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Desire For Revenge - Пенни Джордан - Читать любовный роман онлайн в женской библиотеке LadyLib.Net
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Джордан Пенни
Desire For Revenge
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CHAPTER TWO
‘OKAY, are we ready?’
‘As we’re ever likely to be,’ Sarah told her sister affectionately, as they hurried out to Jane’s small Metro.
Her sister was a competent driver, and it didn’t take them long to reach the nearby market town Jane used for most of her day-to-day shopping
‘We’ll go to the station first to collect the outfits and then get everything else.’
She parked neatly in the small station car park and Sarah went with her towards the tiny redbrick building.
The stationmaster greeted them with a smile, handing over the bulky parcels.
‘Them’ll be for that ball everyone’s going to tonight,’ he commented knowingly as Sarah took charge of them. ‘A fine do it’ll be, by all accounts. They say that the new owner of Haughton House will be there as well. A fine lot of work he’s having done up at the place…there’s a new swimming pool being put in—indoors, too—that’ll cost him a fair penny.’
‘Don’t ever have any skeletons in your cupboard if you intend living in the country,’ Jane groaned as she and Sarah stacked the boxes in the back of her car.
‘What else do you need?’ Sarah asked her as she tugged on her seat-belt.
‘Nothing much, some nice biscuits for Mrs Arbuckle—I daredn’t buy any before, the kids would have sneaked the lot. Some flowers for the house. I always like to have fresh ones for Sunday lunch.’
‘Really?’ Sarah kept her face straight as she teased. ‘That’s odd…I always thought Ralph was quite definitely a meat and two veg man!’
‘Oh, for goodness sake you’re as bad as the kids,’ Jane complained but she was grinning, too, as they drove out of the car park.
As it was Saturday a small market was in progress and although they had some problems in parking, once they had done so, it didn’t take them long to buy the bits and pieces Jane wanted.
‘Fancy a cup of coffee before we go back?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘We’ve just about got time, and there’s a rather nice new place that specialises in traditional afternoon teas.’
‘Sounds good.’
The café was situated just off the small town square and had been attractively decorated in soft peach and grey. The cane chairs were painted white with peach seat covers, and despite the obvious bustle they were lucky enough to find an empty table, in the window.
‘Mmm…this is nice,’ Jane murmured as she sat down. ‘I daren’t come in here with the brats, they’d cause too much chaos.’
They gave their order to a smiling waitress, and while Jane deliberated over a cream cake or a scone with jam and cream, complaining about the calorie intake of both, Sarah looked out of the window on to the busy street and the square.
A man walked across the road and into the square, his face in profile to her, his thick, black hair ruffled by the cool breeze. His skin looked tanned, his body tall and lean, with just a hint of breadth about the shoulders. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat as he turned to check the traffic and she saw the intense sapphire blue of his eyes. As she looked she could almost see him as her Elizabethan gallant; her romantic Jacobite rebel; her reckless Regency rake. She blinked and swallowed hard and both the man and her inner visions of him were gone.
‘Sarah, are you all right?’
She forced a shaky smile and nodded her head. ‘Sorry, I was miles away…’
‘Daydreaming,’ Jane agreed wryly. ‘I recognised all the signs, although to judge from the rapt expression on your face, it was a very special daydream. You’re not holding out on me by any chance, are you?’ she questioned severely. ‘There isn’t someone in your life I don’t know anything about, is there?’
‘Don’t be silly. What on earth gave you that idea?’
‘The look on your face,’ Jane told her bluntly. ‘You were looking as though Robert Redford had suddenly materialised in front of you.’
In spite of herself Sarah coloured faintly. The romantic daydreams of her teenage years were something she had long ago put behind her, and it was embarrassing to have them called to mind so strongly by the chance sighting of a strange man. She hadn’t even seen him full face…but there had been something about him…quivers of sensation fluttered deep inside her, quickly banished when she realised the complete folly of the direction her thoughts were taking. It was both impossible and ridiculous to be so attracted to a man on mere sight.
‘Come on, we’d better make a move,’ Jane told her, consulting her watch again. ‘I want the holy terrors bathed and in bed before Mrs Arbuckle arrives. Thank goodness Ralph has managed to install a separate bathroom for the guest room and for the nursery now, otherwise, we’d be queuing up for the same one from now until doomsday.’
‘Read me another story, Auntie Sarah…’ Sarah was in Louise’s room, sitting beside the four-year-old’s pretty Laura Ashley decorated bed.
‘You’ve had two already,’ she reminded her niece, hiding an appreciative grin at this bid to delay the moment of going to sleep a little further…
‘Well then will you tell me another one tomorrow?’
‘I tell you what, tomorrow night I’ll tell you all about the ball.’ Sarah offered.
Louise’s eyes widened. ‘Will there be princes there and princesses?’ She was very much into fairy stories and Sarah repressed a small sigh for the vast gulf that lay between romance and reality.
She stood up and bent over the small figure of her niece to tuck the covers more securely around her, bending down to kiss her good night.
Ralph was reading to the boys, while Jane had her bath, and Mrs Arbuckle, the vicar’s wife, was due in half an hour.
Checking that the night light was lit, Sarah let herself out of the room.
In her own room the dress she had unpacked and pressed on their return from town hung on the bathroom door. It was a gloriously rich Georgian costume in the most beautiful eau de nil silk, which opened over an underskirt of white satin embroidered with a complex design of silver flowers and leaves. At intervals the hem of the overskirt was caught up with white silk bows to reveal the satin underdress and the low neckline of the dress had a small pleated frill of white satin. The same fabric lined the sleeves from the elbows down, where they were caught up with ribbons. Sarah had no doubt that the dress was an exact replica of an original Georgian ballgown, and it was so supremely lovely that she felt she hardly dared to wear it.
In addition to the shoes provided to match the outfit there was a box containing combs and flowers attached to them for her hair, and several small patches with a brief handwritten note explaining where each one was to go and the precise meaning appertaining to each placement. Sarah raised her eyes a little over this, having had no idea that these adornments possessed their own special language. To complete the outfit there was even a fan in the same eau de nil silk as her gown.
Luckily her hair was long and naturally curly enough for her to pin it up in a small circlet of ringlets, which she coaxed to form by using her heated tongs. The effect, once she had pinned the flower combs in place, was surprisingly effective.
She took her time over her make-up, remembering that the fashion in the Georgian era was for pale skin, and having placed a small round patch just beneath her eye she sat back to study the whole effect. Even without powdering her hair it was surprising how different she looked. She and Jane had discussed doing this but had decided against it because of the mess involved.
She was just slipping her dress on when Jane came in. Her sister’s eyebrows lifted in silent appreciation.
‘Wow,’ she exclaimed at last. ‘You look fantastic. Turn round, I’ll help you with the zip.’
‘It doesn’t have one,’ Sarah pointed out wryly. ‘Just one hundred million hooks and eyes.’
‘An authentic touch we could well do without,’ Jane grumbled as she fastened each of the tiny fastenings. ‘There,’ she exclaimed at last, ‘now turn round.’
Sarah stared at her reflection in the mirror. It was unbelievable what a difference her costume made. She could have stepped out of a portrait of some Georgian lady.
‘It’s stunning,’ Jane told her quietly. ‘Absolutely stunning…’
Smiling, Sarah dropped her a brief curtsey, and unfurled her fan, looking demurely at her sister over the top of it. ‘Merci, My Lady,’ she cooed dulcetly. ‘You are too kind.’
Jane raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Okay, you can cut that out,’ she instructed. ‘Heavens, I’d better fly and get ready myself. I just came in to tell you that Mrs Arbuckle has arrived. Ralph is ready and downstairs entertaining her.’
‘I’ll come and give you a hand with your dress then, shall I?’ Sarah offered.
Her sister’s dress was a rich cobalt blue with gold embroidery, but slightly plainer than her own, and since her own hair was short, Jane had elected to wear with her outfit a period wig which she had also hired from the stage company.
Ralph’s stare of amazement when they both went downstairs proved just how much their costumes transformed them. Mrs Arbuckle told them half enviously that they looked wonderful and although Ralph complained that the wig he was wearing was making him itch, Sarah suspected that her brother-in-law was enjoying the opportunity to dress up as much as they were themselves.
Because of the volume of the women’s dresses Ralph had decided that they might as well push the boat out in style and had organised a chauffeur-driven limousine to take them to the ball.
‘Much better than a coach and four,’ Jane exclaimed appreciatively as she sank down into the comfortable leather seat. ‘What do you think, Sarah?’
Sarah agreed that Ralph had shown good sense because between the two of them they took up the entire length of the huge back seat leaving Ralph to sit in front with the driver.
Their destination, the Georgian house where the ball was being held, was only on the other side of the village—a fifteen-minute drive at most.
For the occasion the driveway was illuminated with Japanese flares in soft pastel colours, the front of the house ablaze with lights. Several other cars were disgorging their passengers when they drew up, most of them garbed in Georgian costume.
A liveried flunkey standing by the main door requested their tickets and then ushered them inside, where another liveried attendant indicated the direction of the cloakrooms.
‘The ballroom’s on the second floor,’ Jane hissed to her sister as they followed several other women in the direction of the ladies’ cloakroom.
Having checked that her wig wasn’t in any danger of disgracing her, Jane suggested that they go upstairs.
Outside the doors to the ballroom Ralph was waiting for them, talking to another couple. His male companion was rather portly, and looked flushed beneath his heavy wig. He greeted Jane with a brief kiss on the cheek as did the woman with him.
‘And this is Sarah, my sister-in-law,’ Ralph introduced her. ‘Tom and Veronica Merryweather… Veronica was partially responsible for organising this affair tonight.’
Veronica Merryweather was small and plump, wearing a gown that displayed her pretty shoulders. Sarah guessed shrewdly that the collar of diamonds she was wearing round her throat was genuine, and she also suspected from the slight tension she could feel emanating from her sister that Jane was a little on edge in her presence.
‘I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to desert you,’ Veronica Merryweather apologised with a smile. ‘I’m on the committee organising the ball…and I’m supposed to be on duty downstairs greeting the new arrivals.’
‘See you in the bar later, eh, Ralph,’ her husband suggested, clapping Ralph genially on the back, as he turned to follow his wife.
The ballroom was easily large enough to hold the five hundred guests invited, and off it were three other reception rooms which had been converted into supper rooms for the purpose of the ball, Jane explained to her sister, breaking off her commentary to exclaim, ‘Good heavens…look over there…isn’t that Lady Fentham? Over there in the puce satin trimmed with some sort of fur. No, there, Sarah.’ She tugged her sister’s arm pointing her in the direction she wished her to look, and all of a sudden Sarah froze. She could see the woman Jane was talking about—but she wasn’t the one who held her interest. Just behind her, but clearly discernible to Sarah, was the man she had seen in the town square that afternoon. It was true that now he was wearing a powdered queue of hair, but there was no mistaking that distinctly masculine profile, nor the intense blue of those sapphire eyes. He turned his head and for a moment it seemed as though he were looking directly at her. For the first time in her life Sarah knew what it meant when someone said their heart missed a beat. Hers seemed to stop completely, the world tilting slowly and then equally slowly righting itself again. She could feel the colour crawling up under her skin, mirroring the intense heat building up inside her. She felt both light-headed enough to float and at the same time almost unable to make any movement that might disengage her attention from the man she was watching.
‘Sarah, come back…’
Reluctantly she looked away and met her sister’s exasperated eyes.
‘For goodness sake…stop worrying about work. You’re here tonight to enjoy yourself—remember?’
It seemed impossible to Sarah that Jane had not realised the real reason for her inattention. She heard herself make some absent remark about Lady Fentham’s outfit, and she listened while Jane pointed out other local dignitaries to her. Some of them she recognised from her teens… others were people Jane and Ralph had got to know since Ralph had been in business on his own.
Several people came up to talk to them; more than one commented on the attractiveness of her own and Jane’s costumes, and Sarah had to admit that they were vastly superior to those most of the guests were wearing.
When she made a comment to this effect Jane pulled a slight face. ‘I know it seems trivial and petty, but now that Ralph’s in business on his own, we do have to keep up appearances. Nothing inspires confidence in the business world quite as much as an outward show of success…but our dresses are lovely, aren’t they?’ She smoothed an appreciative hand over her own skirt. ‘Worth every extra penny it cost to hire them. It was Veronica who tipped me off about where to get them. She’s quite an old hand at these charity dos.
‘Where on earth is Ralph?’ she added frowning slightly. ‘He’s been gone ages. He’s probably talking business somewhere in the bar!’
‘He’s coming now,’ Sarah told her, having spotted her brother-in-law making his way towards them.
‘Come on with me, you two,’ he instructed, ‘we’ve got some celebrating to do.’ He was standing closer to Sarah than to Jane, and slipped his arm round Sarah’s waist, hugging her to him and kissed her on the cheek.
Without knowing why she did so Sarah looked across the room. Her heart started to thud with slow heavy beats as sapphire eyes engaged her own. It was as though a message passed between them; hers saying, ‘His kiss means nothing,’ and his replying, ‘No. I know…but mine will.’
She shuddered, only half listening as Ralph enquired anxiously. ‘Are you cold? You shivered…’
Sarah shook her head, her heart beating so fast, she felt as though it might choke her. Ralph had his other arm round Jane now and he was propelling them both towards the door to one of the supper rooms. Sarah felt as though she didn’t want to move; as though she would give anything not to break that contact so recently and so powerfully established.
The sensation she was experiencing was like nothing she had known before; a sexual magnetism so strong that it seemed almost other-worldly. It was as though a rapport had been established that was so strong and direct that no words were necessary. Unwillingly she let Ralph urge her away, amazed that neither he nor Jane seemed to be aware of what was happening to her. She had felt the power of that concentrated sapphire gaze so intensely that she couldn’t believe that no one else was aware of it.
‘This way,’ Ralph directed once they were in the supper room, guiding them in the direction of a table at which the Merryweathers sat.
Tom Merryweather stood up as they approached, pulling out chairs first for Jane and then for Sarah.
A bottle of champagne in an ice bucket stood beside the table, five tulip-shaped glasses waiting to receive the bubbly liquid.
‘Well, Ralph?’ Tom queried jovially. ‘Have you told them the good news yet?’
‘I thought I’d better get Jane sitting down first,’ Ralph grinned. ‘Tom’s just told me that we’ve got the contract for the software program for his new computer.’
After the buzz of excitement had died down, Tom Merryweather signalled to a hovering waiter to pour the champagne, getting to his feet to toast the success of Ralph’s business.
Sarah was thrilled for her sister and brother-in-law, knowing from what they had told her, what a difference this important contract would make to their lives, and Ralph had also confided that where Tom Merryweather led, others were likely to follow.
The bottle of champagne Tom ordered was a magnum, and by the time Ralph was pressing her third glass of champagne on her, Sarah was feeling decidedly light-headed. She had little head for alcohol at the best of times and the euphoria of hearing about Ralph’s success, combined with the dizzying sense of instantaneous recognition that had flashed between her and the man she had seen in the town square that afternoon seemed to have completely removed her normal reticence. She found herself laughing as easily as Jane at Tom Merryweather’s teasing jokes, and even flirting rather mildly with the older man when he praised her outfit.
Veronica Merryweather was quieter than her husband; a pretty rather than elegant woman, who Sarah suspected was a perfect foil for her more exuberant mate. There was no doubt that they were an extremely happily married couple. They had two daughters, Sarah learned, as she drank her champagne, both married and with children of their own now, and it had been as a direct result of one of their grandchildren desperately needing a very difficult heart operation as a baby which had led to Veronica’s heavy involvement in charity fund raising.
Despite the muzzy sensation brought on by the unaccustomed champagne Sarah could see that through Ralph’s business connections with Tom, her sister was also likely to become involved in working alongside Veronica in her fund raising work. It was a role that would ideally suit her sister, who was already beginning to wonder what she would do with her time once the triplets were at school. Jane had a tremendous flair for organisation and Sarah was pleased to see that this gift would find a proper outlet.
They heard the small dance combo striking up a waltz, and across the table Veronica grinned at her husband and instructed, ‘We’re going to dance this waltz, even if it’s the only time I manage to get you on the floor tonight—they played it for us at our reception when we were married,’ she explained to everyone else.
‘And I asked them to play it for us tonight,’ Tom told her with a corresponding grin.
‘What do you think of them?’ Jane asked Sarah when they had gone.
‘I like them. He seems very down to earth, shrewd, but completely honest, not the sort of man it would be easy to fool, or deceive.’
‘No, he’s got no time for what he calls “posers”,’ Ralph told her. ‘A few of the old brigade locally don’t care for him—but I’ve always found him pleasant enough. He’s apt to call a spade a spade, and he’s come on in life the hard way. He’ll have no truck with any pretence but he’s exceptionally kind-hearted—and not because he’s one of these self-made millionaires who’s out to buy himself a peerage, either.’
‘You must be thrilled to bits about the contract,’ Sarah enthused to Ralph. ‘It will make all the difference to the business. The pair of you should be out celebrating alone tonight without having me tagging along.’
‘Oh, we can celebrate in private later on.’
Ralph grinned, laughing when Jane blushed slightly and said reprovingly, ‘Ralph…’
‘But if you’ll excuse us, Sarah, I would like to dance with my wife.’
‘Dancing…is that what you call it,’ Jane groaned, but nevertheless she stood up, pausing only to say to Sarah, ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘Don’t be silly. Off you go.’
Slowly sipping what was left of her champagne Sarah sat back in her chair and studied her surroundings. Apart from a disconcerting tendency to sway rather unnervingly whenever she chanced to move her head too quickly, she could find nothing to criticise in the very traditional Adam décor of the room she was in. The walls had panels in the same eau de nil as her gown, a similar colour contrasted with a soft butter yellow used on the intricately plasterworked ceiling, with the plasterwork itself picked out in white and embellished with gold.
At one end of the room was an Adam fireplace over which hung a giltwood mirror. Several portraits ornamented the rooms, and Sarah was studying one several yards away, a mother and daughter study very much in the style of Lely, wondering if it was genuine, when a voice against her ear made her jump and clutch wildly at the stem of her champagne glass, her eyes swivelling from the picture to those of the man bending over her.
‘She was reputed to be one of Charles II’s many mistresses,’ he murmured dulcetly. ‘That was how the family got this land. Lely in his time had a reputation for being the portraitist of the “Royal Whores”.’
‘So it is genuine?’
The last thing she wanted to do was to talk about their hostess’s art collection. Her heart was thumping so loudly it seemed impossible that she was actually able to carry on a normal conversation. How she managed to be so deeply engrossed in staring at the portrait that she had not heard him approach, especially since she had had every sense attuned for him ever since she had seen him in the ballroom, she had no idea.
At close quarters his eyes were even more darkly blue than she had realised, fringed with thick black lashes, his tanned skin, and slightly mocking expression somehow making him look far more at ease in his costume than any of the other men present.
‘I shouldn’t think so…but it’s a passable enough copy. The original was probably sold years ago. Would you care for another drink?’
Sarah grimaced ruefully into her empty glass. ‘I don’t think I’d better,’ she admitted frankly, ‘I have absolutely no head for chamgagne and that was my third glass. At the moment I doubt if I could so much as walk in a straight line from here to the ballroom!’
‘Why don’t we give it a try?’
Before she knew what was happening he was gently tugging her out of her seat, sliding his hands to her waist to support her as she stood somewhat shakily. As he bent to steady her his jaw was on a level with her mouth and she ached to touch her lips to its hard firmness. A sensation of mild shock quivered through her, its intensity muted by the champagne she had consumed, and as he guided her towards the ballroom, it suddenly struck Sarah that here was the ideal candidate with whom to rid herself of the tiresome burden of her virginity. Every female sense she possessed told her that this man would be a lover whose touch, once experienced, would never be forgotten, and above and beyond that there was something about him that reached out to her on the most primitive and intense level of her being. She wanted to make love with him, she acknowledged inwardly; and the admission brought her no shame or shock, merely a sense of rightness. She trembled, and although she knew he must have felt her physical reaction, unlike Ralph he did not ask her if she was cold, merely lifting one eyebrow and smiling down at her rather quizzically.
‘Before I steal you away, I take it the gentleman I saw you with earlier has no prior claim on you that I should know about?’
She liked that in him, Sarah thought muzzily; that he should so clearly and yet so inoffensively make his desire for her plain, and yet at the same time want to make sure that she was free to reciprocate that desire.
‘None at all,’ she assured him. ‘Ralph is my brother-in-law.’
‘Unfortunate man.’ He drawled the words softly, releasing her waist with his right hand to hold her arm, his thumb stroking softly over the vulnerable underside of her skin where the sleeve fell away from her elbow. While she was still shuddering with delicate pleasure he bent his head and caressed the inner curve of her elbow with his mouth before lifting her hand to his lips and slowly kissing the tip of each finger.
A weird swooning sensation turned her blood hot and sluggish in her veins, a pleasure so intense and all-consuming enveloping her that she moved automatically into his arms, clinging to his shoulders as her body trembled its age-old message against his.
‘I want to make love to you.’
The words fell gently against her skin as he murmured them into her ear.
In an almost dreamlike sequence Sarah heard herself replying huskily, ‘I want it too…’
It was something she had never envisaged happening to herself; this instantaneous rapport; this surge of sheer physical desire so strong that nothing could make itself heard above it. Already she could imagine herself in his arms, touching his skin, caressing him as he caressed her in turn; and as her body trembled beneath the erotic images her mind was conjuring up, Sarah knew that her desire to give herself to this man had little or nothing to do with losing her virginity, but she dismissed that knowledge, banishing it to the furthermost recess of her mind, knowing that to admit it was to open herself to a danger she was not yet ready to face.
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