Isabelle Goddard - Society's Most Scandalous Rake

‘I take it that your friend is the painter and this is his exhibition.’

‘It is, and he is doing the painterly thing and starving in a garret.’

‘Then, surely, you should be helping him.’

‘I am very willing, but he won’t hear of it. He maintains that he must live by his brush and his brush alone, and there are only so many paintings one individual can buy. So you see how important it is that you purchase his most treasured work. It’s a splendid scene, is it not?’

He wondered if she would listen to the alarm bells clanging in her head, murmur something innocuous and move on, but her reply was one of genuine warmth.

‘I think it wonderful—so wild and natural, so full of energy and joy.’

‘Now I wonder why those qualities should appeal to you.’

The familiar flush flamed her cheeks and, seeing it, he made a vow to tread more carefully. He was intrigued by this delightful girl and, if he wanted to know her better, he would have to be sure to confine his remarks to the unexceptional. He offered her his arm.

‘Since we are both here, Miss de Silva, do allow me to escort you around the rest of the exhibition.’

She hesitated for a fraction and he was relieved when good manners triumphed over churlishness. A lace-mittened hand was placed lightly on his arm and they began a stately progress around the gallery. He was hopeful that she would share his enthusiasm for the art and delighted when she willingly joined him in appraising the pictures they viewed, her dark eyes glowing with pleasure.

She was simply dressed in sprig muslin, but its soft folds and pleats revealed an exquisite young figure. From time to time her warm limbs touched his as they walked slowly side by side around the vast space and he felt his body stiffen in response. He wondered what those delightful curves would feel like beneath his hands and how soft that full mouth would be in meeting his.

‘How have you become so knowledgeable, Mr Marchmain?’

Her words cut through this delightful fantasy and he was forced to administer a sharp mental shake before he could reply calmly, ‘I think you might find the experts would quarrel with your use of the word knowledgeable . But I have travelled widely in Europe and have always made a point of seeking out the very best art each city could offer.’

‘And have you kept travelling?’ she asked wonderingly.

His voice when he answered was unusually sombre. ‘There were a few years when I stayed put, years when I rented rooms in a Venetian palazzo. I found that an ideal location for painting.’

‘It must have been. I’ve only ever seen pictures of Venice and I long to visit myself.’

‘Then you must and as soon as possible. I would say that you were made for that city.’

And his gaze swept lingeringly over her: creamy olive skin, upturned nose and sorrowful dark eyes did not make a classical beauty, but something infinitely more charming. She blushed again and he silently chided himself. She was bewitching, that was the problem. She was so serious and yet so full of youthful energy that he wanted to open up the world for her and watch her smile. He was surprised by the force of his feelings.

‘Do you still stay in Venice?’

‘No longer, I fear. I inherited a property in England and it became necessary to return and become a responsible proprietor.’

‘And where is your home now?’

‘I would hardly call it home, but the house is known as Castle March. It’s in Norfolk. Do you know it?’ She shook her head. ‘It is a large estate and needs managing. I ought to spend more time there, but ruralising in the depths of the English countryside is not exactly my forte.’

‘I am sure that country living must have its own attractions.’

‘Possibly—but only, I imagine, if you have someone to share them with.’ Instantly he wished he had remained silent. That was the kind of remark that sent her into retreat. ‘It can be pretty bleak in the fens for much of the year, so company is always welcome,’ he offered, trying to retrieve the situation.

But she had taken alarm and detached herself from his arm. She adjusted the ribbons of her bonnet and thanked him prettily but firmly for his escort. In a moment she had disappeared out of the door and he was left to fume at his clumsiness. For a man of his address, he was managing extremely poorly, he thought. What was it about her that made him as maladroit as some untried adolescent? It could only be the enchantment of youth. For years he had strictly confined his most intimate attentions to experienced women; he had forgotten how utterly disarming innocent beauty could be.

The minute Domino stepped through the front door she saw the letter lying menacingly on the hall table and knew immediately from whom it came. The envelope was of thick cream vellum and bore a ducal crest. Charlotte Severn’s invitation had arrived. The duchess’s words uttered in the heat of the moment had been made good, but Domino had no wish to open the letter. She had taken the woman in dislike; why exactly she was unsure, but her father’s condemnation had served only to underline the distaste she felt.

It was clear that the duchess was a close friend of Joshua Marchmain and he was certain to attend her social events. For that reason alone she would be reluctant to go. She had spent an engaging hour with him this afternoon, but he was a man she needed to avoid. He was dangerous to her peace of mind; the laughing eyes flecked with gold, the languorous gaze, had made her whole body burn in shameful response and promised the kind of pleasure she dared not think of. He was most definitely not a gentleman. He might dress as one and mix with ease in ton society, but he was rash and reckless and constantly put her out of countenance. How very unlike Richard, who was just as handsome but mindful of the proprieties and careful never to overstep the line. Joshua would not even recognise the existence of a line. He was undoubtedly a rake—a charming one, but someone with whom she should have no further commerce.

Her assumption that her father would prevent her attending the entertainment at Steine House proved false. When he walked into the dining room that evening, he was waving the duchess’s card in his hand.

‘The Duchess of Severn.’ Then, seeing his daughter’s long face, he said firmly, ‘I think we must attend, Domino.’

‘Could you not go alone, Papa?’

‘I would prefer to, certainly. I am not at all keen that you further your acquaintance with the lady. But I fear we would give grave offence if you were to refuse.’

‘But I am of no importance,’ she persuaded eagerly. ‘It is your position as ambassador that has prompted her to write.’

‘I think not. The invitation was issued directly to you at the Chapel Royal. And my position, as you put it, means that I dare not offend anyone as influential as the Severns. The duke belongs to the Regent’s inner circle.’

Domino made no reply, but sat erect, hands in her lap, and looked blankly ahead.

‘Will it be such a trial, querida ? We will stay no more than a couple of hours, I promise. And you will have me by your side the whole time.’

‘I’m sorry, Papa, I’m being a goose.’ Domino leaned across the table and gave him a loving hug. ‘I had hoped the duchess had forgotten me.’

‘Unfortunately not. I only hope her remembrance does not signify that she wishes “to take you up”, as they say here. Your standing would not be enhanced by her favour.’ Alfredo sighed deeply. ‘Negotiating our way successfully through the English Court was never going to be easy, but I may have underestimated the difficulties.’

A thought struck him and he brightened. ‘Carmela can attend with us, then your being singled out for an invitation will not look so particular.’