Scoundrel in the Regency Ballroom: The Rake and the Heiress / Innocent in the Sheikh's Harem

The man smiled. ‘No need to worry on that score, squire. Folk in here have learned the hard way to mind their own business, if you get my meaning. Now, let’s see the readies.’

He bit delicately into one of the coins from the bag which Mathew handed him. Satisfied with the quality, he called for a glass of fire water and awaited instruction.

Mathew’s orders were vague. When pressed to be more specific, he flapped. ‘Just do whatever you see fit, I want no details.’

The ex-Runner smiled knowingly. He had come across the type many times before. Happy enough to pay someone else to do their dirty work, but too squeamish to think about what they had paid for actually entailed. It suited him well enough. He signified his agreement by raising his glass in a toast before tossing it back with a satisfied smack of the lips. Then he was gone.

After a lunch alone, Nicholas still being engaged upon business, Serena flicked through some volumes of Shakespeare in a half-hearted way, searching for the source of the last rose of summer quotation. By the time he joined her she was heartily bored.

‘Forget about that for today, let’s play cards instead,’ he said, lounging in the doorway.

‘Cards,’ Serena exclaimed in surprise.

‘Yes, why not? Can you not play?’

‘Very well, actually. Whatever you want.’

‘Piquet?’

‘If you wish. But just for penny points.’

Nicholas laughed. ‘I’m considered to be a very good player.’

‘Oh, I’m not worried,’ Serena said airily, ‘I’ve played a lot of cards in my time.’

‘Another of the skills learned at dear Papa’s knee, no doubt,’ he quipped.

She chuckled. ‘If only you knew.’

‘Since you’re so confident, we should make the stakes more interesting. A forfeit.’

‘It depends what you have in mind.’

‘You’re expecting me to say a kiss, but I won’t be so predictable.’

His smile was irresistible. ‘What, then?’Serena asked.

‘A lock of your hair. Something with which to remember our time here.’ He surprised himself at the fancifulness of his request, was still more surprised when she agreed.

‘Deal,’ she said, handing him the cards with a glint in her eye that should have worried him.

As the rubbers progressed it became clear that Serena’s claim to skill had been no idle boast. Nicholas was losing steadily.

‘Well, I make that—let’s see…’ Serena added up the score and showed him the total.

‘Confound it, I never lose by such a margin. Are you sure?’

‘Quite sure,’Serena said smugly. ‘Now you must pay the forfeit.’ She opened her reticule, producing a pair of embroidery scissors, brandishing them before him triumphantly. He ran his fingers through his carefully cropped hair, much alarmed. ‘Give me those, I’ll do it.’

Serena shook her head. ‘To the victor the spoils, Nicholas. What was it you said, “I never play when I can’t pay”?’

‘You’re enjoying this.’

She nodded primly, her eyes brimming with laughter.

He made a dive for the scissors, but she quickly put them behind her back. ‘Kneel before me, Mr Lytton,’she commanded, ‘I would not wish to ruin your coiffure.’

He held her gaze as he knelt, a wicked smile curling the corners of his mouth, his eyes reflecting the laughter in hers. ‘You will regret this, mademoiselle.’

‘I don’t think so. Stay still.’ She bent over his head. Her dress brushed against his face, which was disconcertingly close to her thighs. Heat rushed through her body.

‘I told you you’d regret it,’ Nicholas said wickedly, his voice muffled by the material of her skirt. ‘I, on the other hand, am finding this position rather delightful.’

Serena froze. Was that his breath she could feel through her petticoats? A quick snip and a lock of silky black hair fell into her hand. ‘There, you can stand up now,’ she managed breathlessly.

He gazed up at her with such a smile that her knees almost buckled. ‘Why don’t you come down here and join me? It’s very—good God!’

‘What is it?’

‘The last rose of summer left blooming alone. I’ve just remembered, it’s a song. And there it is. Come here.’

‘Very funny. Get up.’

‘No, I mean it,’ Nicholas said. ‘Look.’

She carefully placed his curl in her reticule with her scissors and dropped to her knees beside him. He took her by the shoulders and pointed her at the fireplace. Two panels decorated with delicate plasterwork filled the gap on each side between the mantel and the book cases. On one the figure of a man held a flower stalk in his hand. On the opposite panel was a tomb, around and on top of which the petals of the flower were scattered.

‘Oh!’ Serena clapped her hands together in excitement.

‘The last rose of summer. Melissa used to sing it—damned melancholy thing, but it tickled my father. He knew the poet who wrote it, years before it was set to music. I can’t think why I didn’t remember until now. Go on then, they’re your papers, see if you can find the latch.’

The panels were not large, starting from the wainscoting and ending at head height. Carefully, Serena felt her way around the edges of the one on the right, with shaking fingers seeking a gap or a mechanism, but there was nothing. She tried again. Nothing. Disappointed, she sat back on her heels.

‘Maybe it’s on the other one. Let me try.’ Nicholas joined her, kneeling on the floor beside the panel depicting the young man and the flower stalk. As Serena had, he felt his way around the panel. Then he looked more closely at the stalk, which seemed to be detached from the plaster beneath it. Carefully, he twisted it. It turned. The tombstone with its rose petals slid back to reveal a cavity in the wall. Inside lay a small packet sealed with red wax, a name written in faded ink on the front.

Serena reached in. Philip Stamppe, his last will and testament. Her father’s name leapt out from the paper in flowing script. She felt herself go faint, and staggered to her feet.

Nicholas poured her a small measure of brandy. ‘Sit, drink this.’

Serena drank, spluttering as the cognac seared the back of her throat. Then drank some more, savouring the calming effect of the liquor. ‘I’m sorry, it’s the shock, seeing his name, that’s all. I’m better now.’

He was almost as shocked himself, to find that the papers actually existed. As the implications began to make their way into his brain, Nicholas cursed inwardly, for now his precipitate action had ensured that Serena had no further reason to stay and he was not ready for her to go. Not yet.

She turned over the little packet of documents on her lap, but made no attempt to break the seals.

‘Am I permitted to know what they are?’

She was sorely tempted to tell him everything, but to do so would be to call a halt to whatever this thing was between them, and she was not willing to do that. Not yet. ‘My father’s will,’ she conceded, ‘and some papers confirming my identity.’

‘You don’t seem particularly overjoyed to see them.’

She looked up. ‘I expect you are, though. It means I won’t need to trespass on your time any longer.’

‘Must you go straight away?’

‘I ought to.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘I know.’

Nicholas stared frowningly out of the window. ‘Leave it another couple of days and I’ll be able to escort you myself. I should have news of my duelling opponent by then, and in the meantime I can show you a bit of the countryside. Do you ride?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Good. We’ll go riding tomorrow,’he said decisively.

‘I should go to London tomorrow.’

‘Stay. Let us have a day’s grace, without worrying about papers or panelling or—or anything.’

Serena folded the documents into her reticule along with the lock of Nicholas’s hair as she thought through his suggestion. He had not pressed her as to their content. Did that mean he didn’t care, or he didn’t want to know? And if she stayed another day, what was implied? More than just a gallop across the countryside, or was she reading too much into it? He would not take what was not freely given. She believed him, but she did not trust herself. Already, part of her had rushed ahead like a stampeding horse, looking forward to the morrow. She tried to rein it in. ‘A day’s grace,’ she said. ‘Yes, I’d like that’, though even as she spoke, doubt seized her.

Nicholas took her hand and pulled her to her feet. His smile was warm, drawing from her a response that banished everything save a tingle of anticipation, a rush of pleasure. ‘Come on, then,’ he said to her, ‘I’ll walk you back to your lodgings.’

‘Tiens, I thought you were never coming back, mademoiselle, I was about to send someone out in search of you.’ Madame LeClerc, arms crossed impatiently, greeted Serena from the doorway. Dressed in her habitual black, her pale eyes peering shortsightedly at her charge, she had the look of a well-fed mole startled from its burrow.

‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,’ Serena said soothingly. ‘Let’s go in. You’ll be wanting your dinner.’

‘Pah,’ Madame LeClerc said contemptuously, though whether she referred to Nicholas’s retreating figure or dinner was not clear. Once inside, she commenced her habitual lament. ‘I am tired of waiting, Mademoiselle Serena, when will we be on our way?’

‘Not so very long now,’ Serena said patiently, ‘my business is almost concluded.’

‘Business! Is that what you call it. The whole village is talking of you,’ Madame LeClerc said spitefully.

Serena turned from the mirror where she had been tidying her hair. ‘You shouldn’t listen to idle gossip, Madame LeClerc, I’m sure there must be more productive ways for you to pass your time.’

‘What am I to do here, exactly’ Madame responded angrily. ‘The women dress in sacks and aprons. When I try to advise the cook on how to make a nice French ragoût, she orders me from the kitchen. And now there is a strange man pestering me with silly questions.’

‘What strange man?’

‘A round man with a greasy coat. He knocked on the door and talked at me. I don’t know what he said, but I thought he was a person most suspect.’

‘He was probably just lost; I shouldn’t worry about it.’

‘That is all very well for you to say, mademoiselle, but you leave me alone all day when you go off to the big house. What if he had ravished me, what then?’

Serena spluttered with the effort of turning her giggle into an unconvincing cough. ‘I am relieved he did not.’

‘Much you would care if he did!’

Realising that she was genuinely upset, Serena spoke more soothingly. ‘I promise you we won’t be here for much longer. Now let’s forget about strange men, and eat whatever nice English food our landlady has prepared for us before it gets cold.’

They sat down to dinner at the table in the parlour, but Madame was not content to drop the subject of village gossip. ‘They say you spend all day in the company of this Monsieur Lytton. They say that you are his mistress,’ she informed Serena through a mouthful of rabbit pie. ‘They say you must be, given his reputation with the ladies.’

‘I’m not interested in gossip,’ Serena replied sternly.

‘Yes, but, Serena—Mademoiselle Cachet—you should be more discreet; your papa would not be pleased.’

‘C’est mon affaire, madame, none of your business. Since Mr Lytton’s father was one of Papa’s oldest friends, I’ll thank you to hold your tongue. Eat your dinner; I want to hear no more of this.’

It was only village gossip, but it worried her none the less. She did not doubt that much of the speculation had originated from Madame LeClerc herself, but that was no consolation.

Retiring early to the privacy of her chamber, Serena finally broke the seal on her father’s will with shaking fingers. By the time she had worked her way through the lengthy and highly technical content, her candle was guttering, throwing strange shapes onto the walls. The sums of money mentioned staggered her. Until now, she had not quite believed it was true, so outlandish had been Papa’s tale, but the facts were there in parchment and ink. She was indeed an heiress, a considerable one.

Getting out of bed, she folded the documents carefully into a drawer of her jewel case before taking out the necklace Papa had given her for her last birthday. It was a simple but beautiful piece of jewellery, a gold locket with a sapphire in the centre, surrounded by a pattern of tiny diamonds. She opened it and carefully placed the lock of Nicholas’s hair inside, unable to resist pressing upon it a little kiss. Then she snuffed the candle and climbed wearily into bed.

Lady Serena Stamppe. It sounded so strange to her ears. Not at all like herself, but like someone in a book or in a painting. Someone far more dignified, older, more refined than she. Lady Serena. The Honourable Lady Serena. Nicholas would be amused. No, Nicholas would not be at all amused. She would not think about that. Not yet. Not until after tomorrow.

Next door, Madame’s snoring stopped. Taking this as a good omen, Serena fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter Four

Serena woke to a fresh sunny morning. It augured well for the promised outing, which she was looking forward to enormously. She checked her appearance in the mirror one last time before going downstairs. Her riding habit was of deep blue velvet, and the small hat trimmed with feathers of a matching colour sat jauntily atop her golden curls. It was not one of Madame LeClerc’s creations, having been fashioned for her by an English tailor in Paris, the mannish cut of the short jacket serving to emphasise the very feminine curves concealed beneath it.

Madame LeClerc was wont to sleep late and had not yet risen, and for this Serena was grateful. She could imagine the fevered speculation that would be aroused by the sight of herself setting off to ride out alone with Nicholas. Madame’s expressive Gallic eyebrows would shoot up to new heights, possibly to disappear entirely under the frill of her cap. With a chuckle, Serena gathered the long trail of skirt over her arm and closed the door of her lodgings quietly behind her. She stepped gaily out into the bright April sunshine and set off for the Hall with a sense of anticipation and well being.

The way was damp underfoot. The scent of fresh earth and wet grass carried on the gentle breeze stimulated her senses. Though she missed Paris and greatly looked forward to seeing London, with all the famous sites she’d heard so much of, at this precise moment she was in no rush to get there. In a way, she was starting to think of this lush green land as home. How she envied Nicholas the beauty of Knightswood Hall. How she envied him the casual acceptance and ease of manner with which he took it all for granted. Papa had imbued his daughter with his own excellent address and confidence, but there were nevertheless times when Serena felt overwhelmed by the elegance of Knightswood Hall and its dashing owner. She was not at all convinced of her ability to play the role of a lady for the London Season in which her father had insisted she should take part, once her true position was known. She was even less convinced than ever of her desire to do so.

Overseeing the saddling of the two horses as Serena made the now-familiar short walk from the village, Nicholas was also musing on the subject of his family’s ancestral home. During past visits to the Hall the solitude, lack of entertainment and the early country hours had been a trial. In Serena’s company he looked on it all with a fresh eye. Seeing the house from her perspective, he could admire its beauty anew, could appreciate its quirks and inconveniences as the product of its evolution, tangible evidence of its history and provenance. For perhaps the first time ever he felt a genuine sense of pride at being the owner and custodian of the Lytton estate.

The fresh green loveliness of the English spring bursting forth in all its glory before him was something else he had missed, since it coincided with the height of the Season and the hustle, bustle and grime of London. He was making up for lost time now. At some point its appeal would begin to pall, he had no doubt. As would Serena’s. But not yet.

He knew enough of her to be certain that she would not change her mind about leaving. At best he had only today and tomorrow. He would wait no longer to sample more of her charms. The thought ignited his senses, an unaccustomed sense of anticipation making him jerk on the bridle in his hand. Titus whinnied and flared his nostrils. The dappled grey mare standing next to him pranced skittishly.

‘I’ll take them round the front myself,’ Nicholas said, casually dismissing the groom. Grabbing both sets of reins, he set off on foot through the archway, out of the stable block and towards the house. Rounding the path which led to the front, he met Serena coming from the opposite direction.

Seeing Nicholas stride towards her, leading a horse in each hand, a dazzling smile illuminating his handsome features, she felt her breath catch in her throat. His cravat was snowy white against the strong line of his jaw. A plain dark-brown riding coat buttoned tight across his chest emphasised the width of his shoulders. Looking down, past the cutaway of the coat, the waistcoat of biscuit hue adorned with a single fob, she drank in long muscular legs clad in his favourite buckskins and impeccably polished short boots with long tops. She swallowed. The soft leather of his breeches seemed moulded to his shape so tightly she would swear she could see his muscles ripple underneath as he walked, the square-cut tails of his coat flying out behind him. His hands were clothed in gloves of the same close-fitting soft leather. In one of them he carried a riding whip. He was, Serena thought, not beautiful, that was quite the wrong word, but astonishingly, compellingly attractive.

Trying not to stare like a besotted schoolgirl, she turned her attention to the horses he was leading. The large imperious stallion could only be his. The other horse was smaller, a lovely dappled grey with expressive, intelligent eyes. ‘Oh, is this my mare?’ She ran the last few steps, going straight to the horse’s head, producing some lumps of sugar from a pocket in her habit. ‘She’s lovely.’

‘Yes, she is,’ Nicholas said, his eyes on Serena.

He took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, smiling into her eyes in a way that left her in no doubt of his thoughts. Serena felt a responsive shiver. Beside her the horse pawed nervously at the ground.

‘Her name is Belle,’ Nicholas told her, handing over the reins. ‘She can be quite lively—do you think you’ll be able to handle her?’

‘I’m sure we’ll get along splendidly. I expect she just needs a gallop. I’m looking forward to it almost as much as she is.’

‘Well, just take it easy until we’re out in the fields. Come here and I’ll help you up.’

She mounted with ease, draping her long skirts gracefully over the pommel. Belle pranced and pawed, held firmly in a light grip. They set off at a brisk trot side by side down the lane and out into the fields. Serena rode well, straight-backed and light handed, the feathers in her hat flying out in the breeze as she urged the mare into a gallop. Beside her, Nicholas and Titus kept pace. The countryside rushed by in a swirl of green and brown accompanied by the thud of the horses’ hooves, the whistle of the wind in her ears, an occasional rustle in the undergrowth as some small animal fled from their path. Gradually they slowed to a canter and then to a trot, lazily following the meanderings of a burbling stream.

Flushed from the exercise, her eyes bright with curiosity, Serena asked Nicholas to tell her more about their surroundings, surprised to find that almost all the land belonged to him. Her questions forced him to dig deep into the recesses of his brain for answers. It was gratifying, how quickly it all came flooding back to him.

‘I hadn’t realised you were such an expert on farming,’ she teased.

‘I’m not really. My bailiff manages it all; I can’t claim any credit for the good heart the land is in.’

‘But you clearly understand how the estate works.’

‘I spent a lot of time here in my youth, even though I don’t come down so often now.’

‘It’s so beautiful here, I love it. You’re very lucky.’

‘I suppose I am. Do you plan to stay on in England?’ he asked curiously.

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘In London?’

‘I don’t know.’ In truth she had no idea. ‘Maybe I’ll find my own place in the country.’

‘So your father’s will left you well provided for?’

‘Yes. But we said…’

‘I know, that we wouldn’t talk about it today.’ He reined in his horse. ‘We should go back. If we follow the stream for another mile or so, we can loop round through the West Farm and approach the Hall from the north.’

Serena nodded her agreement. They had passed the main buildings of the farm and were approaching the edge of the grounds of the Hall when she dropped back a little, distracted by a sound from the hedgerow to her left. As she leaned over in the saddle to try to see what creature was making the strange noise, the unmistakable sound of a shot pierced the air. The bullet whizzed over her head, missing her by inches.

Hearing the crack, Nicholas pulled Titus up sharply, turning round in the saddle just in time to see Serena’s horse rear up into the air before bolting, with Serena still clinging on. Quickly wheeling Titus round, pressing his heels into the horse’s flanks to urge him on, Nicholas galloped after Serena as she hung grimly on to her horse’s neck and careered across the field. Coming alongside, Nicholas leaned over precariously to grab the horse’s bit. ‘Whoah, Belle, whoah, girl,’ he said gently. The mare slowly came to a halt.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Yes, I’m fine, I’m fine.’ Serena sat up in the saddle. She was as white as a sheet, but had herself firmly in hand. Taking her reins back from Nicholas, she focused her attention on soothing Belle, whispering calming platitudes in her ear. Gradually, the mare ceased her fidgeting. Serena looked up to find Nicholas frowning heavily, staring over her shoulder at the direction from which the shot had been fired. ‘What is it?’she asked him.

‘Did you see anything?’

‘Nothing at all. I felt something whizzing over my head, but I didn’t see where it came from.’

‘It came from over there.’ He pointed to a clump of trees leading into a wood at the boundary of the property. ‘I’m going to have a look. There’s a barn at the other side of the field, you and Belle can wait there. You’ve had quite a shock. Are you feeling well enough to ride?’

‘I’m fine. But—can’t I come with you?’

‘No, go and wait for me there. I won’t be long. I expect it was a stray shot fired by a poacher, in which case he’ll likely be long gone. What he was shooting at this time of year in broad daylight I have no idea though—rabbits, maybe.’

‘They would need to be flying rabbits,’ Serena said with a weak attempt at humour. ‘That bullet would have gone into my head if I hadn’t bent down.’

‘That thought had not escaped me,’ Nicholas replied grimly. ‘Go and rest, Serena. I’ll join you shortly.’

Giving her no time to protest, Nicholas galloped off in the direction of the wood. Serena headed for the barn, where she dismounted and tied the mare up beside a convenient water trough. The sky was lowering, the morning’s brightness giving way to a squally April breeze. Rain threatened.

By the time Nicholas returned half an hour later it had started to pour, and Serena was beginning to fret.

‘I thought something had happened to you.’

He grinned at the charming picture she made, framed by the doorway in her blue velvet suit with her bright gold hair dishevelled. ‘Don’t be silly, did you think the poacher would shoot me? More likely the other way round, as punishment for his recklessness. Go inside, I’ll just put Titus beside Belle. We might as well wait out the rain here, it will pass over soon enough’