Society's Most Scandalous Rake

‘How is that?’ He was looking genuinely puzzled and she was reduced to saying weakly.

‘I think you know very well.’

‘But then I would not have been so discourteous as to mention our delightful …’ he paused for a moment ‘… rendezvous.’

‘It was not a rendezvous,’ she remonstrated, ‘it was harassment and you were abominably rude. How dared you accost a lady in that fashion?’

‘But, Miss de Silva, consider for one moment, how was I to know that I was accosting a lady? No lady of my acquaintance would ever walk alone.’

‘So you feel you have carte blanche with any woman you don’t consider a lady?’

‘Let us say that solitary females are not usually averse to my company.’

Domino seethed at his arrogance; he was truly an insufferable man. ‘You deliberately trespassed on my seclusion,’ she said wrathfully. ‘Despite my pleas, you refused to leave me alone.’

The golden eyes darkened and not with amusement this time. ‘But naturally,’ he said in a voice of the softest velvet. ‘How could I? You were far too tempting.’

She felt the tell-tale flush beginning again and longed to flee. But her training stood her in good stead and she drew herself up into as statuesque a figure as she could manage and said in an even tone, ‘I believe, Mr Marchmain, that we have finished our conversation.’

He bent his head to hers and said softly, ‘Surely not, Miss de Silva; I have a feeling that it’s only just beginning.’

In an arctic voice she made a last attempt to put him out of countenance.

‘I don’t recall my father mentioning your name in connection with his work. Do tell me what your interest in this evening’s event might be.’

He moved away from her slightly, but his manner remained as relaxed as ever.

‘Which is a polite way of saying, what am I doing here without an invitation? You’re quite right, I have no invitation. However, I believe the Prince Regent’s presence was expected and I am here as his humble representative.’

‘Then he’s not coming this evening?’ She felt a keen disappointment and, despite her dislike of Joshua Marchmain, found herself wanting to ask more.

‘Did you expect him to?’

‘My father was told that he might attend.’

‘Then I’m sorry to disappoint you.’ He smiled that lazy smile again. ‘George is a somewhat indolent prince, I fear, and only rouses himself to action when he anticipates some pleasure from it.’

She was taken aback by his irreverence. ‘You are a member of the Prince’s household?’

‘For my sins and at the moment, yes.’

‘Then how can you speak so of a royal prince?’

‘Believe me, it’s quite easy. If one knows the prince.’

‘It would seem that you hold the Regent in some aversion. If that’s so, why do you stay?’ she enquired with refreshing candour.

‘That is a question I ask myself most days. So far I haven’t found an answer. Perhaps you might provide me with one.’

She looked puzzled. ‘I cannot see how.’

‘One never can at the time,’ he replied cryptically.

Domino was rapidly tiring of the continual fencing that Mr Marchmain appeared to find essential to conversation, but was too eager to learn of life in the Pavilion to walk away. ‘Is the palace very grand inside?’ she asked impulsively and then wished she hadn’t. She had no wish to betray her gaucheness in front of this indolently assured man.

He smiled indulgently, seeming to find her innocence enchanting.

‘Yes, I suppose you could call it grand; although I would rather say that it is eccentric. But surely you will see the Pavilion for yourself very soon and will be able to make up your own mind.’

‘Perhaps. My father has not yet told me of his plans.’

‘It is to be hoped they will include a visit to the palace. If so, allow me to offer my services as your guide.’

Domino had no intention of ever seeking his company, but she made the expected polite response. At least for the moment he was conducting himself unexceptionally. Then out of nowhere he disconcerted her once more with a passing remark.

‘I understand that you have been living in Madrid.’

‘How did you know that?’ she demanded.

‘I ask questions and get a few answers,’ he murmured enigmatically. ‘There’s a wonderful art gallery in Madrid, the Prado. Do you know it?’

‘My home in Madrid is close by.’

‘Then you are most fortunate. To be able to look on the genius of Velázquez any day you choose.’

She stared at him in astonishment. ‘You are interested in art?’

‘A little. I collect when I can. I have recently acquired a small da Vinci—a very small one—so at the moment I am quite puffed with pride. When you visit the Pavilion, I would like to show you the studio I have set up.’

‘You are an artist yourself?’

‘I am a dauber, no more, but painting is a solace.’

If she wondered why a man such as Joshua Marchmain should need solace, she had little time to ponder. Carmela had arrived at her elbow and was hissing urgently in her ear that they were running out of champagne and would she like to come up with a solution. The party had been more successful than they had hoped and people had stopped for longer to drink, eat and gossip.

Domino excused herself and Joshua swept them both a deep bow. Carmela glared at him fiercely before following in her cousin’s wake. She must warn Domino to keep her distance from that man. She knew nothing of him, but every instinct told her he was not to be trusted and her young relative had spent far too long talking to him. At the best of times it would look particular, but with this man it was likely to begin gossip they could ill afford. Domino was to be married next year and it was Carmela’s job to guard her well until such time as the wedding ring was on her finger.

Joshua watched them out of sight, smiling wryly to himself. He knew Carmela’s type well. How many such duennas had he taken on and vanquished in the course of an inglorious career? But Domino appeared to have a mind of her own. That and her youthful charm made her a prize worth pursuing; the next few weeks might prove more interesting than he had expected. He weaved his way through the chattering guests to receive his hat from a stray footman before sauntering through the front door of Number Eight Marine Parade, his step a little livelier than when he had entered.

The next morning was overcast. The sun hid behind clouds and the sea looked a dull grey. The prospect of a walk was uninviting, but it was Sunday and attendance at the Chapel Royal was essential for the ambassador and his daughter. Carmela had refused point blank to accompany them; nothing would induce her to attend a Protestant church, she said. She would stay at home and follow her own private devotions. If Domino and her father felt a little jaded from the previous evening’s exertions, a vigorous walk along the promenade soon blew away any megrims. Tired they might be, but they were also in good spirits. The reception had gone without a hitch and Alfredo was feeling increasingly optimistic for the success of his mission. Domino, too, was cheerful, seeing her father so buoyant. To be sure, entertaining the ton had been a little daunting, but she had come through her first test with flying colours. Apart from the impossible Mr Marchmain, nothing had occurred to spoil her pleasure. And even he had intrigued her. He was an enigma, a man of contradictions. She had thought him nothing more than a highly attractive predator, but then he had announced himself a lover of great art. He was sufficiently wealthy to laze the summer away in the Prince Regent’s very expensive retinue, but seemed to lack the responsibilities that accompanied such wealth. And far from enjoying his exalted social position, it appeared to give him little pleasure.

A wind had sprung up by this time, blowing from the west, and Domino was forced to pay attention to her attire, hanging on with one hand to the Angoulême bonnet with its fetching decoration of golden acorns, while with the other she strove to keep under control the delicate confection of peach sarsenet and creamy tulle that billowed around her legs. They walked briskly, her father enumerating his plans for the week while she listened, but all the time her mind was busy elsewhere.

‘Papa,’ she said suddenly, when he fell silent for a moment, ‘what do you know of Mr Marchmain?’

‘Only a very little. He is one of the Regent’s court, I understand, so no doubt expensive, idle, possibly dissolute.’

She felt dismay at her father’s description. Marchmain was certainly persistent in his unwanted attentions, but dissolute!

‘Do not concern yourself, my dear.’ Her father patted her hand. ‘Members of the Prince Regent’s entourage are a law unto themselves. We will have dealings with them only when we must.’

She tried another tack. ‘How is it that Joshua Marchmain is only a plain mister? Surely if he belongs to the Regent’s company, he should have a title.’

‘I believe the young man is related in one way or another to any number of the nobility and has inherited a wealthy estate, which he will certainly need if he keeps company with the Regent for long. But why this interest, querida?’

‘No real interest, Papa,’ she said stoutly. ‘He just seemed an odd person to be attending the reception, a fish out of water.’

‘I think we can say that Mr Marchmain’s appearance at our small entertainment was the Regent’s overture to Spain. We must accept the overture politely, but still maintain a distance.’

He took her arm firmly in his. ‘Come, we should step out smartly if we are not to be shamed by our lateness at church.’

They walked quickly on, the summer wind skirling around their feet and sending up dust and abandoned news sheets into a choking cloud. Brighton was a fashionable resort—almost too fashionable, she reflected—and Marine Parade was a less-than-ideal residence. It was too near the centre of town and attracted promenading society far too readily. She had quickly realised that lodgings close to the Pavilion were in general reserved for young bucks, looking forward to a lively few months by the sea, and for the sprinkling of dandies with their pencilled eyebrows and curled mustachios who were always ready to ogle any stray female who crossed their path. She had come to wish that her father had chosen a house on the outskirts of town but, this morning, proximity meant they had only a short way to travel before they arrived at the church a few minutes before the last bell ceased tolling.

The Chapel Royal was a square building in the classical style with rounded sash windows and a row of Doric columns flanking the main door. It was the custom for visitors without their own pew to be charged an entrance fee and Domino and her father obediently joined a straggling line of people, all waiting to pay their shilling. The queue was moving slowly and they waited for some while to disburse their fee, but as they neared the imposing front door of the church, there was a sudden commotion behind them, a servant pushing his way forwards to clear a pathway for his employer. She turned to discover who this grand personage might be and received a terrible shock; she found herself staring into the eyes of the man she had come to loathe when last she was in England.

Leo Moncaster smiled grimly at her. ‘Miss de Silva? Imagine that. And there was I thinking never to see you again.’

Her father had turned around and was looking with surprise at the sneering stranger. ‘Is this gentleman annoying you, Domino?’ he asked her quietly. She was quick to reassure him and he turned back to pay their shillings.

‘I see you have brought reinforcements with you this time.’ The sneer became even more pronounced. ‘And is your aunt here also, ready to come to your defence at any moment?’

‘Lady Blythe remains in London, sir, although I see no reason why that should interest you.’

‘On the contrary, Miss de Silva, everything to do with you interests me. I have a long memory, even if you do not.’

And with that he pushed past beneath the pediment displaying the Prince Regent’s coat of arms and into the church. She was left trembling from the encounter, but anxious that her father should not suspect anything amiss. She linked arms with him and smiled as bravely as she could.

‘Shall we go in?’

Seeing Leo Moncaster had been a crippling blow. When she had agreed to play hostess for her father, she had never for a moment imagined that she would meet the man who had done her so much harm. If she had been thinking sensibly, she might have known he could well be here and living at the Pavilion. Moncaster was an inveterate gambler and it was said that fortunes were won and lost on a nightly basis at the Regent’s tables. Where better for such a man to spend his summer? It was clear that his malevolence was unabated despite Lady Blythe having paid her niece’s gambling debt in full. Of course, he had not wanted the money. It was herself, or rather her body, that he had wanted. That was the prize of which he’d been cheated. But how could she ever have thought him attractive? A shudder ran through her as though she were tiptoeing over a grave, fearful of disturbing dark layers of memory. Her only comfort was her father’s assertion that they need have little to do with the Prince Regent or any of his cronies.

Certainly the Prince would not be in evidence this morning. Although he had laid the church’s foundation stone some twenty-five years ago, he had stopped worshipping at the Chapel Royal when a sermon on immorality had offended him. But there was some compensation to be had. An enormous man with creaking corsets was heaving himself into the pews reserved for the Royal Family a few rows in front of her: the Regent’s brother, the Duke of York. He kept up a constant muttering, hardly audible, but nevertheless highly embarrassing to his companions. Their attempts to stifle him made her smile; for the moment she forgot the dreadful meeting she had just endured and was emboldened to look about her. The galleried church was filled with decoration, its supporting columns and pulpit highly embellished, while a large organ in burnished copper thundered from above the altar. It was a rich man’s building.

She looked sideways across the aisle, scanning a busy canvas of faces, hoping to keep out of Moncaster’s sight. Immediately beneath one of the galleries a countenance she was beginning to know well swam into view. Joshua’s gaze was on her, sporting an appreciative smile as he took in her situation just behind the noisy Duke. She noticed that he was dressed more soberly this morning, but the familiar lock of fair hair trailed over his brow and his sprawling figure exuded his customary confidence. Her glance moved on to the woman who sat next to him; there was something proprietorial in her posture. She was richly dressed in an ensemble of emerald-green Venetian silk and her hair was covered with a headpiece of ostrich feathers. The feathers swayed slightly in the current of air and their height ensured that those who sat immediately behind could see little of the service at the altar.

Domino did not profit from the parson’s homily that morning. She was too conscious of both the men she wished to avoid and was relieved when the final hymn reverberated through the rafters and she was able to walk from the church into a burst of sunshine. The rector was at the door to greet his parishioners and once again they were forced to wait patiently in line before they could pass through the narrow entrance.

‘Pious as well as pretty,’ a voice said softly in her ear. ‘It gets better all the time.’

She turned to face him, grateful that her father was engaged in talking to a fellow communicant.

‘Still accosting unwilling women, Mr Marchmain?’ she snapped back.

‘Never unwilling, Miss de Silva.’

Her face flushed scarlet as she took in the implication of his remark. She was just about to retort angrily when another voice cut across their interchange.

‘Joshua, why don’t you introduce me to your delightful new friend?’

It was the richly dressed woman she had seen sitting next to him in the pew.

A look of irritation flitted across his face, but was gone in a moment.

‘But of course. Miss de Silva, may I present the Duchess of Severn. Charlotte, Miss de Silva—the daughter of our new ambassador from Spain.’

‘How delightful to have you in Brighton, my dear.’

Domino wasn’t sure she liked the woman. She seemed to purr when she spoke and the glances she cast towards the waiting Joshua verged on the covetous. But she curtsied decorously and made her father known to the duchess.

‘You must both come to one of my small soirées as soon as possible,’ Charlotte Severn said smoothly. ‘I will send an invitation this very week. I am sure Joshua will know your direction.’

Domino sensed a hidden meaning, but managed to smile politely and hope that her father would conjure some excuse for their not attending.

‘She is a very fine lady, is she not, Papa?’ she remarked as they made their way back along the promenade.

‘Who?’

‘The Duchess of Severn.’

‘Finely dressed at least.’

‘You don’t sound as though you like her.’

‘I don’t know her, Domino, but I do not like the set she moves in. I would prefer you to have as little to do with her as possible.’

‘Mr Marchmain seems to know her well,’ she ventured.

‘Indeed he does,’ her father said grimly, then abruptly changed the subject.

She was left to puzzle over just what had vexed him so badly.

Chapter Two

Joshua turned abruptly on his heels and headed back towards the Pavilion, his temper frayed. He needed to be alone and Charlotte Severn could easily be left to the escort of Moncaster, whom he had noticed in the distance. He was angry with her for intervening in his conversation with Domino and even more annoyed that she had promised an invitation to one of her celebrated soirées. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to keep Domino to himself, or at the very least not expose her to the intimacies of the Severn household.

He had no intention of seducing the young girl, that was not his style, but neither did he want her knowing a woman such as Charlotte. That lady might be the wife of one of the premier dukes of the land, but she had the soul of a courtesan. The role suited her well and she should stick to it, he thought, rather than attempting to befriend the young and inexperienced. The Royal Pavilion was a suitable milieu for her. Every kind of dubious pleasure was available there and she had a husband happy to look away while she played. His Grace was content in his declining years to puff off his wife’s beauty and retire to the lure of the gaming table. He was one of the Regent’s most assiduous companions, not least because he was so wealthy that it mattered little to him how much money he lost.

Charlotte had access to wealth untold—but that was not enough, Joshua reflected wryly. It hardly compensated for a dull and ageing husband. He remembered when he had first seen her two years ago—Wiesbaden, it was, at the town’s most opulent casino, and seated at the hazard table. She had looked across at him, her eyes staring straight into his, their porcelain blue still and expressionless, but nevertheless saying all they needed to say. That very night they had become lovers and from time to time continued to meet. But for long stretches of the year the duchess could not shrug off the duties incumbent on her position and that suited him well. There were always others happy to keep him company and lengthy periods of absence had until recently staved off the inevitable ennui which acquaintance with any woman produced. Or any woman since that first disastrous love affair.

But things were changing. He didn’t know if it was the sea air stirring his blood and making him restless, but something had altered in him. Charlotte Severn no longer beguiled him and his frustration at being part of the Regent’s sycophantic court was beginning to acquire a sharper edge. And the girl—she had something to do with it, too. It wasn’t just that he wanted to bed her; that was as certain as it was unlikely. It was, he thought, that he had enjoyed their encounters, enjoyed her vitality, her verve, the zest with which she resisted his raillery. He had met her on three occasions and each time behind his gentle mockery he had wanted to explore, to discover more, to begin to know her. Today she had looked enchanting in peaches and cream and yet another rakish bonnet, those dark tragic eyes looking out at him so scornfully from beneath its brim. They could be made to wear another expression, he was sure. If ever he felt mad enough to risk exile again, he would savour the challenge. Charlotte’s companionship had never seemed more irksome; she had stepped between them, muddying the waters, placing her footprint where only his had previously been.

The duchess was waiting for him in the outer vestibule of the Pavilion. If his temper had improved with the circuitous route he had taken, hers certainly had not. He barely had a foot through the door when she addressed him in a voice crisp with indignation.

‘There you are, Mr Marchmain. I had begun to think I had lost you.’

‘Why is that, Your Grace?’ He would be as formal as she.

‘Not unnaturally, I awaited your escort from the Chapel Royal. But when I turned to call on your services, you had gone.’

‘Forgive me. I felt in need of a slightly longer walk and I am aware that it is not a pastime you favour.’

‘A walk with you is always a pleasure, Joshua,’ she replied in a more conciliatory tone.

‘Then forgive me once more. Had I known, I would certainly have requested your company,’ he lied.

She fixed him with a cold, enquiring eye. ‘How is it that you know the ambassador’s daughter?’

‘I was representing the Regent last night, if you remember,’ he said indifferently. ‘We met at her father’s diplomatic reception.’

‘You seem already to be on good terms with her.’

‘Why should I not be? I understand the need for England to maintain a good relationship with Spain.’

‘Ah, so that’s what it is.’

Leo Moncaster strode into the Octagon Hall as they talked and viewed the two tense figures with satirical amusement.

‘Quite a breeze blowing out there,’ he offered with an assumed bonhomie. ‘That’s the problem with being beside the sea, never without a wind. Still hopefully Prinny will soon get bored with coastal delights and leave for Carlton House within the month.’

His audience remained resolutely silent and his eyebrows rose enquiringly.

‘Have I been guilty of interrupting a private conversation? If so, my profuse apologies.’

‘Apologies are unnecessary. Your manners are never anything but perfect, Moncaster,’ Joshua remarked acidly, unable to conceal his dislike. ‘Her Grace and I were just about to part.’ And with that he strode off to his rooms, leaving Leo Moncaster looking quizzically at the duchess.

‘I realise I am hardly a favourite of Marchmain’s, but, beyond my unwelcome presence, what ails him?’

‘I imagine no more than a tedious sermon and a cold walk from the Chapel Royal.’

‘He seemed ruffled—uncharacteristically so.’

‘I may have annoyed him,’ the duchess admitted, her voice carefully neutral.

‘How so?’

‘I invited a young woman who appears to have become his protégée to one of my soirées. That apparently is not something to be done.’

‘And why not exactly?’

‘Possibly he thinks I may corrupt her innocence,’ Charlotte said with a knowing little smile. ‘Would you be so good, Leo, as to escort me back to Steine House? A trifling distance, I know, but I prefer to have a reliable man by my side.’

Lord Moncaster offered his arm and they sailed past the waiting footman. He was not to be put off the scent, however, and as they walked through the Pavilion Gardens enquired, ‘And what innocence would that be, if she knows Joshua Marchmain well?’