Regency Society. Ann LethbridgeЧитать онлайн книгу.
of the glow of the lanterns to keep pace with them as they proceeded. Around him, on other paths in the darkness, he could hear the sounds of other couples: giggles, sighs and the occasional moan.
And a few yards away from him, Barton had stopped, and pulled Constance close to speak into her ear.
She was leaning into him and looking up into his face, and when he whispered to her, she did not pull away. She glanced around, to see if there was anyone following.
Tony stepped further into the darkness to be sure that he was hidden.
When she was sure they were alone, she kissed Barton quickly on the lips.
The bastard tilted his head and spoke again.
And again she kissed, more slowly this time, with her sweet mouth open to his. It was nothing like the kisses Tony had seen between them, in Barton’s own garden. That night, she had been awkward and it had appeared that she could barely tolerate the man she was with.
Tonight, she was kissing him with her whole spirit, her body tight against his, her arms clutching his shoulders.
Tony’s heart sank. Had anyone noticed the pair together, other than him? Most probably not. It was Vauxhall, after all, and the other couples walking these paths had secrets of their own to keep and no time to pry.
But Constance must have known what would happen if she came here. Why would she let Barton take such a liberty, after the way she had acted in her rooms, and his?
She had said that Barton had the deed to her house. And she had offered her body in trade to Tony if he could get it back.
But had she truly said that Barton’s attentions were unwelcome? Tony swallowed. Perhaps he had misunderstood. It was only the theft of the deed that was unwelcome. If she owned the house, she could invite who she chose to share her bed: him, or Barton or anyone else.
So perhaps what Stanton had first claimed was the truth. She was a faithless traitor, with no more loyalty to Barton than to anyone else.
The thought made him ache.
And yet, he could not stop wanting her. He had wanted her all the time she was married, he had wanted her before that, he had wanted her when they were children, before he even knew what he wanted her for. And because he was a fool, he would continue to want her, if she belonged to Barton or married another. It was lucky that he had not told her when he’d had the chance, or she’d have known the strength of her hold over him and left him with even less dignity than he already possessed.
But if he could not have her, the least he could do was get her clear of Barton before the man’s inevitable destruction.
The garden was as it ever was, gay and enchanting in the darkness. Robert had disapproved of Vauxhall, saying it attracted too common a crowd, but the few times she had gone, she had found it strangely exciting to be able to mingle with royalty and courtesans, watching the entertainments, and listening to the orchestra while eating overpriced ham sandwiches and drinking cheap wine. The pavilions glittered with gilt and mirrors. There was dancing and laughter all around her. And later, there would be fireworks.
She doubted she would be there to see them, for she would be home, in bed. With Barton. He had already led her down one of the dark walks so that they might kiss. She tried not to think of it as a preamble to what was coming. At least it had not been quite so horrible as when she had admitted defeat and kissed him in the sitting room, earlier that day.
This time, she had been able to close her mind to who she was with, imagining that she had been lured down a walk by another who wished to pull her into the darkness, a few steps away from the familiar world, and kiss her to insensibility.
And she had gone willingly, for after a few glasses of wine, the familiar world had seemed intolerably dull, and wickedness in the darkness of Vauxhall excited her.
When she was sure they were alone, she had kissed Barton once, and asked to go back to the dancing. But he had told her that she would need to try much harder. So she had closed her eyes and thought of how different it might be if she were here with Tony. And a few minutes later, Barton had pulled away and declared himself pleased with her response and led her back towards the light.
When they neared the orchestra pavilion, she requested another glass of wine, and he left her alone in the crowd to go find her refreshment. She suspected it would take many more glasses to get through the evening, but it would be worth any price to settle Barton’s vicious temper until she could think of a better plan.
The music began again. It was to be a waltz. She looked around her with resignation. Barton would return and claim her for a dance. She had been lucky so far, and seen no one familiar. But if any who knew her were present, there would be talk. It could not be helped.
A hand from the crowd seized hers and pulled her out on to the floor. And she found herself not in the arms of Barton, but staring into the face of Anthony Smythe, inches from her own.
‘There, now. Did I not promise you that you would run into me at many gatherings, now that you know me? And here the truth is proved, for you are waltzing with me.’
She looked over her shoulder, in panic. ‘I had promised this dance to another.’
‘I suspect it is Barton, for he is coming towards us and looks most furious.’
She struggled to escape from Tony’s grasp. ‘He must not see us together.’
Tony’s grip held tight and he pulled her closer. ‘I do not see how he can help it, for we are together before his very eyes.’
She stared into the crowd, looking for Barton, sick with dread of what was to come.
‘Do not search after other men, when you are in my arms. I find it most damaging to the spirit to think I cannot hold your attention for the space of a single dance.’ His tone hardened. ‘Particularly if you must look at Barton. I had hoped, after what I needed to do for you last week, and all the fine talk in the garden about wanting an honourable marriage, that you would have the sense to stay away from him.’
‘I could not help myself,’ she admitted with honesty.
‘Nor could you the last time. You needed my help, as I remember it. And were willing to go to surprising lengths to get it.’
She lifted her chin. ‘And I do not need you any more.’
‘You are done with me, then?’
‘Yes,’ she insisted. ‘I wish you to leave me alone. And leave Barton alone, as well.’
‘And what happened to all the pretty words about preferring my attentions to those of Barton’s?’
‘The situation has changed.’
‘I see.’ He could see exactly what she wanted him to see. He was angry. Angry enough to leave, she hoped, since she did not know how much longer she could stand to lie to him.
‘I do not need your help or your company, and wish you to stay far from me in the future.’
Instead he pulled her even closer, so that her body brushed his coat front and his lips were near her ear. His voice was rough as he said, ‘I will leave you, then. But before I go, let me help you one last time with a word of advice. Stay away from Barton. His star is no longer on the rise. When things come crashing down about him, I would hate to see you caught in the result.’
She felt sick and frightened and angry, all at the same time. She could go to Barton because he forced her to, only to have Smythe destroy her along with Barton. Or she could not go to Barton, and he would destroy Smythe and everyone else around her. Either way, she was trapped.
‘And that is your idea of help, is it?’ She slapped him on the shoulder hard enough to knock him out of step. ‘And now, Mr Smythe, I will tell you what I think of your help. You have been breaking into Barton’s home for reasons of your own, and only pretending to help me. But it does not really have much to do with me, does it? For you have been spying on Barton