Tarnished Amongst the Ton

It was probably even more entertaining for the gossips than the aborted scandal of their encounter at the inn, for that was an ordinary, squalid piece of tittle-tattle whereas this, if Ashe persisted in his gallant sacrifice, would certainly give the old tabbies something to exclaim over.

‘I see we are being watched.’ He had noticed them, too.

‘I am not surprised. You look quite magnificent in that attire.’ A fact he knew perfectly well, judging by the satirical curve of his mouth.

‘Of course. I come from the land of the peacock.’ The music began, he took her in hold and launched into the dance.

This time Phyllida kept her eyes open and her wits about her. They might not have been noticed last time, but this time they were definitely under scrutiny. ‘There are at least two of the patronesses here,’ she said after studying the faces around the edge of the dance floor.

‘What can they do?’ Ashe asked, executing a particularly ambitious turn. ‘Is it like an exorcism and they will stalk onto the floor, sprinkle us with bad claret and pronounce us unfit for Almack’s? Or perhaps it will be more military and they will strip off our epaulettes and demote us to the ranks.’

‘Idiot!’ Phyllida fought the urge to giggle helplessly. ‘I think I will just receive the cut direct from them. You, of course, being male and beautiful, will probably be all right.’

‘Are you attempting to tease me, Miss Hurst?’

‘Me?’ She opened her eyes wide at him and he swept her close, far too close for decency, so close that her breasts brushed his chest. Then they were dancing with perfect decorum while she fought to control her breathing and he made unexceptional small talk without the slightest indication of being affected by the woman in his arms.

‘Beast,’ she muttered. Ashe grinned at her and her heart contracted. She liked this man as much as she loved and desired him. She would adore to be married to him, to have his children, to share the heat and the humour he generated. She had been contented with her life, accepting of its restrictions, happy with the unconventional freedoms she had created for herself. Now she felt like a prisoner who had been taken outside the gates for a while and who must turn and walk back of her own free will.

The music stopped. All around them partners stayed close, waiting for midnight. With the first stroke of the clock Ashe lifted his hand to her mask and she to his. He bent close and she did not retreat, feeling the heat of his breath

on her lips, watching his eyes, green and mysterious, still shadowed by the black velvet.

Then the last stroke and he pulled her closer as they took away their masks. He would kiss her now, in front of everyone. Claim her. Phyllida held her breath as they stood like statues in the middle of laughter, cries of recognition and a pattering of applause as their fellow guests were unmasked.

‘Breathe,’ Ashe murmured and stepped back, lifted her hand in his and kissed her fingertips. ‘I am not going to create that much of a stir tonight.’

The party was obviously set to continue into the small hours. Ashe took Phyllida to find their hostess and thank her. ‘A delightful ball, Lady Auderley. I regret that my parents were unable to take their leave of you, but my sister developed a severe migraine and had to return home.’

Her ladyship was gracious, offered sympathy for Sara’s malaise and smiled, only slightly maliciously, at Phyllida. ‘You look delightful, my dear. So many people have commented on how striking you and Lord Clere look together.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Phyllida smiled back modestly. ‘But I must thank Lady Eldonstone for kindly lending me this beautiful costume and her jewellery.’ Remind her she is dealing with the patronage of a marchioness.

‘So gracious of her,’ the older woman replied. ‘I hope we will have the pleasure of entertaining you here again.’

Phyllida waited until they were back in the carriage before she finally made up her mind. ‘Ashe, I must speak with you, tonight.’

As the carriage moved off the flickering torchlight played across his face and she saw he understood her to mean more than speech. ‘We will go to the apartment over the shop,’ she said and pulled the warm velvet cloak more firmly around her shoulders. ‘We will be private there.’

Chapter Eighteen

At last. Ashe said nothing, only pulled the check-string and leaned out of the carriage window. ‘Drop us off at the top of Hay market, we will walk. Tell the staff to lock up and leave the front door locked, but unbolted. They can all go to bed.’

He pulled up the window as they moved off again. Phyllida looked pale, but it was probably only the effect of the heavy shadows. So, she had decided to stop resisting and come to him, to accept that the marriage was inevitable. His body was already primed, heavy with desire, his blood hot with the aftermath of the encounter with Prewitt, the exhilaration of the dances with Phyllida. But there was something more than the prospect of satisfying his desires, of securing her acceptance. Somewhere along the line he had developed feelings that ran deep for this provoking, secretive, unusual woman.

‘You have made a decision?’ he asked, wondering at the nerves that made him suddenly short of breath.

She raised her head from her contemplation of her clasped hands and said, ‘Yes.’

For such a firm syllable it sounded anxious. Nerves, too, no doubt, Ashe thought, deliberately making no move to touch her. He wrestled, briefly, with his conscience. He ought to take her home, send her up to bed with a chaste kiss on the cheek. But instinct was telling him to make certain of her. If she gave herself to him, then she would be committed to this marriage.

It was only a short drive. The carriage pulled up and he helped her down, sheltering her with his body from the bustle that still crowded the pavement. The crowd that was out here, at this time, was no company for a lady. Several women caught his eye and threw out unsubtle lures. They were not called Haymarket Ware for nothing and this was their prime hunting ground as he had learned, very early in his night-time explorations of this new city.

‘I should have told them to turn into Jermyn Street,’ he said. ‘I had forgotten about the quantity of whores that infest this area.’ Against his protective arm he felt her flinch. Presumably her forays into the East End had all been in daylight and she had not seen the worst of it, or perhaps the poor drabs who serviced the slums were less brazen and gaudy.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Phyllida said. ‘It was more discreet. Besides, we are almost there.’ They turned into Jermyn Street, passing the shutters of the numerous luxury shops, the pavement dimly lit by the light from the apartments above. ‘These are mostly lodgings and chambers for gentlemen,’ she explained. ‘I had thought of doing up the rooms above my shop and renting them out, but I find them valuable for sorting stock.’

He bit back the comment that she could let them out along with the shop once they were married or sell the lot. Something told him that giving up her business was not going to be easy for Phyllida.