Georgette Heyer - Regency Romance Classics - Georgette Heyer Collection

"Why should I be kind when you are not? You'll none of my terms? Very well!" He made as if to open the locket.

"No, no, no!" almost shrieked Cleone. "I'll do anything, anything! Only don't open it!"

"You'll play me?"

Cleone drew a deep breath.

"Yes. I will. And I'll never, never, never speak to you again!"

He laughed.

"Oh, I trust you'll change your mind! Now!" He cast the dice. "Aha! Can you beat that?"

Cleone took the box in a firm clasp, and shook it long and violently. Her cheeks were burning, her eyes tight shut. She threw the dice. Brenderby bent over the table.

"Alack!"

Her eyes flew open.

"I've won? Oh, I have won!"

"No. I was grieving for you, fairest, not for myself. You have lost."

Tears glistened on the end of her long lashes.

"Sir Deryk—p-please be gen-generous now! I don't want to—kiss you!"

"What! You cry off? Shame, Cleone!" he teased.

"You are monstrous unk-kind! It's my locket, and I d-don't want to kiss you! I don't, I don't! I hate you!"

"That adds spice, my dear. Must I take the price?"

She choked down a sob.

"Very well. Kiss me." She stood where she was, face upturned, with the resignation of a martyr.

He laid his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her.

"By God, Cleone, you're damnably beautiful!" he said thickly. "You've played with fire to-night—but I won't burn you too much!" He bent his head till his lips met hers.

At that inauspicious moment James and Philip walked into the room.

"No, it was here she said, Philip. I re—"

With a cry of horror Cleone sprang away from Sir Deryk, her cheeks flaming. Her wide eyes went from James' face of frozen astonishment to Philip's pale, furious countenance.

Philip took a half-step forward, his hand wrenching at his sword-hilt. Then he checked and slammed the sword back into the scabbard. Cleone had not struggled in Brenderby's embrace. What could he do? He had always thought her in love with the fellow. And on the top of his own proposal.... He swept a magnificent bow.

" Mille pardons, mademoiselle! It seems that I intrude."

Cleone winced at the biting sarcasm in his voice. She tried to speak, and failed. What could she say?

James came out of his stupor. He strode forward.

"What in thunder—"

"I don't kn-know!" quavered Cleone. "Oh—oh, heaven!"

Quickly Brenderby stepped to her side. He took her hand in his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Gentlemen, you have the honour of addressing my affianced wife," he said haughtily.

Philip's hand was on the curtain. It clenched slowly. He stood very still, his eyes on Cleone's face.

"Oh!" cried Cleone. "Oh, I—" She stopped helplessly. Heavens, what a position she was in! If she denied that she was betrothed to Brenderby, what could Philip think? What must he think? He had seen her in Sir Deryk's arms; the only excuse was a betrothal. And she had accused Philip of loose behaviour! Whatever happened, he must not think her a light woman! But, oh! how could she say she was betrothed to another when she desired nothing better than to fly to him for protection? She compromised.

"I—oh, I think I am about—to faint!" she said.

Sir Deryk drew her hand through his arm.

"No, no, my love! Tell these gentlemen that it is as I say."

Cleone looked at Philip. Was he sneering? She couldn't bear it.

"Yes," she said. "It is."

Philip seemed to stiffen. He bowed again.

"Permit me to offer my felicitations," he said, but his voice was not quite steady.

James hurried forward, furious.

"Your pardon, sir! I beg leave to contradict that statement!"

They all stared at him in amazement. Philip eyed him through his quizzing-glass.

"I—beg—your—pardon?" drawled Brenderby.

"I am betrothed to her myself!" shouted James.

Cleone's hands flew to her cheeks.

"Oh!" she fluttered. "Oh—oh, I am going to faint!"

Brenderby's eyes twinkled.

"Bear up a little longer, dear! Of course, I know there is no truth in what Mr. Winton says!"

"It is true!" James danced in his fury. "Cleone promised to wed me, only a little while back! You can't deny it, Clo! You did!"

"I did not!"

"You did! You said yes! You know you did!"

Cleone leaned on the nearest thing to her for support. It chanced to be Sir Deryk, but she was past caring.

"James, you know I—never meant it!"

Suddenly Philip's lips twitched. Brenderby was bubbling over with ill-suppressed merriment.

"My dear, this is most serious! Did you, indeed, accept Mr. Winton's proposal?"

"Yes, but he knows I did not mean it! I—"

"Cleone, do you tell me you accepted him and—"

"Yes, she did! And I hold her to her promise!"

Cleone's knees threatened to give way.

"James, I can't marry you! I won't marry you!"

"I hold you to your promise!" repeated James, almost beside himself.

"And I." Sir Deryk passed his arm round Cleone's waist. "I hold Cleone to the promise she has given me!"

Philip interposed.

"Probably the lady would be glad of a chair," he suggested evenly. "James, Brenderby—let your future wife sit down!"

Sir Deryk's shoulders shook. He led Cleone to the couch, and she sank on to it, hiding her face.

Philip swung the curtain aside.

"Permit me to withdraw. Decidedly I am de trop . Mademoiselle, messieurs!" He went out, and the curtain fell back into place.

"Oh, oh, oh!" moaned Cleone.

James bent over her.

"Come, Clo! Let me take you back to your aunt!"

Brenderby stepped to Cleone's other side.

"Cleone needs no other escort than that of her affianced husband, sir!"

"And that is I!"

"On the contrary, it is I! Cleone, sweet, come!"

Cleone sprang up.

"It's neither of you! Don't—touch me! Oh, that I should be so humiliated! I will not marry you, James! You know that I never heard what you said!"

James set his chin stubbornly.

"I'll not release you from your promise," he said.

"And nor will I." Sir Deryk was enjoying himself.

"You must release me, James!" cried Cleone. "I—I am going to wed—Sir Deryk!" She dissolved into tears. "Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do? How—how dreadful it is! Let me go! I hate you both!" She fled from them and was at her aunt's side before either had time to follow her.

"Good gracious, child, what's amiss?" exclaimed Lady Malmerstoke. "You're as white as my wig!"

"Take me home!" begged Cleone. "I am b-betrothed to Sir Deryk and James! Oh, for heaven's sake, take me home!"

Table of Contents

Sir Maurice and his brother were sitting at breakfast next morning when Philip burst in on them. Tom jumped up and swore.

"Damn you, Philip! At this hour!"

Philip paid not the slightest heed to him. He grasped his father by the shoulder.

"Father, you must to Lady Malmerstoke's house at once!"

Sir Maurice ate another mouthful of beef.

"Sit down, my son, and be calm. What's to do?"

"God alone knows!" cried Philip. He sank into a chair and rejected his uncle's offer of breakfast. "Breakfast? What have I to do with food when I'm nigh demented?"

"Drink's the thing," agreed Tom placidly. He pushed a tankard of ale towards his nephew. "What ails you, lad?"

"Cleone's betrothed to Brenderby," announced Philip wretchedly.

"No!" Tom was dumbfounded.

"And to Winton." Philip sought to drown his troubles in the tankard.

"What!" Sir Maurice dropped his knife. "Betrothed to Brenderby and Winton? You're raving!"

"Would to God I were!" Philip emerged from the tankard, and wiped his lips with his fathers napkin. "I asked her to marry me at the ball last night. She refused; I won't tell you her exact words. Half an hour later I found her kissing ce scélérat Brenderby in a secluded corner!" He laughed savagely.