The Chaperon's Seduction Page 11

  They worked in silence. Phyllida had placed the basket on the ground between them and was surprised at how companionable it felt. She was aware of the birdsong, of the hum of insects and the warmth of the sun on her back, but more than anything she was aware of Richard at her side. Occasionally he moved closer and pulled down the higher stems for her to collect the soft fruit, or held aside the thick branches so she could reach deep into the heart of the bush.

  Clearly, it was her duty to keep Richard Arrandale away from Ellen, but there was no denying that she was enjoying herself, more than she had done in a long time. The thought surprised her and she realised how staid her life had become, not only the twelve months she had spent in mourning at Tatham Park but the years before that. Years spent running a household and looking after an ageing husband.

  I became a matron at eighteen, she thought, as she reached between two long branches to pluck a few particularly juicy berries. I was caught up in the duties of being a wife and mother as soon as I left the schoolroom, with no time for frivolous pastimes.

  ‘Oh!’

  A thorn had penetrated the soft kid of her glove and pierced her finger.

  ‘Keep still.’

  Richard was at her side immediately and she found it impossible to remain silent.

  ‘I fear I have no choice but to obey,’ she told him. ‘The thorns have caught at my sleeve.’

  He stepped closer and she was painfully aware of the hard wall of his chest against her back. Her mouth dried, he filled her senses. She breathed in the masculine smell of him, the mix of soap and leather and an indefinable hint of musky spices. Surely she was imagining the thud of his heart against her shoulders, but she could feel his breath on her cheek and she trembled.

  ‘Steady now.’

  One hand rested on her shoulder while the other reached past her to lift away the offending thorny tentacle.

  ‘There, you are free.’

  Free? How could she be free when her whole body was in thrall to him? When he was so close she could feel the heat of him on her back? Phyllida shook off the thought and carefully withdrew her arm from the briars. When Richard removed his hand from her shoulder she felt it immediately, a yearning chill and an emptiness that was almost a physical pain. She stepped back and turned, only to find that he was close behind her, less than a hand’s width away, his broad chest and powerful shoulders filling her view, like a cliff face. She was distracted by detail, the fine stitching of his exquisitely tailored blue coat, the double row of buttons on his pale waistcoat, the snowy folds of linen at his neck. The hammering of her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. Surely he must hear it, see how shaken she was? She tried to speak lightly to divert his attention and her own.

  ‘Thank you, sir. I fear I could not have extricated myself without ruining this gown.’

  She stretched her cheeks into a smile and looked up, confident she could ask him calmly to let her pass, but her gaze locked on to his mouth and the words died in her throat as she studied the firm sculpted lips. She was distracted by imagining how they would feel on her skin. She swallowed, forced her gaze upwards but that proved even more dangerous, for his blue eyes held her transfixed. She was lost, unable to move. She could no longer hear the skylark’s distant trill, nor the laughing voices of those picking berries further along the hedgerow. The world had shrunk to just the two of them. Anticipation tremored through her when he ran his hands lightly up her arms and the skin beneath the thin sleeves burned with his touch. His fingers came to rest upon her shoulders, gently pulling her towards him as he lowered his head to kiss her. She made no effort to resist. Instead her chin tilted up and her lips parted instinctively as his mouth came closer.

  It was the lightest contact, a slight, tantalising brush of the lips, but Phyllida felt as if a lightning bolt had struck her, shocking her, driving through her body and anchoring her to the spot. She kept her hands at her sides, clenched into fists to prevent them clinging to him like a desperate, drowning creature. She found herself straining upwards, trying to prolong the contact but it was over almost as soon as it had begun and as he raised his head Phyllida felt strangely bereft. The kiss had been the work of a moment, but it had shaken her to the core and she struggled to find a suitable response.

  ‘You, you should not have done that.’

  There was a faint crease at one side of his mouth, the merest hint of a smile.

  ‘No one saw us.’

  That was not what she meant at all, but it brought her back to reality. The thorny brambles were at her back so she sidestepped, breaking those invisible threads that had held her to him, even though it was like tearing her own flesh to move away from him. Distance gave her the strength to think properly again.

  ‘I did not mean that and you know it. Your behaviour was ungentlemanly, sir.’

  ‘You could have said no. You could have resisted.’

  She scooped up the little basket and began to walk away.

  ‘I should not have had to do so.’

  He laughed softly as he fell in beside her.

  ‘I believe I deserved some reward for rescuing a damsel in distress.’

  She stopped, saying angrily, ‘What you deserve, sir—’

  ‘Yes?’

  He was smiling down at her, sending her thoughts once more into disorder. Alarms clamoured in her head, it was as much as she could do not to throw herself at him and the glint in his blue eyes told her he knew it. With a hiss of exasperation she walked on.

  ‘You deserve to be shamed publicly for your behaviour.’

  ‘Ah, but the Arrandales have no shame, did you not know that?’

  He spoke lightly, but there was something in his tone, a faint hint of bitterness that undermined her indignation. It could have been a ploy, a trick to gain her sympathy, but somehow she did not think so. With a sudden flash of insight she thought he was like a child, behaving badly because it was expected of him.

  ‘Oh, how despicable you are!’ she exclaimed. ‘I should be scolding you for your outrageous behaviour and instead—’ She broke off.

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted her gently.

  I want to take you in my arms and kiss away your pain.

  Phyllida was appalled. She had come very close to saying the words aloud. With a tiny shake of her head she almost ran the last few yards to where Mrs Desborough and Lady Wakefield were sitting under a large parasol.

  The two ladies greeted Phyllida cheerfully and although they noted her flushed countenance, they put it down to too much sun and suggested she should come and sit with them in the shade. Mr Desborough, who was now awake and enjoying a glass of claret, invited Richard to join him.

  As the ladies admired her basket of blackberries, sympathised with her ruined gloves and uttered up thanks that she had not spoiled her gown, Phyllida recovered her equilibrium. She decided not to say anything about Richard’s disgraceful behaviour, especially since it did not reflect well upon her own judgement in allowing him to take such a liberty.

  No, she thought, as the others returned and they prepared to make their way back to Bath, she had learned a valuable lesson and she would be sure Richard Arrandale had no opportunity to repeat it, or to try such tricks upon her stepdaughter.

  Chapter Seven

  The season had not yet started in Bath but the Assembly Rooms were crowded for the latest ball. Lady Wakefield had offered to include Ellen in her party, but Phyllida had decided she should go, too. She was concerned at the number of gentlemen who were vying for Ellen’s attention, so much so that she had mentioned it to Lady Hune, when they had met a few days earlier. Ellen was attending her dancing class and Phyllida had taken the opportunity to call upon Lady Hune and enquire after her health, but the dowager’s kindness encouraged Phyllida to confide in her.

  ‘I had not thought there would be so many gentlemen in
Bath on the lookout for a wife,’ she admitted. ‘Ellen’s inheritance is held in trust until she attains her majority in four years’ time but even that knowledge does not seem to deter them.’

  ‘And does Ellen favour any of these gentlemen?’

  ‘No, she doesn’t, and that is the most comforting thing, ma’am. She is a minx, and willing to flirt with them, although I make sure she does not go too far, and I allow none of them to be alone with her.’ Phyllida stopped, frowning, trying to make sense of her worries. ‘I wonder if perhaps I made a mistake in bringing her to Bath. Only, she could no longer remain at the school, and to incarcerate her at Tatham Park would have been too cruel. You see, the families of her close friends have moved away and the society there is somewhat limited now.’

  ‘As you have discovered in the past year.’

  She gave a reluctant smile. ‘Precisely, ma’am. Oh, I know I was in mourning, but it would have been a comfort to have at least a few families I could call upon, instead of having to entertain my husband’s relatives.’

  ‘Is that Walter Tatham?’ asked Sophia. ‘He was always a pompous slow-top. I never met his wife but I suppose she is the same—you need not say so, my dear, I can tell by your face that it is the case.’

  ‘I do not mean to be unkind, but when one has been the mistress of one’s own household for years...’

  ‘They tried to browbeat you, I suppose.’ The dowager gave a little huff of exasperation.

  ‘The thing is, they were against my bringing Ellen to live with me, and I...’ Phyllida bit her lip ‘...I wonder now if they were right.’

  ‘Nonsense, it is doing you the world of good to be out in society again. You have regained your glow.’

  ‘You are very kind, ma’am, but it is not about me.’

  ‘From what I know of your stepdaughter she is well able to look after herself,’ retorted Sophia. ‘She is a very pretty-behaved young lady, confident, yes, and spirited, I always like that in a girl, but she also appears to be quite sensible. She will do very well, as long as none of these fellows steals her heart.’ She fell silent and from the shadow of pain that crossed her face Phyllida thought that perhaps she was thinking of Lady Cassandra, her granddaughter. Phyllida waited, not wishing to disturb the old lady’s thoughts and after a few moments the dowager gave herself a little shake and resumed, saying briskly, ‘Let her enjoy herself, within the bounds of propriety, and she will do very well.’

  Sophia had hesitated for a moment, then changed the subject. Looking back, Phyllida wondered if she had been about to ask if Richard Arrandale was one of those paying court to Ellen, but the old lady was sharp enough to know the answer to that. If Lady Hune would warn him off, then all to the good, thought Phyllida now, as she watched Ellen going down the dance with Henry Fullingham.

  Phyllida felt a little guilty because her concern over Ellen was not the only reason she had decided to attend the ball. She had given in to the temptation to put on one of her old ball gowns. When she had seen that Phyllida was prepared to dance, Lady Wakefield had immediately found her a partner, and since she had assured her that she was perfectly able to keep an eye on Ellen as well as Julia, Phyllida gave herself up to the enjoyment of the music. She was not quite lost to all sense of her responsibilities, but Ellen appeared to have a partner for every new set, so Phyllida salved her conscience with the thought that the child could come to very little harm while she was dancing.

  * * *

  Richard saw Phyllida as soon as he entered the ballroom. She was on the dance floor, the folds of her peach-coloured gown flowing gracefully around her elegant figure as she moved. She was laughing at something her partner was saying, her face was positively glowing with happiness and his breath caught in his throat. She might not be an accredited beauty but there was an elusive charm about the lady that made her stand out from the crowd.

  He dragged his eyes away. This was not why he was here, his goal was to secure a fortune by winning the hand of Ellen Tatham. The previous evening at Burton’s gaming hell he had heard the other fellows complaining that it was impossible to get the heiress alone. She was friendly to a fault, blushed adorably at their compliments, but made no effort to dismiss her maid when they were out together, nor would she allow herself to be separated from her friends. And if she was escorted by her stepmother the two were well-nigh inseparable.

  Richard had said nothing but he was faring no better. In fact, whenever he met Ellen and Lady Phyllida the chit seemed to delight in palming him off on her stepmama. No, the only chance of a private word with Miss Ellen Tatham was on the dance floor and he quickly scanned the room for her. She was partnered by young Naismith, who was gazing at her with blatant adoration as they trod the final measure of a lively country dance. The music was ending and Richard saw his chance. He moved forward as Naismith escorted his partner from the floor. Ellen was already smiling but her smile widened when she saw him. Naismith was dismissed even before Richard had begged the honour of leading her out for the next set.

  ‘Mr Arrandale, how delightful!’ She tucked her hand in his arm and began to walk away with him. ‘I would be very happy to stand up with you, sir, but first you must dance with my stepmama.’

  ‘What?’

  His step faltered but the little hand on his sleeve pulled him on. He could see Phyllida standing only feet away. She had just walked off the floor on the arm of an elderly brigadier.

  ‘It is a rule I have made for tonight,’ Ellen told him. ‘Stepmama, here is your next dance partner!’

  The brigadier bowed and walked away. Lady Phyllida looked around, her smile slipping a little when she saw Richard arm in arm with her stepdaughter. Then, as the meaning of Ellen’s words sank in she blushed scarlet.

  ‘My dear child, do not be absurd!’

  ‘I told you I would not stand up with any gentleman tonight unless he had first danced with you.’

  ‘Does that include the brigadier?’ murmured Richard.

  ‘No, but he pounced on Phyllida without my having to ask him.’

  ‘Ellen, you cannot order people around in this way!’ hissed Phyllida, frowning at her.

  Richard put up his hand.

  ‘Believe me, ma’am, I should be delighted to stand up with you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, it is not at all necessary.’

  ‘Yes, it is, Philly, or I shall not be able to dance with Mr Arrandale, and you said yourself he is quite the best dancer in Bath.’

  ‘I said no such thing! Really, Ellen—’

  Lady Phyllida was looking very flustered and Richard felt obliged to protest.

  ‘Miss Tatham, I cannot dance with Lady Phyllida if she is averse to it.’

  Ellen’s face grew suddenly serious. She reached out and took Phyllida’s hands.

  ‘I only want you to enjoy yourself, Philly. Do you truly not wish to dance any more tonight?’

  * * *

  Phyllida hesitated. She could lie, and spend the rest of the evening sitting on the benches, watching everyone else enjoying themselves.

  ‘I would, of course, like to dance...’

  ‘There, I knew it.’ Ellen was triumphant. She stood back. ‘Off you go now. And, Mr Arrandale, I shall save the next dance for you!’

  This was said so much in the manner of granting a child a treat that Phyllida, catching Richard’s eye at that moment, burst out laughing. It relieved the tension and he grinned back at her.

  ‘We have been outmanoeuvred, Lady Phyllida.’ He took her hand and led her away. ‘Your stepdaughter is very persuasive.’

  ‘She is outrageous,’ replied Phyllida. ‘I do not know what she is thinking of.’

  ‘Your happiness,’ said Richard, remembering the conversation he had had with Ellen during the ride to Farleigh.

  She shook her head at that and took her place opposite hi
m. The hot blush had cooled to a faint staining of her cheeks. It was very becoming, and in keeping with the smile that curved her lips and glowed in her eyes.

  The music started, they saluted one another, stepped up, back, joined hands, moved away. They were in perfect time, thought Richard, their steps matching as if they had always danced together. A memory surfaced, clear as crystal. He suddenly remembered Phyllida at her come-out seven years ago: pale and shy in a room full of strangers. He had been pursuing his latest quarry, a dashing matron who had been throwing out lures to him for weeks, but every time he entered the hallowed walls of Almack’s the patronesses seized upon him and he was obliged to dance with any number of débutantes before he was allowed to escape. Some became simpering idiots as soon as a man spoke to them, others were so forward he indulged them in a fast and furious flirtation before disappearing into the crowd.

  One night there had been a débutante who neither simpered nor flirted. She was tall and thin, pale as her gown, pushed forward by her mother and clearly being offered up to anyone looking for a bride. No wonder they called the place the Marriage Mart! Richard had taken pity on the girl, treated her kindly and taken her back to her dragon of a mother when the dance was over. Then he had returned to his dashing matron and forgotten all about the poor little dab of a girl.

  Except, he recalled now, how it had felt to dance with her. True, during the first few bars of the music she had made a mistake and cannoned into him, but he had recognised that she was crippled with nerves and he had exerted himself even more to put her at her ease. After that she had danced beautifully, so beautifully he had thought at the time it was like holding hands with an angel.

  That same angel was dancing with him now, holding his hand, circling, crossing, skipping around him. How could he have forgotten? All too soon the dance ended. Richard was unprepared for it, he was still confused by his memories. Mechanically he made his bow to his partner. Phyllida was not smiling, she did not meet his eyes and was reluctant to take his hand. In fact, he thought with dismay, she could not wait to get away from him.