The Wicked Baron

During a break in the music she was conversing with a group of lively young people when she heard her aunt’s voice behind her.

‘Ah, there you are, my love. Do allow me to present Lord Darvell to you.’

And the world stopped for Carlotta. The laughing, chattering crowds were forgotten. She had known this moment would come, had rehearsed it a thousand times, but still she was not prepared for the stomach-wrenching spasm that threatened to render her senseless when she heard that name. Of course, she had only known him as Major Ainslowe, but she had not been living in her aunt’s household for many weeks before she learned his full title. Gathering all her strength, she turned and dragged her eyes up from the white satin waistcoat and dazzling neckcloth to the face above. The faint hope that it might all be a mistake withered. The gentleman standing before her was achingly familiar. She did not need to cast more than a fleeting glance at his lean, handsome face—it was etched on her soul. As he bowed over her hand, she looked at the waving brown hair that curled over his collar. She recalled the silky feel of it beneath her fingers, tried desperately not to remember the touch of his lips, not on her glove, but on her own mouth, caressing, demanding—she thrust such thoughts away. They had no place in her life now. He had no place in her life now.

She forced herself to look at him. Could he have forgotten her? No, his glance told her he knew her, but there was no sign of uncertainty in his hazel eyes as he smiled. He was so sure of his welcome. How could he be so complacent—did he not know what he had done to her? But of course he did; she was aware of his reputation now. It was rumoured that France was littered with women whose hearts he had broken. A bitter wave of anger and unhappiness swept over her, but her training had been very good; she buried those feelings and presented him with a bland, polite mask. Lady Broxted was not aware of their previous meetings, and Carlotta would not have it known now. She withdrew her hand from his grasp, saying coolly, ‘My lord.’

‘Miss Rivington.’ His self-assurance made her seethe. He was laughing at her! ‘Your aunt tells me you are not engaged for the next dance. I would be honoured if you would allow me to partner you.’

Luke observed the upright little figure before him. By heaven, she was even more beautiful than he remembered: those large dark eyes—just one flashing look sent his heart soaring again—and the soft red lips that had tasted so sweet against his own. Even as his blood stirred Carlotta lowered her gaze and the dark lashes veiled her thoughts from him. She inclined her head, accepting his invitation with every appearance of maidenly modesty and with a polite bow he turned away. This was the game they must play, of course. No one must know that they had met before.

As he walked away from Carlotta, Luke allowed himself to indulge in the pleasant memory of his very first visit to Malberry twelve months earlier. He had not expected to delay his journey to Darvell Manor by more than a few nights, and he had certainly not expected to find such an angel looking down at him from top of the scaffolding that filled the entrance portico.

He had been running up the steps to the main entrance when a soft, musical voice had stopped him in his tracks.

‘Excuse me, but you cannot come in here.’ The voice had come from above.

‘Oh? And why may I not come in?’ Luke spoke to the air.

‘It is private. This house belongs to a gentleman.’

Luke spread his hands. ‘And am I not a gentleman?’ A slight movement on the platform close to the ceiling caught his eye and he observed a slight, boyish figure staring down at him.

‘Are you the owner?’

‘No,’ said Luke, ‘but I am come on his behalf.’

‘Oh. Mr Kemble is not here.’

‘So I can see. Where is he?’

‘They have all gone to the inn. It is mid-day and they are always hungry by mid-day.’

‘But not you?’

‘No, I must finish the fresco while the plaster is still wet.’

Luke shielded his eyes, trying to get a better view of the shadowy figure so high above him. ‘Are you not a little young?’

‘I am eighteen.’ The voice grew a shade deeper.

‘Come down and let me look at you,’ said Luke, intrigued.

‘No, sir. I cannot leave my painting.’

‘Then I shall come up to you.’ Luke put his foot on the ladder and heard a squeak from above. ‘Well? Will you come down now?’

‘I will, but only for a moment.’

Luke stood back and watched as the figure scrambled onto the top ladder and began to climb down. He grinned. The upper body was shrouded in a loose shirt, but the tight-fitting breeches left nothing to his admittedly rather wild imagination—the figure descending from the scaffolding was most definitely not a boy!

Moments later she stood before him, her eyes, large and dark, regarding him with a mixture of defiance and apprehension. She was very petite with a mass of gleaming near-black hair, constrained at the back of her long, slender neck by a poppy-red ribbon. A paintspattered shirt billowed from her shoulders, but could not disguise the gentle swell of her breasts, and the tight-fitting breeches were worn with a nonchalance that would have done credit to any actress at Drury Lane. He bit back an appreciative smile.

‘Well, does my brother know he has hired a lady to decorate his house?’

‘You are Mr Ainslowe’s brother?’

‘I am. And who are you, what is your name?’

‘I am Carlotta Durini.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘Perhaps I should explain.’

‘Please do.’

‘My—my father is the artist commissioned to paint Malberry Court, but he has broken his leg and—and I am finishing the last frescoes for him, so that the house will be ready on time. Please, sir, you must not think that there is any plot to deceive, but there was no one else to do it, and, if it is not finished in time, Papa will not be paid the full amount, and then Mama cannot have her maid—and it is only this one ceiling—’

Laughing, he reached out and caught her hands.

‘Peace, peace, Miss Durini! Do not upset yourself.’

Her hands were very small and soft within his grasp. Smiling, he let his thumbs gently stroke her wrists, just above the palm, and he felt her agitated fingers grow still. Her lustrous dark eyes were still wary, but he detected the beginnings of a shy smile curving her mouth. Luke found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss those soft red lips. His smile deepened; he opened his mouth to charm her with a few well-chosen words, but they were never uttered. The sound of voices drifted in on the still air. He looked out across the park and saw a group of figures emerging from the trees. Something very like disappointment passed over him.

‘I think this must be the others returning now. I will talk to Kemble.’

Those dark eyes regarded him anxiously. ‘You will not turn me off?’

‘I have no power to do so. But if your work is not up to the standard…’

To his surprise, the worried look left the girl’s face.

‘It will be, sir. I have been well taught.’ She stepped back, gently pulling her hands free. ‘If you will excuse me, I must go back to my painting; if the plaster becomes too dry, the fresco will be ruined.’

Without another word she scrambled up the ladder and was soon lost to sight. With a sigh, Luke turned to meet the man who was hurrying towards him.

It was natural that Kemble, Mr James Ainslowe’s clerk of works, should want to show his employer’s brother all the renovations that had been carried out, and to assure him that the work was proceeding as scheduled. However, at length Luke could contain himself no longer.

‘Is it now the fashion, Mr Kemble, to employ female painters?’

There was an uncomfortable silence.

‘You refer, my lord, to Signor Durini’s daughter.’ Luke maintained a polite silence, and soon Kemble continued. ‘I believe she has been running wild in the signor’s workshop since she was a babe, and learned all his techniques. Howsoever that may be, when the signor’s apprentice loped off back to Italy, there was no one to take over, and with the master due back in less than three weeks, the signor was desperate for his frescoes to be finished. I admit I was not very happy at first, having the chit here, but the signor assures me she can paint, sir.’

‘But is she not…distracting?’

Mr Kemble grinned.

‘I confess I had to give a couple o’ the lads a clout ‘round the ear for staring…’

Now, in the overheated confines of Lady Prestbury’s ballroom, Luke thought that Kemble himself might stare if he could see Signor Durini’s daughter outshining every other young woman in the room.

***

Carlotta watched Luke walk away from her, then stumbled to one of the cushioned benches that lined the walls of the ballroom and sank down. She was shaking. She put her hands to her temples, trying to stop the memories, but it was no good. She was back at Malberry, climbing down from the scaffolding after completing that first fresco. Even now she could remember her satisfaction at a job well done, feel the warm sun on her back…

‘So you have come down at last.’

Carlotta jumped. With one hand still clutching the scaffolding, she looked around to see Luke sitting on the stone steps, leaning against the base of one of the pillars. His lazy smile made her tingle, right down to her toes.

‘Mr…Ainslowe.’

He grinned. ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’ He jumped to his feet. ‘I was taking a stroll through the park and realised you were still here. Do you always work this late?’

‘Sometimes later.’ Carlotta eyed him warily. The workmen had all gone back to the village, and even Mr Kemble would be in his lodge behind the stable block. Luke was smiling at her now, the twinkle in his hazel eyes making it hard for her not to smile back at him.

‘I think I should escort you home.’

‘Oh. I mean, um, I—I have first to clean out my brushes,’ she said, backing away.

‘Of course.’ He nodded gravely. ‘Go along, then. I shall wait here for you.’

***

She expected him to be gone by the time she had finished putting away her paints and tidying the little paint store, but he was still sitting on the steps as she came around the side of the house, and, with a little spurt of surprise, Carlotta realised that she would have been disappointed to find him gone. He rose to his feet.

‘I was beginning to think you had run away from me.’

Carlotta’s cheeks grew hot; she had considered avoiding him and going around the far side of the house. He held out his arm, but she gave a tiny shake of her head and began to walk down the drive, keeping a good distance between them. Safe. Sensible. Yet the truth was she did not feel sensible. She felt exhilarated in his company, aware of him walking beside her, matching his step to hers. She was sorely tempted to reach out her hand and take his arm, to draw closer to him. She did not understand why she should feel like this. It was all very confusing.

‘Kemble tells me your father’s apprentice ran away, and that is why you must finish the ceiling for him.’

‘It is only two of the minor scenes. Papa has completed all the major work.’

‘Yes, I was looking at the murals in the house. They are spectacular.’

‘Papa is a much respected artist in Rome.’

‘You must be very proud of him.’

‘I am.’

‘And is that what you want to do, paint life-size murals?’

She laughed. ‘No, it would be thought improper.’ She flushed, and glanced across at him. ‘Not that my work is not perfectly good. My father would never have consented to my finishing the ceiling if he thought there would be cause for complaint.’

‘You need not worry; I have seen nothing that would make me say any such thing.’

They walked together across the grass towards the edge of the park. Through the trees a short distance away the roofs of the houses at the edge of the village could be seen. Carlotta was aware of a faint disappointment that their walk would soon be over.

The sun had set and the early summer twilight was muting the colours of the park. Once they were amongst the trees the shadows deepened. When they reached the stile he vaulted over, then turned and held out his hand. After a brief hesitation, Carlotta took it. His touch disconcerted her; as she stepped down, she stumbled and would have fallen if he had not caught her in his arms. Laughing at her own clumsiness, Carlotta looked up and found his face very close. The laughter caught in her throat as she looked into his eyes. They were no longer twinkling with humour but dark and mysterious. Her heart began to pound against her ribs. No man had ever held her, let alone like this before. Her hands were resting against him; she could feel his chest, smooth and hard beneath the silk waistcoat. Even as she was wondering what to say, his arms tightened and he was kissing her.

Carlotta was at first too shocked to react. His lips fastened on hers, and there was fluttering excitement deep within her, as if her insides were dissolving. A confusion of fear and exhilaration filled her mind, making sober thought impossible. She responded to his kiss; with none of society’s restraints holding her back, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to relax against him, her senses revelling in the feel of his arms about her. He encompassed her, mentally and physically. She was aware of his very male strength, crushing her against him. It was frightening, exciting, but there was something else awakening within her—a dark, dangerous attraction such as she had never known before. Carlotta had just decided that they should not be doing this when Luke raised his head and released her. She felt unaccountably bereft.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said contritely. ‘I did not mean to frighten you, but you looked so dashed irresistible.’

She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure. She wondered if the world would ever be the same again.

‘You did not frighten me, sir.’ Her heart was thumping so loud she thought he must surely hear it. ‘I…um…I must get home now.’

‘Will you not take my arm?’

She shook her head, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. Until that moment she had not considered how she must look, dressed in boy’s clothes, smelling of paint and resin. Mama had told her she should wrap herself in a cloak when going out, but Carlotta had always laughed at her, asking what could possibly happen to her on the short journey between Malberry Court and her home? Now she knew.

‘No. No. I think I will go on alone from here, if you please.’

He seemed to tower over her, a black shadow in the gloom. Her heart flipped as she thought he might try to kiss her again—she doubted she was strong enough to resist him and was shocked to realise that she did not want to resist him. She did not know whether she was most disappointed or relieved when he stepped away from her.

‘Of course, if that is what you wish.’

He climbed up on to the stile and sat there, smiling at her, his teeth very white in the dim light. ‘Well,’ he said as she hesitated, ‘go along with you.’

Carlotta began to walk away, her spine tingling as she imagined his eyes raking her back. As soon as a bend in the lane hid the stile from sight, she took to her heels and ran the final few yards to her home.

‘Carlotta, are you quite well?’

Carlotta blinked and looked around the crowded ballroom. Her aunt was at her side, regarding her with some concern.

‘Pray do not tell me you have the headache, when everything is going so very well. Come, child, your next dance partner will be looking for you. I am so pleased for you—all but two dances taken this evening! It can be a little difficult when one is new to town, but I knew that as soon as the gentlemen saw how well you dance they would come begging to be presented to you.’

‘And did Lord—Lord Darvell ask to be presented, Aunt?’ Carlotta tried to keep her voice casual.

‘Oh, yes. He came straight up to me and begged for an introduction.’ She dropped her voice to say confidentially, ‘Carlotta, Darvell is a very wild young man.’

‘I know that, Aunt. The Wicked Baron. I have heard all about him.’

‘Oh, well, I should not call him wicked, exactly,’ temporised Lady Broxted, determined to be fair. ‘Indeed, no one has heard anything of him for the past twelve months, but his conduct before that, when he was still in the army—well, it is not fitting that I should tell you everything, but you are best to beware of him, my love.’

‘If he is so very dangerous, I am surprised that you should introduce him to me!’

Lady Broxted sighed. ‘I know, but Broxted is well acquainted with the family and it would be very difficult not to acknowledge the connection. I think it a great pity that Darvell sold out. Mayhap he thinks to settle down.’ She tapped Carlotta’s arm with her fan. ‘He may be looking out for a rich wife, for I believe he has not a penny to his name. If so, then he may set out to charm you, Carlotta, but your uncle would not wish for a liaison there, my love.’

Carlotta gave a brittle laugh. ‘You need have no fears in that direction, Aunt!’

‘Good. However, one cannot deny that he is very engaging and will make you a handsome dance partner. By the bye, his brother James owns Malberry Court. I tell you this so that you are forewarned; we must not let slip your family’s connection with the house, must we?’

By the time Lord Darvell returned to claim his dance, Carlotta had decided she would be cool and aloof. She would treat his lordship as if they had never met. However, when he took her hand in his own firm grasp, she was not prepared for the surge of emotion that seared through her. She had closed her mind to those first long months after she had left Malberry, the lonely nights when she had cried herself to sleep. Now with one touch he had brought it all rushing back, the longing, the desire and the sheer, blinding agony of finding he had gone.

Carlotta bit on her lip; even now she could not bring herself to think too much of those dark, empty days, afraid that if she did not keep it locked away, her grief would grow and consume her. It was better to concentrate on her anger. He had betrayed her and she wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her. She set her mind to consider how best to do it. Eyes glittering, she answered his attempts to converse with monosyllables, earning a frowning look from her partner. When he suggested they should sit out the second dance she silently acquiesced and accompanied him to a quiet alcove. He smiled at her as they sat down together.

‘You are looking very well, Carlotta. I hardly recognise you.’

She unfurled her fan. ‘La, I am glad of that, my lord! I vow I was such a gauche little thing when we first met.’

‘You were charming.’

Carlotta had not wasted her time at Miss Currier’s seminary. She summoned up memories of a certain rich, spoiled, young lady she had met there, and with the sole aim of distancing herself from him as soon as politely possible, she gave a very creditable titter.

‘Oh, dear me, I was utterly innocent then, and ready to make any number of mistakes. Thank heaven my uncle the earl found me when he did.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘O lord, yes! I had no polish at all, and no possibility of making a great match, but my uncle the earl says that now, with his backing, I can look very high indeed for a husband.’ Heavens, she thought, how vulgar that sounds!

‘And is that why you are in town?’

He was looking at her now with a shadow of doubt in his eyes. She summoned a dazzling smile, feeling as brittle as glass inside.

‘But of course. I am looking about me, but am in no hurry; I can take my time until the right man, and the right fortune, comes along.’ She reached out and placed one gloved hand on his sleeve. ‘Forgive me for speaking to you in this way, my lord, but I feel we are old friends.’

With bitter satisfaction she observed how he almost recoiled from her. He said stiffly, ‘You will be wondering perhaps why I did not come to see you, as I had promised, at Malberry.’

Panic flared. She dare not let him near that raw nerve. She waved her fan slowly. It is too late for explanations, she told herself. The damage is done, Carlotta. Do not let him see how much he hurt you.

‘I had quite forgotten about that,’ she said brightly. ‘When my uncle came to carry me away, it drove all other thoughts completely from my head!’

‘Thus you come to town to find a husband.’

Smile, Carlotta. A smug, self-satisfied, superior smile. Put him in his place.

‘Yes, indeed. My uncle has several eligible men in mind for me. All of them extremely rich,’ she added.

He looked at her, a tiny crease in his brows. ‘You have changed, Carlotta.’

She lifted her shoulders to give a slight shrug. ‘I am merely being practical, my lord.’

‘I thought you were above such mercenary concerns.’

‘La, only a fool would claim such a thing. I know the value of a fortune, my lord. Nothing else will do for me.’

She held her breath, forcing herself to meet his gaze with a look of arrogant unconcern. After a moment he looked away.

‘Then I wish you luck in your quest, Miss Rivington,’ he said quietly.

He rose and, with a little bow, turned and walked away. Carlotta’s expression did not change as she watched his retreating form, but inside she felt sick to her core.

Luke stormed out of the ballroom, his jaw clenched to curb his anger. He had expected to find Carlotta altered, but he had not thought she would turn into such a heartless fortune-hunter. A year living with the Broxteds had destroyed the innocent charm that had attracted him to her. Now she was no different from all the other females with their arch smiles and false laughter. He made his way down the stairs and out into the street, where he jammed his hat on his head and began to stride back towards Piccadilly. What had changed her, or had he been mistaken all along? Perhaps he had missed something when he had seen her at Malberry Court, some clue that she was not as sweet and innocent as he had thought. He remembered trying to draw her out during one of their many picnics that summer on the lawn at Malberry.

‘You are an enigma, Miss Carlotta Durini. You say you were born in Italy, and have only been here for a few years, yet your English is faultless.’

‘Mama is English.’ Her glance was pure mischief. ‘She is the daughter of a great nobleman.’

‘Oh? You intrigue me. Who?’

She laughed and shook her head. ‘I shall not tell you. Mama met my father when she was touring Italy with her family. They ran away together. Mama says it was love at first sight.’ She wrinkled her brow. ‘Do you think that possible, Major Ainslowe? Can one fall in love so quickly?’

Luke had certainly thought so. Carlotta had stolen his heart within a week of their first meeting. Now as he strode away from Prestbury House he wondered if he had been mistaken in her. Perhaps there had never been anything more than a cold, calculating mind behind her sweet face.

Chapter Two

Carlotta gave herself a mental shake. This was her first ball; it would not do to cry. She put up her chin. She would not give Luke the satisfaction of seeing how close she was to dissolving into tears. Instead she summoned up her brightest smile to greet her next partner. She had already danced with Mr Woollatt earlier in the evening, and on first acquaintance she had found him rather pompous. However, his blatant admiration was balm to her wounded spirits and she treated him to an excess of charm as they danced together. After that she spent the rest of the evening dancing and laughing as though she had not a care in the world. It was only as she was waiting for her cloak that she discovered Luke had left early and had not witnessed her vivacious behaviour.