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

He made his way along the passageway.

Alice had no need to avail herself of the withdrawing room’s facilities behind the modesty screens. She could still hear Madame Catalani’s voice, even up here, but at least she was alone. And the walls were a cool pale grey rather than red. She could breathe. The sky was a clear blue through the windows, the afternoon sunshine lighting it brightly, but the sun was at the front of the house, and this room at the rear. It was cool in here, the fire unlit. And Alice was glad of it. It was just that aria, she told herself, and those red walls and the heat of the room downstairs. A few moments in here and she would be in command of herself once more. She took another breath just as the footsteps sounded outside the door.

Alice pretended to be smoothing down the skirt of her dress as the door opened behind her. She did not look at the reflection in the full-length looking glass, just lowered her eyes and turned to leave.

‘Why, Miss Sweetly. There is no need to rush off, my dear.’

She stopped dead in her tracks, the sight of the lecherous Mr Quigley standing there making her stomach tighten in shock. ‘Mr Quigley! What on earth do you think you’re doing in here? This is the ladies’ withdrawing room!’

‘Yes. I am well aware of what room this is. But I wanted to have a little word with you, in private. And it is so very difficult to get you alone.’

‘You’ll understand if I don’t oblige. Mr Kemble and Mrs Siddons are waiting down the stairs for me.’

‘Now, you cannot expect me to believe that Mr Kemble and Mrs Siddons, or indeed any person in that drawing room, are not so engrossed in Madame Catalani’s singing that they will miss you for a little while. And with you, I do only need a little while.’ He licked a tongue against his lips as if he could taste her upon them and she could not suppress the shudder of revulsion that went through her.

She made to pass him by, but he caught hold of her wrist lightly with his little claw-like fingers.

‘Now, my dear Miss Sweetly,’ he began. He smiled in a leering sort of way, leaning in close so that she could smell the stench of stale wine upon his breath. ‘I have had my eye on you for a long time. And now that Razeby is off the scene and you are left alone, without a protector, I thought I would do the chivalric thing and take you under my wing.’

‘Honoured though I am by your offer, sir, I’m afraid I must decline it.’ She said it politely but firmly.

‘Come now, Miss Sweetly.’ He put on a cajoling voice.

She looked pointedly at where his hand was fixed. ‘If you’d be kind enough to unhand me, Mr Quigley.’

‘Now, don’t be like that, little Miss Sweetly. Such a stern tone does not suit.’ His fingers tightened around her wrist and he dragged her close to him, sliding his hand round her hip and over her buttock to fasten there. ‘Just one little kiss for an old man.’

‘No!’ She tried to push him off, but he was surprisingly strong for a man of his age.

Her eyes met his and she saw the lust that had always been in them when he looked at her and the new intent that lurked there. And the panic rose in her.

It happened so fast she was not sure what had actually taken place until she saw Quigley, face pressed against the wall, his arm up his back, held there by a tall dark figure she knew too well.

Quigley gave a little whimper of fear.

‘What the hell do you think you are doing, Quigley?’ Razeby’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the sudden silence of the room like a whip.

She stared, unable to believe that Razeby was really here.

‘I thought you were done with her, that she was avail—’ Quigley gave a yelp as Razeby inched the older man’s arm higher. ‘I made a mistake. I’m sorry. Won’t touch her again.’

‘It is to Miss Sweetly you should be addressing your apology.’ Razeby’s face was like flint. She had never seen him like this.

‘Apologies, Miss Sweetly.’ Quigley’s words were strained and urgent.

She nodded her acceptance, her eyes darting from Quigley’s contorted face to the dark, dangerous expression on Razeby’s.

Quigley gave another moan of pain.

‘Let him go, Razeby. I think he’s drunk.’

She saw the snarl on Razeby’s lip. ‘Stay away from her, Quigley,’ he hissed.

Quigley nodded, his face powder white. ‘Message understood, my lord.’

Only then did Razeby release his grip on the man.

Quigley picked up his hat, which had been knocked off in the process of being slammed face first into the wall, and disappeared through the door.

Alice did not move and neither did Razeby. They stared across the few feet that separated them. Her heart was thudding hard enough to break free of her ribcage. Her blood was rushing so fast she thought she might faint. But neither were because of Quigley.

‘Are you all right, Alice?’ His voice was quiet, but intense and loaded.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

He moved slowly to stand in front of her, his eyes raking hers. ‘He did not hurt you?’

‘No.’ She shook her head.

And all of the tension that was roaring between them had nothing to do with Quigley.

Their gazes were locked, unable to look away. Inside she was trembling so much she feared it would show.

‘I am glad of that.’ He reached his hand to hers and took hold of it, his fingers surrounding hers with warmth and strength and gentleness. ‘You are shaking.’

‘It’s cold in here,’ she lied.

He slipped off his tailcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

The scent of him enveloped her, bringing with it too many memories, too many conflicting emotions that warred and struggled within her chest.

‘No!’ She pulled his coat from her shoulders and thrust it back into his hands.

The silence hissed between them, the tension winding tighter.

And still she could not look away. And neither could he.

Their eyes held, conveying so many words, none of which could be spoken.

Her heart was thudding so hard she could feel each beat reverberate through her body. A shiver rippled down her spine and tingled across her skin. She was breathing faster now, more shallow, not knowing how much longer she could keep herself together.

He looked at her for a moment longer. Then he drew her a small incline of his head and walked away.

Through the open door she watched him pass the two young ladies who were poised on the brink of entering the withdrawing room.

‘Ladies,’ she heard him say politely as he calmly walked past them.

The two girls were giggling and gaping as they entered the withdrawing room. But they fell silent when they saw her standing there, their eyes growing wide with shock and speculation.

Alice held her head up, flicked some imaginary dust from her skirt, then sauntered out with all the dignity of a duchess, as if she did not give a damn that she had just been caught with Razeby in the ladies’ withdrawing room.

When Razeby came back into the drawing room Quigley’s chair was empty. Razeby returned to take his seat by Miss Althrope’s side, who was far too well bred to comment upon a gentleman’s absence. Whether she had noticed Alice leave he neither knew nor cared.

His blood was still pounding from the sight of her, his mind still focused and intent—with lethality towards Quigley and something else altogether for Alice. He could feel her in every beat of his heart.

It was not supposed to be like this. He was not supposed to feel like this. He knew that, but sitting there with Miss Althrope by his side, his eyes half on Madame Catalani, half on the door waiting for Alice to return, he did, and there was not a damn thing he could do to change it.