So, that had not been a spontaneous expression of passion, perhaps concealing feelings she longed for, but which he was unaware of. It had been a calculated move to force her. The hurt was almost as great as that first rejection had been.

‘Nothing has changed,’ she said, finding her voice was as harsh as his. ‘I am not a virgin and I am not with child.’

‘Damn it.’ He stood, pulling her with him. ‘Then I should finish the business and do it properly this time.’

‘Then you would be forcing me.’ She moved away and fumbled with her buttons. When she turned back he was stuffing his shirt into his fastened breeches, his face thunderous.

‘How do you know I am not capable of that?’

‘Because I know you,’ she said. He made no move to stop her as she untied her mare and stood on a tree stump to mount. She did not turn back as she rode away into the woods.

She went back to Wycombe Combe by way of the ruined tower where she had found him that evening eight years ago. It was deserted, so she slid down and sat there amongst the flowerless rose bushes, out of sight of everyone and everything except the jackdaws, and got her weeping done, once and for all. There was a pool of rainwater, clear and fresh, on top of one of the tumbled walls, and she bathed her eyes afterwards and walked briskly home to plot with Mama against the spiteful, damaged woman who would try to ruin Alistair. The woman who had loved him once.

Chapter Eighteen

4th April—Grosvenor Street, London

‘Lord Iwerne is in London.’ Lady Wycombe spread the single sheet of notepaper open beside her breakfast place, not noticing Dita drop her bread and butter back on the plate.

A week apart had not made the separation any easier to bear, as she had hoped it would. Perhaps nothing ever would. ‘Alone, I trust?’ she said, making her voice light.

‘Yes, this is a letter of thanks, I believe. He says that Lady Iwerne is settled in at the Dower House and is planning its redecoration with the assistance of Miss Cruickshank, whom he considers was an inspired choice of mine.’

What we need, Mama had said, is a lady as apparently frivolous as Imogen, but with the sense to realise who is paying her very substantial wages and enough insight to hazard a guess as to why. It appeared they had succeeded. ‘It was a masterstroke of Alistair’s to have expressed doubts about Miss Cruickshank,’ Dita said. ‘Lady Iwerne is quite content, thinking she has bested him in this.’ Despite that earth-shattering incident in the woods he had still called with Imogen and Dita had done her best to help. It seemed they had succeeded.

‘And is he at the Iwernes’ town house in Bolton Street?’

‘Yes, he writes it is in drastic need of redecoration and is tempted to send the entire contents to the Auction Mart. He also says that if we are attending Almack’s this evening he will see us there and he hopes we will ease his initiation into the Sacred Halls, as he puts it.’

Evaline laughed. ‘I do feel sorry for the poor gentlemen. They have to wear the stuffiest of evening dress, the food and drink is almost non-existent and they spend their entire time escaping from predatory mamas.’

‘I hope that is not directed at me, my dear,’ Lady Wycombe remarked with a chuckle. ‘I cannot feel so sorry for them; they have every eligible young lady presented for their inspection—think of all the effort it saves them!’

Twelve hours later Dita overheard Evaline put this point of view to Alistair as they stood beneath the curving front edge of the orchestra balcony. Her sister had seemed rather subdued and thoughtful for the past few days, but teasing Alistair appeared to have revived her spirits.

‘Rather it confuses the eye,’ he retorted. ‘All this beauty and vivacity dazzles the poor male brain.’ He did not appear very dazzled to Dita, watching this exchange. If anything, his expression as he surveyed the dancing in the centre of the ballroom and the chattering groups around it was detached and judgemental. She put out a hand and steadied herself against a pillar. It was hard to believe that this man was the one with whom she had shared those passionate interludes. How could their experiences together not brand them as lovers for every eye to see?

‘So may a sultan inspect his seraglio,’ she murmured, recovering herself. She waved her fan languidly.

‘I have no need of one of those,’ he said, not turning his head. ‘My choice is fixed.’

‘It takes two to make a contract,’ Dita retorted. ‘Where has Evaline gone?’

‘Over there with that fellow with the crimson waistcoat.’ Alistair pointed.

‘Oh, yes. I wonder who he is,’ she mused, more out of an instinct to keep an eye on Evaline than from any real curiosity.

‘No idea, but then, I hardly know a soul here. Dita, I will call on you tomorrow.’

And I will be out, she vowed. ‘Come and let me introduce me to some of our acquaintances.’ She slipped her hand through his arm.

‘Are you having any problems with gossip?’ he asked bluntly as they strolled along the edge of the dance floor. She could feel his muscles under her palm and sensed he was every bit as tense as she was, despite appearances.

‘Some. There are snide remarks from the usual cats, some of the chaperons look at me a little sideways, but I can ignore that. The men—’ She shrugged, making light of it in case he reacted badly. There had been things said, hinted, glances and touches and several outright offers that were most definitely not honourable. Somehow she had coped, although it hurt. Sooner or later they would realise she was not available, she hoped.

‘Lady Cartwright,’ she said as they came up to a lively group, ‘may I make known to you the Marquis of Iwerne, just returned from the East?’ As she expected, Fiona Cartwright, a lively young matron, pounced on this promising-looking gentleman and promptly drew Alistair into her circle of friends. With that start he would soon know virtually everyone in the place and surely, once he did, he would see that there were many young women who took his fancy and this foolishness would cease.

A glance at the dancers showed that Evaline was partnered by the young man in the handsome waistcoat. With a mental note to find out who he was, just in case he should prove undesirable, Dita strolled on, in no mood to dance herself. She

Tags: Louise Allen Danger and Desire Historical
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