sighed. ‘But now I am worried. If Kit has been gambling again then he may well have fallen into debt, and I am afraid that Mr Windham has come here to find him and possibly throw him into prison.’
‘Ah. So that is what you think.’
Marianne, preoccupied with her worries, did not hear his sigh of relief. ‘If he has come to find Kit,’ she said, following her own train of thought, ‘then he will be disappointed. Kit hasn’t been back to the Hall since he told my father of his disgrace. But Mr Windham does not seem to be the sort of man to give up. If he doesn’t find Kit here, I’m afraid he will find him elsewhere, and if he finds him, what then?’ She turned to face him, her eyes looking into his. ‘Will he be thrown into prison? If he can’t pay his debts?’ She coloured, realising she had gone further than she intended, but she had been led on by the fact that there was no one else she could ask. Her father would not hear Kit’s name mentioned in the house and Tom and Trudie, though willing to help, had no knowledge of these kinds of things. Nor, she suspected, had Mr Cosgrove. He would bluster embarrassedly if she spoke to him, and assure her in a bluff and hearty way that everything would be all right. But she did not want to be reassured. She wanted to know the truth. And she felt sure that Lord Ravensford, with the hard edge she had witnessed in his character, would tell her that. ‘It must seem strange to you, me asking you these things,’ she began hesitantly, ‘but –’
‘No. It doesn’t.’ He seemed to understand her dilemma. ‘It seems to me that I am the only person you can ask.’ He paused, as if unsure of how much to say. ‘Windham is a vicious man, and I would advise you to keep well away from him. But as for chasing Kit with regard to the payment of gambling debts – no, that’s not his line.’
Marianne gave a sigh of relief. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I am.’
‘But then, why did he want to know about Kit?’ she asked, speaking more to herself than to him. ‘Unless it is simply that he was making conversation. If he is vicious, as you say, then that is enough to explain my aversion to him; and I don’t see how his questions could have done any harm.’
‘Did he ask any further questions?’ asked Lord Ravensford carelessly. ‘Anything more than where Kit was?’
‘No. You came in before he could ask anything else.’
‘Then I should put it out of your mind.’ He finished his boiled fowl and carried his empty plate back to the table. ‘We ought to return to the company. We don’t want to give rise to gossip. You see, I am still careful of your reputation.’ He gave her a warm smile. ‘I suggest that you go back into the ballroom without me, and I will go back into the hall and return via the card room. It will save your chaperon from feeling any alarm.’
It was the first time she had seen any warmth in him. Heat, yes. But this was something different. She felt herself flush, as though his warmth had brought forth an answering warmth of her own. He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them in a way totally different to the way he had kissed her hands before, then took his leave of her.
She waited a minute and then returned to the ballroom. As she rejoined the other guests she was pleased to find that Miss Stock was happily chatting to a group of older women and had not noticed her absence.
‘Did you find something good to eat?’ asked Jennifer, bounding up to her.
Marianne responded to Jennifer’s schoolgirl enthusiasm with an enthusiasm of her own, praising the lavish spread that had been put on for the guests.
‘There was going to be black butter as well,’ confided Jennifer, ‘but Jem and I ate it this morning.’
‘What, all of it?’ laughed Marianne.
‘Well, not quite. But almost!’
‘And what did your mother say?’ teased Marianne.
‘Mama was not pleased!’ said Jennifer with emphasis.
‘Marianne! Dance with me!’ said Jem, claiming her for the last dance of the evening. Marianne gave him her hand with a good grace and joined him on the floor to dance the boulanger. It was a rather complicated dance, and Jem, the undeniable possessor of two left feet, made rather a mull of it. Still, Marianne managed to get through to the end in one piece.
‘Oh! How good it is to see the young people enjoying themselves!’ exclaimed Miss Stock, as Marianne joined her once the dance was over. ‘But now, my dear, it is growing late.’
‘Of course. I’ll send for our cloaks,’ said Marianne.
The ball was beginning to break up. Several guests were thanking Mr and Mrs Cosgrove for a delightful evening and taking their leave.
‘Thank you for a wonderful evening,’ said Marianne to Mrs Cosgrove as she waited in the hall for Tom to bring the carriage round.
‘My dear, we were just glad you could come.’
‘Yes, thank you Elizabeth,’ said Miss Stock, adding her thanks to Marianne’s.
And then Tom arrrived, and Marianne and Miss Stock went out of the house.
Chapter Four
‘I hope you mayn’t have taken cold at the Cosgroves’ last night,’ said her father querulously as Marianne played chess with him the following morning. He picked up his bishop and moved it with shaking fingers across the board. ‘Going out in the winter is a perilous thing to do.’
‘No, Papa,’ Marianne reassured him, as she deliberately overlooked the fact that he had exposed his knight. She picked up one of her own pawns and moved it harmlessly up the board. ‘I’m sure I have not.’
‘Young people are so thoughtless,’ he complained, studying her move. ‘They open windows and let in the night air. And if you take cold I don’t know what is to become of us, for I am only a useless old man, you know.’
‘You are not an old man, Papa. And you are far from useless. If you would only bestir yourself, you could do everything I do.’ She put out her hand, resting it on his as she tried to recall him to the world. ‘And you would do it so much better than me. You have years of experience, Papa, whereas I am all at sea. I am trying to run the estate, but . . . ’
She tailed away, for she could see that it was no good. Instead of bestirring himself, her father shrank back in his chair. ‘I?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Oh, no, my dear, I am too old for all of that now. Far too old. If only Christopher hadn’t disgraced himself,’ he said, his voice starting to tremble as he embarked on a familiar theme. ‘It –’
Marianne sighed. Her efforts to rouse her papa out of his lethargy had been wasted, as they had been wasted so many times before. ‘Yes, Papa,’ she said soothingly, knowing that soothing him was now her only recourse. If she did not, he would only become more deeply embedded in his woes. Then, speaking brightly, she tried to turn the direction of his thoughts by saying, ‘I believe it is your move.’
Bit by bi
t she managed to get him to focus his attention on the game once more, and when it was finished she left the stuffy room with a feeling akin to relief. It was a trial to her to see her father behaving as though he was in his dotage when he was in fact still a comparatively young man. And although she knew he had a lot of troubles to bear, she wished he could have made more of an effort, for her sake if not his own. After all, she had the same troubles to bear, and she had not become a recluse.
After spending an hour in the stuffy atmosphere she felt in need of some fresh air, and looking out of the window she decided to take a walk. The day was cold, but the clouds were breaking up and a gleam of sun shone through. She waited only long enough to fetch her cloak and muff before setting out for the seashore.