From London With Love. Sarah MalloryЧитать онлайн книгу.
while a red-faced gentleman in a powdered wig was bending to take snuff from her upturned wrist.
Her eyes travelled to where Alex was standing, paying court to a shy ingénue who blushed prettily whenever he addressed her. She sighed. They were both playing out their charade and she knew Alex was as sick of it as she. If only they could retire again to their respective country acres. But it could not be, not yet. Not while the threat of exposure hung over them.
‘You must take care not to allow the snuff to stain your fair skin, my lady.’ Sir Ronald’s voice broke into her reverie. ‘Allow me to brush it off.’
He caught her hand and rubbed his thumb over her wrist. It was an effort for her not to pull her hand away with a little shudder of revulsion. Instead she gave him a roguish smile as he bent to touch his lips to the soft whiteness of her inner wrist. Some instinct made her look up at that moment and her smile slipped a little when she saw Major Clifton glowering at her from across the room. Her head went up and she hunched one white shoulder at him. She had heard nothing from him since Vauxhall and it did not matter what he thought, he was nothing to her. When she looked again he had disappeared into the crowd and Eloise tried to convince herself that she did not care, but her dissatisfaction with the evening was intensified.
With soft smiles and caressing words she retrieved her fan, disengaged herself from her entourage and moved away. Lord Berrow was smiling and nodding to her from across the room but she pretended she had not seen him: he might still be persuaded to sell her Ainsley Wood but she had laughed and flirted enough for one night. She would find Alex and ask him to take her home.
‘You are frowning, madam. It does not become you.’
Major Clifton’s voice at her shoulder brought her to a halt. She looked round to find him beside her. Glancing up, she saw no sympathy in his face, only a cool, considering look in his hard eyes.
‘I have the headache,’ she said shortly.
‘A little air will revive you.’ He held out his arm. ‘Let me escort you outside.’
She hesitated but the sight of Sir Ronald Deforge standing a short distance away decided her: if she turned from Major Clifton she knew Sir Ronald would be at her side, offering to escort her, enveloping her with his suffocating attentions. She laid her fingers on Jack’s sleeve and allowed him to lead her to the nearest of the tall windows. His arm was reassuringly solid beneath the soft wool of his evening coat and it was tempting to lean upon him. It was very odd that she should feel so safe with Jack Clifton beside her, despite his obvious disapproval.
As they stepped outside the night air was cool on her face and the exposed skin of her arms. After the cloying heat of the salon it was refreshing. There were several couples already on the wide balcony, and Eloise made no protest as her partner led her away from them.
‘I have not seen you since Vauxhall, Major,’ she began. ‘I wanted to thank you.’
‘For what?’ His voice was harsh. ‘The kiss we shared in the carriage, or for not knocking Mortimer’s teeth down his throat?’
‘Neither! For escorting me to the Gardens. For your protection.’
‘Little enough protection, since the rogue was able to approach you.’
‘Nevertheless, I was very grateful that you were there.’ Eloise released his arm and busied herself with arranging her fine lace shawl over her shoulders. ‘After…after you had gone, the other night, I decided to tell Alex about the letters. He is involved, you see.’
‘I had guessed as much. Well, he will be able to deal with this.’
She paused. She had promised Alex she would seek the major’s assistance in recovering the journal. This was her opportunity. She drew a breath.
‘Actually, I—we would appreciate your continued help, Major. This is a very delicate matter, and there is no one else we can confide in.’
He turned away from her, staring out across the vast expanse of Green Park that stretched away beyond the moonlit gardens. Eloise looked at him. There was something very reassuring about his strong, uncompromising profile, his upright bearing. He looked honourable, incorruptible. Suddenly it was very important to her to have his support. She reached out and touched his arm.
‘Please, Major Clifton.’
‘Give me one reason why I should help you.’
‘You called Tony your friend. I thought you wanted to protect his good name.’
‘I did, I do, but why should I concern myself with keeping the name of Allyngham free from scandal when you are so determined to sully it?’
Her hand dropped.
‘Because I flirt a little—’
He swung round to face her, his countenance as hard as stone in the moonlight.
‘A little? You are the talk of the town, madam. The betting books are filled with wagers about you!’
She stiffened.
‘I allow no man to go beyond friendly dalliance.’
He gave a bark of mirthless laughter.
‘Oh? I was watching you tonight, surrounded by your admirers! Why, you even allowed that fop to take his snuff from your hand!’
‘But that is all. It goes no further than that!’
‘Does it not?’ I have kissed you twice, madam. Was that mere dalliance? And what of Mortimer? You consider it friendly dalliance to allow him into your house at all hours of the night?’
‘No one but you knows he called upon me.’
‘Oh, so as long as he visits you in secret it does not matter?’
She bit her lip.
‘Alex is an old family friend, nothing more. I told you that.’
‘Aye, you did, and I wanted to believe you, but the more I see and hear of you—’ He shook his head and said bitterly ‘—I fear our standards are not the same. Standards—hah! I have known alley cats with better morals than you.’
‘How dare you!’ Eloise brought her hand up swiftly but he was even quicker. He caught her wrist, his fingers biting into her flesh.
Jack stared at the angry face turned up towards him. The moonlight glinted on her eyes, sending daggers of light towards him. She was radiating fury, her lips parted as if she was about to hiss and spit at him. And with good reason; he had been very uncivil—but what had he said that was not true? It angered him that he threw such accusations at her and she did nothing to deny them. He admitted to himself that he was jealous, too. Jealous that she should bestow her smiles and honeyed words on other men.
They were standing very close and as her breast rose indignantly the flowers of her corsage brushed his waistcoat and filled his senses with a heady perfume. It was distracting, intoxicating. His fingers tightened on her slender wrist, pulling her even closer. Suddenly he wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her, transforming her rage into the passion he sensed was just beneath the surface. He saw the anger leave her face. Her eyes widened, as though she was reading his thoughts. He could take her now, he knew it. They were standing breast to breast; he would only have to move a little to bring his mouth down to hers. It was like holding a taper close to a tinderbox, knowing that the slightest touch would ignite a blaze.
She swallowed hard and his eyes were drawn to the convulsive movement in the slender column of her throat. He would like to kiss her there, he thought distractedly. He would like to trail his mouth over her skin to the base of her throat where a pulse was beating so rapidly, and carry on until his lips reached the soft swell of her breasts. Then…
She gave a little sob.
‘Let me go, you monster!’
His head jerked up and he came to his senses. She was struggling to free herself from his vice-like grip.