Margaret McPhee - Regency Desire - Mistress to the Marquis / Dicing with the Dangerous Lord

She could not avoid him. Could do nothing other than treat him as if he were any other man.

‘I trust you enjoyed the play, my lord.’

‘More than I could have imagined,’ he replied.

‘Then perhaps your imagination is a little lacking.’

‘On the contrary, Miss Sweetly, my imagination is most excellent. I have often been complimented upon it.’ She saw the message in his eyes.

She was the one who had complimented him on it… when they were making love.

Something exciting and bold and deliciously dangerous whispered between them.

‘Your acting talent has blossomed and taken on a new and vibrant dimension.’ He smiled.

‘Mmm,’ she said, sharing the smile. ‘I think I’ve heard that somewhere else. And there’s you laying claim to a most excellent imagination.’

‘You wish for originality in the compliments to be paid you?’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘I’d settle for truth,’ she returned.

He leaned closer, lowered his voice slightly. ‘Then the truth is, Miss Sweetly, that you were wonderful.’

The same words he used in this same Green Room a lifetime ago. The same words he had whispered in their bedchamber every time he had come to take her home after those occasional stage appearances. The world seemed to shift and detach around them.

‘And you’re as much a flatterer as ever,’ she said softly, her eyes tracing his.

‘Never that, Alice,’ more softly still. He was smiling that smile of old, making everything seem so right.

Their eyes held, stretching time, making the Green Room and its people disappear. She could feel the beat of her heart and sense his beat in time. Between them was that same connection there had always been.

‘Ah, Razeby.’ Hawick’s voice interrupted. ‘How goes the bride search?’

The words crushed the moment, dragging them both back to the reality of what could not be.

‘Well enough, thank you,’ said Razeby. He smiled politely at Hawick, but there was nothing of a smile in his eyes when he looked at the duke.

‘You were supreme as ever, Miss Sweetly,’ said Hawick, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

‘You’re too kind, Your Grace,’ she replied, easily enough, but she was acting. And beneath that bright surface it felt like the dark hidden depths of a pool had been disturbed.

‘If you will excuse me. Your servant, Miss Sweetly.’ Razeby bowed and walked away.

Such perilous, glittering allure. Alice knew she was playing with fire. But she could not turn away from the path she had chosen to walk, as if there had ever really been anything of choice in it. She could not turn away from Razeby, for the sake of her pride and her livelihood. And more than that she could not turn away from Razeby because, even knowing what she did, she wanted to see him. It was a disquieting realisation. And one which she sought to distract herself from with a shopping expedition in the company of her friends the next day.

The four of them sauntered along Bond Street laden with parcels and boxes. Alice had allowed herself to be persuaded into buying too many fripperies, but she had to admit, it did make her feel good, even if the parcels were cumbersome to carry and her feet were aching from too much walking in shoes that were stylish and new, but less than comfortable.

They had just left the milliners when Sara asked the question.

‘You did say you cleared out everything you could from Hart Street, didn’t you, Alice?’

‘What do you mean?’ Alice glanced across at her, a sudden panic drumming in her breast that Razeby might have revealed something of just how much she had walked away from.

Ellen drew Sara a look of daggers.

‘I saw that look, Ellen Devizes,’ Alice chided.

‘Lord, Sara, but you have some size of mouth on you.’

‘What do you mean?’ Sara looked hurt. ‘She’s fine about Razeby.’

‘Even so,’ countered Ellen.

‘What aren’t you telling me?’ Alice asked.

There was a resounding silence.

‘Out with it,’ she said.

‘Razeby’s kept the house on,’ said Ellen at last.

‘That can’t be right,’ Alice murmured before she could stop herself.

‘It is,’ insisted Sara. ‘He’s been seen there.’

‘Why on earth would Razeby do that?’ Alice asked, her pace subconsciously slowing.

Sara raised her brows, widened her eyes and gave her that look that brought a blush of embarrassment to Alice’s cheeks.

It was Tilly who finally told her. ‘The rumour is it ain’t just a bride he’s looking for, Alice, but a new mistress. We thought you knew.’

Alice felt the words hit her hard. She glanced away to hide her shock. ‘Rumours aren’t always true.’

They all looked at her in a way that made her regret saying the words aloud.

‘Going in there late at night. Leaving early in the morning. A girl doesn’t have to be a bluestocking to work it out,’ said Sara.

‘You know what men are like.’ Tilly patted her arm as if to console her.

‘I do.’ And yet she thought Razeby different. Even now. Even after all that had happened. It could not be true. She knew Razeby. And what he was doing was about duty, no matter how much she disliked the way he had gone about doing it.

‘It’s always about what’s in their breeches,’ said Ellen.

‘It is,’ agreed Alice with a smile to mask how much she was still reeling from the revelation.

‘But you didn’t leave anything behind, did you?’ Sara persisted.

Alice’s smile broadened. ‘I didn’t leave one thing.’ But, in truth, she had left a lot more than a diamond bracelet and some expensive dresses.

‘You don’t want some other woman getting her hands on anything that’s rightfully yours.’

Tilly and Ellen nodded in agreement with Sara’s words.

Alice laughed. ‘I don’t think there’s any danger of that.’

‘Glad to hear it, girl.’ Tilly slipped her arm through hers.

‘Come on—’ Ellen gave a smile ‘—I need some new stockings and Benjamin Preece has been advertising ladies’ white silk hose made of real China silk for only 7s 6d a pair.’

‘I could do with some stockings myself,’ said Alice, denying the disquiet she was feeling. ‘And then we’ll go and have tea.’

‘Like ladies.’ Ellen raised her eyebrows and affected a posh accent.

They giggled like girls.

‘Preece’s it is,’ said Alice and, with her arm still linked in Tilly’s, the group made their way towards Preece’s warehouse.

In all of the days that followed the shopping trip Alice could not stop thinking about Razeby keeping on the house in Hart Street. It worried at her, like a dog at a bone. She tried to push the thought out of her head, throwing herself all the more into her parts on the stage over those next few nights, and afterwards, in the Green Room, working the room with a charm and a control that would have done all of Venetia’s best teachings proud. But none of it stopped her thinking. At night, in bed, the thought was there just the same.

She looked at herself in the peering glass. There were much prettier women out there. Women who put her ordinary looks in the shade. She sucked in her tummy, examined her teeth and scrubbed a finger against the faint freckles that marred the bridge of her nose. Maybe he really had just grown tired of her. Maybe he had lied and misled her because he did not have the courage to tell her the truth.

She shook her head, unable to believe it. Razeby had more integrity in his little finger than the whole of any other man she had known. And rumours were just that, she told herself. A fire of gossip over nothing.

But all rumours started with a grain of truth , the little sharp thought countered.