A Scandalous Publication Page 11

  “It’s none of my business, Sir Maxim.” A secret surge of gladness passed through her.

  “No, it isn’t, but you were the one to bring her name up, and in such a way as to require an explanatory answer. So, you see, Lady Judith will not be presiding over any future ball, masquerade, rout, or assembly here at Kimber Park. And please don’t murmur empty words of condolence, for I know damned well that you’re highly delighted.”

  She flushed a little. “I haven’t any opinion on the matter, sir.”

  “No? Well, you certainly have done in the past, and you’ve left me in no doubt about what you think.” He grinned suddenly. “And you were right.”

  She didn’t know how to take him. One moment he was sarcastic and almost cutting, the next he seemed to be mocking himself.

  His smile became a little more soft then. “Have a sip of your wine, Miss Wyndham, you look a little ruffled.”

  “Perhaps because I don’t understand you.”

  “No one understands me, least of all myself.”

  “Then there’s little hope for you, sir.”

  “Do you understand yourself, Miss Wyndham?” he asked very softly. “Or are there some things that defy explanation?”

  The warm flush deepened a little on her cheeks. Yes, her love for him defied explanation. She couldn’t help loving him, and that was something about herself which she didn’t understand at all….

  His glance rested speculatively upon her. “You seem almost ashamed of some dark secret, Miss Wyndham, but I cannot imagine you being guilty of anything shameful.”

  Her cheeks were positively aflame now. “There isn’t any dark secret, sir.”

  “If you say so, then of course I am mistaken,” he murmured, his eyes at once amused and thoughtful.

  She felt hot and uncomfortable, fearing that at any moment he would realize the truth. She got up quickly. “Shall—shall we walk awhile by the lake?”

  “If you wish.” He got up too, pausing for a moment and then putting a hand on her arm and turning her toward him. “If my conversation has embarrassed you….”

  “No, of course not.”

  “You’re an execrable liar, Charlotte Wyndham.”

  “I haven’t had much practice.”

  He smiled a little. “Maybe not, but your tongue is practiced enough in other directions.” He drew her hand through his arm and they walked slowly down the sloping grass toward the lake.

  They strolled in silence for a while, and then she halted, taking a deep breath of the sweet air, perfumed by the fragrance of a nearby balsam tree. “Oh, I do so love it here,” she whispered, half to herself.

  “Then you must forgive me.”

  “Forgive you?”

  “For having what you have lost.”

  Again intrusive memories passed over her, reminding her of what she’d heard said of him. Had her father’s death really been an accident? Or had it been something more?

  Suddenly he put his hand to her cheek, an intimate gesture that made her pulse quicken and sent her doubts spinning into confusion. “What is it, Charlotte?” he asked softly. “Why are you sometimes open and natural with me and then abruptly reserved and withdrawn?”

  “Please….”

  “If I’m being too forward addressing you by your first name, then that is something else I shall have to trust I’m forgiven for, but I make no apology for overstepping any damned rule of propriety. I’ve seen today that you and I can get along very well, and yet you constantly step back. Why?”

  She couldn’t reply. His fingers seemed to set her skin on fire and her heart was thundering so much that she was sure he must hear it, or see its frantic throb in her breast.

  “Why, Charlotte?” he repeated, his piercing gaze holding her eyes with a compulsion from which she couldn’t break free.

  His thumb moved softly against her cheek, and for a breathless moment that stopped her heart in its wild racing she thought he was about to kiss her. The dream was coming true…. An intoxicating elation swept through her, but it was accompanied by a morsel of doubt. She broke away from his touch, her senses alive to everything about him, but alive too to the uncertainty within herself.

  He still held her with his eyes, and she saw a cool awareness settling over him. “Charlotte,” he said softly, “there is only one question I will ask you now. Do you believe me when I say I’m innocent of everything evil of which I’m accused by certain people?”

  She stared at him, her lips moving but no sound passing them.

  “Do you believe me, Charlotte?” The coldness spread from his eyes to his voice.

  “I don’t know what to believe,” she said at last, her voice very low.

  “Damn you,” he breathed, taking a quick, angry breath and half-turning from her. “Damn you to hell and back, Miss Wyndham. I was indeed mistaken to think I saw anything in you. You’re a hollow vessel, madam, a vacuum, and I was a fool to think you were anything more. I think it’s long past time to call a halt to this farcical visit, don’t you?” He turned on his heel and walked quickly back to the phaeton, where the startled groom began to hastily prepare the drowsing team.

  She felt as if he had physically struck her. The day’s spell was shattered, gone as irretrievably as wood smoke before the bitterest of winter winds. She was utterly shaken by the fullness of his fury and contempt, but she could not unsay what she had said. Slowly she followed him. Her heart felt as if it were breaking within her, but her face was a protective mask, shielding her from outward vulnerability. He could not read anything as he coldly assisted her onto the high seat and then climbed up beside her.

  He drove back to the house at the same wild, breakneck speed with which he had set out for the ill-fated picnic, and the gravel scattered as he reined the sweating team in before the main portico. Grooms came hurrying from the stableyard, and he alighted quickly, peremptorily ordering that his traveling carriage be brought immediately, and Miss Wyndham’s maid told to prepare to leave straightaway.

  His hand was cold and unfeeling as he helped her to climb down from the phaeton, and he avoided her eyes, saying absolutely nothing as they waited the few minutes for the carriage to be brought around. Muriel came quickly from the direction of the kitchens, her bright glance fleeing from Max’s angry face to Charlotte’s.

  The journey back to London was accomplished without a word passing between the three occupants of the carriage. To Charlotte it seemed that those ten miles of broad highway took a lifetime to pass, and all the time she kept her eyes averted, staring out at the lengthening shadows of the summer evening.

  It was twilight when at last they reached Henrietta Street, and Muriel hurried from the carriage and into the house before Max had time to alight. He stood on the pavement, holding his hand out to Charlotte. She couldn’t accept it, and stepped down without assistance. The utter misery of her breaking heart was still masked from him as she made to walk past into the house, but suddenly he caught her arm.

  “I haven’t finished with you yet, madam.”

  “Please, let me go. There doesn’t seem to be anything left to say.”

  “But there is,” he replied icily. “When first I met you, I thought that you needed teaching a lesson; indeed, I was determined to be the one to teach you, for your manners and general conduct left far too much to be desired. Then I had second thoughts and I wondered if I had misjudged you. Those second thoughts were extinguished today, madam. You’re beneath contempt. You seem almost eager to give credence to all that you’ve been told about me, and you haven’t the wit to think and judge for yourself. Very well, if that’s how you wish to think of me, I’ll act the part and really give you something to believe.” He pulled her roughly into his arms, his lips harsh over hers as he forced her to submit to a kiss that was almost brutal in its intensity. There was no gentleness in him. He pressed her body against his, caressing her as if she were naked in his arms, and all the time his lips moved over hers, hurting her, enticing her, drawing an unwilling resp
onse she was powerless to deny. The ferocity of the embrace aroused her, stirring a warm, rich ecstasy more potent than the dream that had first warned her of the truth about herself. She ceased to struggle, holding him close and giving herself to the kiss, but as she did so, he thrust her scornfully away. He gave a bitter, derisory laugh. “Your dark secret isn’t so secret now, is it, Miss Wyndham? Well, I wish you well of your upright, self-righteous falsehoods, for you are indeed worthy of them.”

  She was frozen as he turned and climbed back into the carriage, the door slamming behind him. It was as if she had been on fire but was now plunged into ice. Numb and dazed by the cruelty of his actions, she turned slowly to go into the house.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mrs. White opened the door to her. “Why, Miss Charlotte, I didn’t think you’d be home first.”

  “First?” Charlotte struggled to compose herself.

  “Yes. Mrs. Wyndham and Mr. Pagett have accompanied Admiral Parkstone to the theater.”

  “Oh.”

  The cook looked curiously at her pale face. “Is something wrong, Miss Charlotte?”

  “No. No, everything’s quite all right.”

  “Would you care for some refreshment? Some hot chocolate perhaps?”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll see to it immediately.”

  At that moment there was an urgent knocking at the door behind them. Charlotte turned quickly, hope leaping into her heart. Was it Max? Had he relented? But as the cook hurried to open it, the hope died away as she saw Sylvia standing there.

  Mrs. White beamed. “Why, Miss Parkstone, you must be feeling better. Do come in, Miss Charlotte is at home.”

  “I know.” Sylvia came in, clutching her shawl around her. She was wearing a flimsy silk gown and looked a little flustered, as if she had hurried all the way from Cavendish Square.

  Mrs. White glanced uncertainly at her, for her face was as pale as Charlotte’s. “Shall—shall I bring chocolate for two, Miss Charlotte?”

  “If you please,” replied Charlotte, going through into the candlelit drawing room.

  Sylvia followed her, carefully closing the door so that they were quite alone. “Did you enjoy your day?” There was a noticeable edge to her voice.

  “Enjoy it?” Charlotte hesitated. “No.”

  “You do surprise me. You seemed to be enjoying things well enough when I looked out and saw Max taking his leave of you.”

  Charlotte lowered her glance. “Oh.”

  “Such a passionate embrace, and in so public a place.”

  “It wasn’t what it may have seemed.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “So you were only going to see Kimber Park again, were you? Well, it’s quite obvious that the day became something more than that, isn’t it?”

  Charlotte turned quickly away. Was this genuine concern on Sylvia’s part? Or was it something much more…? “Please, Sylvia, I feel miserable enough without you adding to it.”

  “Miserable? That wasn’t how you seemed to me.”

  “No, I don’t suppose I did.” Charlotte’s voice was empty. “As I said before, it wasn’t what it seemed.”

  “What was it, then?”

  “I was being taught a very salutary lesson, one I will never forget.”

  Sylvia looked a little puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

  “I learned the lesson that although I love Max Talgarth with all my heart, he feels nothing but contempt for me.”

  Sylvia recoiled. “You—you love him? You can’t mean it.” Her face became even more pale.

  “I only wish I didn’t.”

  “Charlotte, you mustn’t! You can’t love him, he ruined your father.”

  “Please….”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? He ruined you father.”

  “If you’re going to say again about the horse….”

  “No. Your father wasn’t only in debt to moneylenders, Charlotte, he owed a vast amount to Max as well, and Max was pressing for payment.”

  Charlotte stared at her then. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Sylvia took a piece of folded paper from her reticule. “Look at this.”

  As Charlotte took it, she immediately recognized her father’s writing. It was an IOU, dated January 22, 1816, only a few months before his death. “Mr. George Wyndham owes Sir Maxim Talgarth the sum of twenty-five thousand guineas, and promises to pay within one calendar month.” Her heart became suddenly cold within her, and her doubts about Sylvia’s motives died. Sylvia was driven now by concern, not jealousy.

  Sylvia watched her. “Within one calendar month, Charlotte, and that can only mean that Max was pressing him.”

  “How did you come by this, Sylvia?”

  “Does it matter? What matters is that you now believe once and for all in Max’s guilt.”

  “Have you known about this for long?”

  Sylvia avoided her eyes. “No, not long.”

  “Where did it come from?”

  “I’d rather not say. Suffice it that it exists and isn’t a forgery.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Yes. I know.”

  “I’ve already accused Max of having deliberately caused your father’s death through that horse, but now I think he’s guilty of much more. I believe he deliberately set out to ruin your father, because he wanted Kimber Park and your father wouldn’t sell. He ruined him and then brought about his death, leaving your mother no choice but to sell the estate. Max then made an offer he knew she wouldn’t be in any position to refuse, and so he succeeded in getting what he wanted. Maybe it’s farfetched, but I think it’s the truth. You must see it, Charlotte; for your own sake you must. He’s master of Kimber Park, don’t let him be your master too.”

  The IOU fell from Charlotte’s fingers as she turned away. “My master? Oh, I don’t think that that will ever arise, Sylvia. I told you, he despises me.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Sylvia looked closely at her. “You still love him, don’t you? Nothing I’ve shown you has changed that.”

  “Yes, I still love him.”

  “But how can you, after reading this?” Sylvia retrieved the IOU from the floor.

  Tears sprang to Charlotte’s eyes. “There are some things,” she whispered, “that defy explanation.” She could see Max again, lounging back looking at her as they sat on the grass in the shadow of the rotunda.

  “You mustn’t have anything more to do with him, Charlotte.”

  “I know. My common sense is in complete agreement with you, Sylvia, it is my heart that betrays me constantly. But whatever my foolish heart wishes, he’s made it perfectly clear he has no desire to even see me again, so I don’t think there is any need for warnings.”

  “He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with what he’s done, Charlotte.”

  “Maybe not, but there isn’t a great deal I can do about it, is there?”

  “You can hurt him.”

  Charlotte looked quickly at her. “Hurt him? Sylvia, there’s absolutely nothing I can do, or wish to do. I don’t want to hurt him, I love him,” she finished, taking out her handkerchief and beginning to wipe away her tears as she heard the admiral’s carriage arriving outside.

  “You’re wrong when you say there’s nothing you can do,” said Sylvia. There was a strange note in her voice.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sylvia. I only know that I don’t intend to do anything. I just want to forget him, and that will be impossible enough without anything else.”

  Sylvia lowered her eyes. “That is up to you, but….”

  She said no more for at that moment the drawing-room door opened and the others came in.

  “My dears, we’ve had an absolutely splendid evening,” cried Mrs. Wyndham. “I don’t remember enjoying the theater so much before. So many people came to the box to pay their respects.” The tall plumes in her hair bounced and trembled as she sa
t down.

  Charlotte whispered quickly to Sylvia. “Please don’t say anything to them, my mother would only be distressed.”

  Sylvia nodded.

  Both the admiral and Richard were dressed very formally and looked very dashing. In spite of her unhappiness, Charlotte couldn’t help thinking how well such attire became Richard, and she hoped that Sylvia would think so too.

  Richard’s face lit up as he saw Sylvia, and he quickly crossed the room to take her hand. “I’m delighted to see that you’re better now.”

  She was still a little distracted from her conversation with Charlotte. “Better?”

  He was puzzled. “Why, yes, your headache. That was why you couldn’t come to the theater with us.”

  “Oh yes. I’m quite well now. I was at the window and saw Charlotte returning, so I came to see her.”

  He turned to Charlotte then. “Ah, yes. Kimber Park. And how did it go?”

  “Well enough.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  “There isn’t much else to say.”

  He looked in her gray eyes, so like his own. “Isn’t there?” he asked thoughtfully.

  “No.”

  Before he could say anything more, Sylvia drew his attention away. “We haven’t made final arrangements for the day after tomorrow.”

  Mrs. Wyndham looked up quickly. “Dear me, so we haven’t.”

  Richard gave a rather self-conscious laugh. “Forgive me if I’m being particularly dense, but what is happening the day after tomorrow?”

  His sister tutted a little crossly. “Shame on you, it’s the grand opening of the bridge.”

  “Oh, yes, it had quite slipped my mind.” He glanced at Charlotte again but didn’t say anything more, for Mrs. White brought the chocolate tray, laden now with five cups.

  Charlotte endured another hour of conversation before at last Sylvia and her father departed. For a moment Charlotte feared that Richard was about to press her again about her visit to Kimber Park, but then his sister asked him to go up to her bedroom door with her and so Charlotte remained deliberately behind, knowing that in a moment he would be asked to sit with her mother while Muriel unpinned and brushed and plaited her hair for the night. She listened, and sure enough, he had to go in and talk all over again about the theater.