Marguerite Kaye - Scoundrel in the Regency Ballroom - The Rake and the Heiress / Innocent in the Sheikh's Harem

‘Not much to tell. Truth is Nick, you’re mostly the news at the moment.’

‘Don’t tell me my duelling opponent has inconveniently died?’

‘No need to worry on that score, he’s making an excellent recovery. You may come back to London whenever you’re ready. No, it’s not the duel. Get dressed, we can talk over breakfast. I’ll be dammed if I’ll sit here with you when you’re not even wearing a nightshirt.’ Refusing to be drawn any further, Charles retired downstairs.

Nicholas did not tarry over his toilette , joining his friend in the breakfast parlour some twenty minutes later. Charles was gazing out of the window where a long line of men were scything the lawn. He was a good-looking man, famed for the perfect cut of his coats, which he had always from Weston, and the intricacy of his cravats, which he always tied himself. He was neither as tall nor as well built as Nicholas, but he had a leg shapely enough to look well in the tight pantaloons and tasselled Hessians he wore—from Holby, naturally—and his amiable countenance showed surprisingly few signs of wear despite his solid membership of the hard-drinking, hard-playing Corinthian set.

As Nicholas entered the room, Charles raised his quizzing glass. ‘I’m not sure I like the way you’ve tied your cravat. These country ways are making you lax. Time you were back in town.’

Nicholas laughed, sitting at the table to carve some ham. ‘I was never so fastidious as you, Charles. Tell me, for I’m on tenterhooks, what on earth can have made me the talk of the ton.’

‘Hear you gave Diana Masterton her congé.’

‘Yes, she was becoming tedious in her demands, I told Frances Eldon to pay her off. Don’t tell me that’s it?’

‘No, of course not. At least…’ Charles took a sip of coffee. ‘Bumped into your cousin Jasper at White’s the other day. Asked me if I knew aught about the Cyprian who’s keeping you company here. Wondered if she was the reason you’d rid yourself of the fair Diana. Needless to say I couldn’t tell him anything, except that I doubted the truth of the rumour, since you’re always so careful to keep your fancy pieces at a safe distance.’

Nicholas paused in the act of cutting into the slice of ham on his plate, frowning at his friend. ‘She’s not a fancy piece.’

‘What!’ Charles exclaimed, startled into spilling his coffee. ‘You mean to tell me it’s true, there’s a woman here? Come on, Nick, that’s not your style. What are you thinking of?’

‘She lodges in the village, not here. And I’d like to know how Jasper found out about her.’

‘I never thought to ask. Wouldn’t surprise me if he bribes your servants though, sort of thing he would do. Seemed mighty put out about it in any case, on account of your birthday being so close.’

Nicholas gave a sharp crack of laughter. ‘So that’s what he’s worried about. He’s well off the mark—I have no intentions of marrying Mademoiselle Stamppe.’

‘Oh, so she’s French,’ Charles said dismissively, as if that explained everything.

‘No, English actually, although she’s lived on the Continent all her life.’

‘What’s she doing here with you, then, if she’s not your mistress?’

‘It’s a long story, Charles.’

‘You can’t fob me off so easily, Nick.’ Lord Avesbury took an enamelled box from his waistcoat pocket and flicked it open expertly with the tip of his thumb. ‘Tell me the whole tale.’Taking a delicate pinch of snuff, he sat back in his chair with a grin. ‘Anything’s preferable to Lady Cheadle’s picnic party. Go on, I’ve got all day.’

Cautiously skirting over the more personal aspects of their relationship, Nicholas recounted the events of the past few days.

Charles listened, running the full gamut of emotions from incredulous to sceptical. ‘So what’s in those papers of hers, then?’

‘Her father’s will and proof of her identity.’

‘Why would she need proof of her identity? Sounds a bit shady to me. And now I come to think about it, her name sounds familiar too. Can’t put my finger on it just at the moment, but it’ll come to me. What’s in the will?’

‘I don’t know. She promised she’d tell me, but events yesterday got in the way somewhat.’

‘Events?’ Charles laughed. ‘I see. That’s what you meant by my bad timing. Take it she’s a looker, then, your mademoiselle?’

A bell clanged in the distance. Nicholas stood up, looking towards the door. ‘You’ll see for yourself in a few moments. I fancy that’s her now.’

Serena entered the parlour a few minutes later. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, Hughes didn’t mention that you had company.’ She had been so busy rehearsing over and over in her mind the speech she intended to deliver to Nicholas that it quite overset her composure to find he was not alone.

Nicholas came over to take her hand in his familiar clasp. ‘Serena, this is Charles, Lord Avesbury, my dearest and oldest friend. Charles, may I present Mademoiselle Serena Stamppe.’

Charles produced his quizzing glass to inspect the goddess who had appeared before him, his brows rising as he took in the perfection of Serena’s beauty. She was dressed in a printed cotton dress of Turkey red, the small puffed sleeves intricately pleated and tapering tightly down almost to her knuckles. The neckline was trimmed with freshly laundered white ruffles, matching the frilled hem of her petticoat, beneath which her feet were clad in her favourite half-boots of kid. She had discarded her pelisse and hat when she arrived, and the full glory of her golden curls, piled high on her head, competed with the morning sunshine gleaming through the window panes.

Tucking the eyeglass into the pocket of his waistcoat, Charles trod over to take Serena’s hand, bowing with great elegance. ‘Your servant, ma’am. Forgive me, Nicholas did not warn me I was about to encounter such a vision of loveliness. Your presence alone has made my journey worthwhile.’

Serena smiled politely, rather nonplussed to find herself in such obviously elevated company. ‘How do you do,’ she said, remembering her manners just in time, and dropping an elegant curtsy. She turned to Nicholas. ‘Forgive me, if I had known you had a guest I wouldn’t have intruded.’

He smiled reassuringly. ‘Charles is a very good friend, there’s no need to worry. Stay for coffee at least.’

She agreed because it would seem rude not to, sitting down in her usual chair by the fire. In the presence of Nicholas’s friend all the impropriety of their situation hit home with a vengeance. She was embarrassed and disconcerted. Frustrated, too, for she had hoped to get the difficult conversation she had resolved to have with Nicholas out of the way as soon as possible.

Charles chatted amicably about the house party he had temporarily abandoned, the latest on dits , and a wager made on a race between a frog and a chicken. By the time Nicholas recounted the story of his first meeting with Serena, she had relaxed enough to be able to laugh about it.

‘I thought he was a groom. It never occurred to me that I was watching the master of the house stripped to the waist and fighting the local blacksmith.’ She looked up teasingly at Nicholas, who was standing with his back to the fireplace. He returned the look with a smile of such warmth that she raised a hand towards him, remembered that they were not alone, and dropped it. Remembered, too, her resolve to put an end to things between them.

Charles observed the by-play with interest. Now he had met her, it didn’t surprise him that Nick had kept such a beauty hidden away. She was almost flawless, the mysterious Mademoiselle Stamppe, it would take a strong man indeed to resist her charms. It wasn’t like Nick to be so reticent about his lady loves. He had carefully refrained from discussing Serena, though it was obvious they were intimate. Their bodies gave them away, constantly moving towards one another. The way they looked at each other, too. And that smile—they might as well have kissed. Nick was in deep with his adventuress. Charles wondered if he realised just how deep.