Rumours that Ruined a Lady

The house was vast, three storeys of blond sandstone with six sets of windows placed either side of the huge Palladian Corinthian frontispiece giving it the look of a Roman temple. Two sets of stairs led up the pillared entranceway, the pediment of which was carved with the family motto and the Ardhallow coat of arms. Only Papa had ever been inside, and Papa was not inclined to describe in any sort of detail a house of which he was clearly envious. Caro imagined a whole series of opulent rooms opening out the one on to the other, hung with tapestries and huge historical paintings, the kind usually seen only in churches.

Skirting the path which led around the west wing to the rear, avoiding the large walled kitchen gardens, she headed for the rose garden. It was then that she spied the riderless horse. A beautiful creature with a coat the colour of golden sand, it was galloping full-tilt across the paddock towards her, bucking and snorting in its efforts to rid itself of the empty saddle. Surprised and entranced, she felt a fleeting sympathy for the animal, followed by a much stronger desire to ride the untamed creature, to feel the exhilaration of trying to control such an elemental force of nature. The horse came to an abrupt halt right in front of her, flanks heaving, eyes staring wildly. Unthinking, Caro stretched out her hand to touch the soft velvet of his nose.

‘No!’

She froze.

‘For God’s sake, are you out of your mind? Can’t you see he’s spooked? He’ll take your fingers off.’

She dropped her hand and stared in astonishment. Striding towards her, dressed in breeches, top boots and a shirt, all of which were covered in a film of fine dust, was a young man wearing a furious expression. He was also carrying a riding crop which, by the look of him, Caro reckoned, he would happily use on her.

Later, she would notice that he was also a very attractive young man. Later, she would also notice that he was well built, with the natural grace of an athlete. But for now, it was that riding crop and the furious look in his eyes which made her glare at him defiantly, and just as defiantly reach out once more for the horse, clucking softly in the way that never failed, and did not let her down now. The young stallion tossed his head once, then nudged her palm, snickering contentedly.

‘What the devil!’

Caro cast him a triumphant look. ‘It is simply a question of empathy. Animals respond to gentleness,’ she said, with a pointed look at his whip. ‘If your riding is as aggressive as your language, Mr Whatever-your-name-is, then I am not surprised this magnificent beast threw you.’

For a moment, she really did think she had gone too far. He glared at her, delivering a look even darker than her own. Then he threw his head back and laughed, a deep, rumbling and intensely masculine laugh.

He was younger than she had first thought, probably not that much older than she was herself. His hair was close-cropped, very dark brown tinted with bronze, which seemed to reflect the colour of his eyes. She had thought him austere in his anger, but in humour his face was quite changed. His expression softened when cleared of its frown, though his mouth was still intriguingly turned down at the corners. The day’s growth which darkened his jaw, the smattering of hair she could see through the open neck of his shirt, the deep tan on his forearms and neck, all added to a general impression of wildness which appealed to Caro on a fundamental level, in the mood she was in.

His frown returned as he watched her stroking the horse’s pale blaze. ‘Let me assure you, young lady, that if this animal let you close enough to inspect his flanks, you would find not a trace of violence. Who the hell are you?’

‘I’m Caro. I live over there.’ She waved vaguely in the direction of her home.

‘You mean Killellan Manor, Lord Armstrong’s place? I met one of his daughters once. Haughty female, tall. Lady Celia, I think her name was.’ He frowned, peering into her face, and raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Yes, I can see the resemblance now, though you are not so tall, and your hair...’

‘Is more carrot than Titian. Thank you for pointing that out,’ Caro said.

‘Actually, it is more like copper. Burnished copper. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.’

‘Oh. That was a compliment.’

‘A very badly worded one, I’m not surprised you took it amiss. I’m Sebastian, incidentally.’ He made a face. ‘Actually, Sebastian Conway, Earl of Mosteyn.’

Caro’s eyes widened. ‘Good grief, you are the marquis’s son!’

‘For my sins.’

‘I can’t believe our paths have never crossed until now,’ she said blithely.

‘I don’t live here, when I can avoid it. I find that my father and I deal best when we are not confined under the same roof.’

‘Well, you must deal very badly indeed if you cannot stand being under such a very large roof,’ Caro replied. Realising too late that she had been both rude and probably hurtful, she covered her mouth with her hand. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...’

Sebastian shrugged. ‘No need to apologise, it’s the truth. My father finds my presence offensive. Nothing about my person pleases him and nothing I can do will change his mind. He packed me off to Harrow at the first opportunity. I went straight from there to Oxford of my own accord. In the weeks since I came down, my mere presence here has offended every bone in his stiff-necked body. Fortunately, I am not obliged to please him, having come into some money of my own. I’m off to London next week, and shall be more than thankful to shake the dust from this place for ever.’

Though the picture he painted was painfully bleak, his tone was flippant. ‘My father is lately remarried,’ Caro said. ‘There is only so much influence he can accrue by marrying off his daughters, you see. He has decided the time has come for him to produce some sons. Or at least, for Bella to produce some sons. Bella is my new stepmother. She hates me.’

‘And so you are trespassing on my father’s grounds in order to escape.’

‘It will have to suffice since I have not the means to run off to London, unlike some,’ Caro said, ignoring the lump which had risen in her throat at the unexpected understanding in his voice.

‘You’ll be there soon enough for the Season, no doubt.’

‘Yes.’ Though she had never considered any other future save the marriage her father would arrange for her, the idea was depressing. ‘Well, naturally,’ Caro said, forcing a smile, ‘making a good match is what Papa expects of us, though he has Cassie and Cressie to manage before it is my turn.’

‘Manage! You make it sound like some sort of game.’

‘Oh no, indeed not! I mean, that is what Cressie says, she calls it marital chess, but she is quite—I mean I am sure that Papa wants only the best for us. It has been difficult for him, losing Mama when Cordelia was just a baby. We owe it to him to—it is natural to want to please one’s father, is it not?’

‘So I am told.’

It had seemed important to explain herself to him for some reason, but in her earnestness, she had quite forgotten how the conversation had taken this turn. Sebastian looked morose. ‘Things cannot possibly be so bad as you think, can they? I know that fathers and sons do not always see eye to eye. Indeed, sometimes fathers and daughters disagree fundamentally,’ Caro said, thinking of Celia’s second marriage, to which it had taken Lord Armstrong a considerable time to reconcile himself. She put a tentative hand on Sebastian’s arm. ‘I sometimes think my father doesn’t care for me at all, but I know that is just—he is simply not affectionate by nature. At heart I am sure...’

He brushed her arm away angrily. ‘My father has no heart. Look, I am sure you mean well, but you know nothing of the circumstances and furthermore it’s none of your business. I can’t think why I—but we will drop the subject, if you please.’

He wasn’t looking at her, but frowning off into the distance, intimidatingly remote. She was abruptly conscious of her youth and her presumption. How pathetic she must have sounded. No wonder he was angry. The best thing she could do was to leave him in peace, even if it was the last thing she wanted.

‘I beg your pardon for intruding, and for trespassing, I will not do it again,’ Caro said in a small voice. ‘I can see that you would prefer to be left alone, so I’ll just...’

‘No, I’m sorry. It’s this place, I find it always blackens my mood.’ Sebastian was not smiling, but his frown wasn’t quite as deep, and he was looking directly at her. ‘Stay a moment and make my horse’s acquaintance properly.’

Did he mean it, or was he just being polite? She found him difficult to read, but she wanted to stay, and so decided to take him at his word. ‘He’s very beautiful. What is his name?’

‘Burkan.’

‘Is he a true Arabian? I have never seen one, they are very rare are they not? How on earth did you come by him?’

‘He is only half-Arabian. He was a gift for my nineteenth birthday.’

‘You see!’ Caro exclaimed. ‘Your father is clearly not as black as you have painted him if he is capable of such a generous present.’

Sebastian may as well have donned a suit of armour, so clear was it that he had no desire to say any more on the subject. Curious as she was, Caro bit her tongue. ‘May I ride him?’ she asked instead.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s barely broken.’

It was her one talent. She had not Celia’s diplomacy nor Cassie’s looks, nor Cressie’s brain nor Cordelia’s wit, but she could ride. ‘I’m not being ridiculous. You saw how quickly I gained his trust. He won’t throw me. I am certain of it.’

‘Lady Caroline...’

‘Caro.’

‘Caro. You are barely broken yourself. You are simply not up to handling a horse of his size and power.’

‘I can do it.’

Sebastian smiled down at her. A frowning smile. A dismissive smile which was both hurtful and annoying. ‘You are the strangest girl I have ever met.’ He touched her cheek. ‘But I cannot take the chance. If you fell and were hurt...’

The rebellious mood in which she had set off from Killellan returned. Confused by the way Sebastian’s touch made her feel, knowing that he would laugh at her innocence if he knew the effect he had on her, Caro broke away. She was tired of being dismissed. In one leap she was over the fence, the bridle in her hands. The stirrup was high, her petticoats a major obstacle, but she had scrambled into the saddle before he could stop her, and was away, urging Burkan into a canter and then a full gallop around the paddock. A fleeting glimpse over her shoulder gave her the satisfying view of Sebastian standing confounded, hands on hips, unable to do anything but look on helplessly.

The horse was nervous, but Caro was not. She sat straight astride in the saddle, heedless of her skirts. It was a talent she had discovered while very young, her affinity with horseflesh. She had never, however, ridden any animal so highly strung nor so powerful. Burkan took all her strength and determination to control for two circuits of the paddock. Confident that she had proven her point, Caro tried to rein in. The stallion however, was enjoying his freedom and refused to co-operate. Leaning over his neck, Caro tightened the reins and tried to soothe him, but the slender thread of communication between them seemed to have been severed. The horse bucked. She clung tight, but he bucked again and Caro found herself soaring over his head, landing with a horrible thud on her bottom.

Sick with mortification, dizzy with pain, she was struggling to her feet when Sebastian reached her. ‘Devil take it, are you hurt?’

She hurt all over, if truth be told, and her pride had been severely dented, but there was no way on this earth that she’d let him know that. ‘I’m perfectly fine.’

Sebastian swore. He swore a lot, it seemed to Caro. She envied him the freedom. ‘You’re quite pale, are you sure you’re unharmed.’

‘It’s my hair. Red hair and pale skin always go together.’

‘Your hair isn’t red, it’s copper, and you are not a healthy shade of pale. Are you going to faint?’

She gritted her teeth and breathed deeply. ‘No. Absolutely not.’ Trembling now, at her own temerity as much as anything, she realised, too late, how childish her behaviour must have looked. ‘Burkan, is he hurt?’

‘He’s fine. I was rather more concerned about you. You could have been killed.’

‘Oh, I’m a lot less fragile than I look, I assure you.’

Sebastian caught her as she staggered. ‘You’re a bold little thing, I’ll grant you that. Weren’t you scared?’

‘No.’ His hands were warm on the thin sleeves of her muslin gown. She hadn’t realised until now how tall he was. And how solid, compared to her. He smelled of sweat and horse and summer, a heady, intoxicating combination. Her heart was racing. She felt strange. ‘I’m sorry,’ Caro said belatedly.

Sebastian smiled his frowning smile. ‘No, you’re not.’

She couldn’t help but smile back at him. ‘I would be, if Burkan had been harmed by my poor horsemanship.’

Her hair had escaped its ribbon. She could feel it, hanging in long straggles over her face and down her back. Her hands were dusty. Her gown must be filthy. Caro was not usually aware of any of these things, but now she wished—she wished...

What she wished, she realised with a horrible sense of shame and excitement, was for Sebastian to kiss her. She’d never been kissed. She had never found the idea of kissing someone anything other than repugnant until now. The way he was looking at her though—was he thinking the same? It was absurd. ‘I should go,’ Caro muttered, blushing, hiding her blush beneath the fall of her hair.

Sebastian blinked and released her. It seemed to her he did it reluctantly, but she knew she must be wrong. She was not much more than a child to him—he had said as much—though she didn’t feel anything like a child just at the moment. ‘I’ll walk you back,’ he said.

‘No, thank you, I shall be...’

‘I wasn’t asking for permission.’

She had nothing to say to that and so, terrified of appearing gauche or worse still, betraying her shocking thoughts, instead simply shrugged in a very good impression of indifference, and began to clamber over the paddock fence, quite forgetting that she could easily have opened the gate.

They walked through the woods in silence. There was between them an awkwardness, an awareness which she could not describe. She did not want their walk to end, but it did, and too soon. ‘This is where I leave you,’ she said, pausing to the wall at the edge of the woods, waiting—for what?

Nothing, it seemed. Sebastian held out his hand. ‘Goodbye, Caro.’

She took it briefly. ‘Goodbye, Sebastian.’ Without another word, she climbed over the wall and took off through the woods, refusing to allow herself to look back.

Chapter Two

Crag Hall—August 1830

Caro slowly came round to consciousness. She felt as if she had swum to the surface of a deep, dark pool, exhausting herself in the process. Her head was thumping. Her eyelids were gritty and sore, as if she had been rubbing sand in them. What was wrong with her? Pushing herself upright, she opened her eyes, wincing as the room spun sickeningly. The ceiling was ornate, with rococo gilding on the cornicing. The bed hangings were green damask, as were the curtains. Tulip wood, she thought distractedly, running her trembling hands over the bedstead with its gilt carving. A dressing table set by the window was draped in white lace. The walls were painted a pale green and hung with a number of portraits. A white marble mantel upon which a large French clock sat, was carved with cupids.

It was, or had been, an elegant room. As her senses slowly unscrambled Caro began to notice the shabbiness, the fine layer of dust which covered the furniture, the faded fabric, the musty air of neglect. Where was she?

Breathing deeply to quell her rising panic, she threw back the sheets and stumbled over to the window, pushing open the casement. Fresh country air flooded in. She was clearly not in London, then. Outside, it was dusk. There was a paddock. Gardens. Woods. And in the distance, the chimney pots of another house. A very familiar house. Oh, dear heavens, an extremely familiar house. Killellan Manor. Which meant that this house was...

She looked around her in consternation. She pinched her hand, something she’d always thought people did only in novels. It hurt, but she didn’t wake up because she wasn’t asleep. She really was here, in Crag Hall. Appalled, she tottered back to sit on the edge of the bed. How did she get here? Frowning hard, her head aching with the effort to concentrate, she tried to recall. Her memory came back in flashes. Her father shouting, then coldly formal. Her storm of tears followed by an urgent need to forget, to obliterate it all, just for a moment.

Who had told her of the room in Augustus St John Marne’s house? It didn’t matter. She remembered it now, the sweet smell, the bitter taste, and then the dreams. A great bear with yellow teeth and malevolent eyes. A fish with bleeding scales. An endless corridor with door upon door which led to a sheer drop. She had fallen and fallen and fallen and not once landed. Dreams. Nightmares. Visions. But how had she come to be here?

A tap on the door made her clutch foolishly at the bedcover, pulling it up over her nightgown. Her nightgown. Had someone then packed her clothes? And who had dressed her? She watched the door open with a heart which beat far too fast and a growing sense of dread.

‘You’re awake.’

Her heart plummeted. Sebastian hovered on the threshold. Caro froze, terrified to move lest her emotions boil over. She mustn’t cry, she must not cry. His frown was deeper than she remembered, and the shadows under his eyes were darker. He looked older. Sadder? No, but not happy either. Which was no concern of hers. She must remember the last time they had spoken, how disillusioned she had been, how hurtful he had been.

‘You said you never wanted to see me again,’ she said, opting for attack to cover her mortification and confusion, ‘so what am I doing here?’

He flinched, and she could not blame him for her voice sounded much more aggressive than she had intended, but she had to keep hold, she had to keep sufficient control of herself to get out of here. ‘The last thing I remember is Augustus St John Marne’s party.’

Sebastian closed the door and leaned against it. He was wearing riding breeches and top boots, a shirt, open at the neck. He was tanned. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. She had forgotten that way he had, of making her feel as if he could read her mind.

‘If I hadn’t stumbled across you there and rescued you, it would most likely have been the last thing you ever remembered. Or perhaps that was your intention,’ he said.

‘Of course not!’

‘You came pretty close, Caro.’

‘Nonsense.’ She swallowed uncertainly. Her throat was sore. An image of herself, retching into a bowl, popped into her head, making her face flame. ‘I am sure you exaggerate.’

Sebastian shook his head decisively. ‘If the doctor hadn’t given you a purge, I doubt you’d still be with us.’

Which answered that question, Caro thought, now thoroughly mortified. ‘How long have I been here? And more to the point, why am I here? I’d have thought I’d be the last person you’d want to keep company with, after our last meeting. In fact, even more to the point, where are my clothes? I suppose I should thank you for rescuing me, not that I believe I needed rescuing, but I am perfectly fine now, and will relieve you of my presence just as soon as I am dressed.’

She jumped to her feet, staggering as a wave of dizziness swept over her. Sebastian strode across the room, catching her before she fell. ‘Dammit, Caro, you have been at death’s door.’

How could she have forgotten how solid he was? And how quickly he could move. He smelled of fresh linen and soap and outdoors, hay and horse and freshly turned soil. She had an overwhelming urge to cry, and fought it by struggling to free herself. Not that she had to fight very hard. He let her go immediately. As if he could not bear to touch her. Caro sniffed. ‘Was I really so close to...’

Sebastian nodded.

She sniffed harder. ‘I truly did not mean to—you must not think it was deliberate. It was just—I was just...’ Her voice trembled. She took a shaky breath. ‘I merely wished to blot everything out. Just for a while. I don’t suppose you understand that, but...’

‘Oblivion. I understand that need very well. As I think you remember,’ Sebastian said curtly.

Oblivion. It was Caro’s turn to flinch. ‘I should go.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Sebastian, I know you don’t want me here.’ She tried to push past him, though where she thought she was going dressed only in her nightgown, she had no idea. He caught her, pulling her firmly up against him. Heat of a very different sort flooded her, taking her aback, as her breasts were crushed against his chest.

For the briefest of seconds, she saw the same heat reflected in his eyes, then he blinked, his face set and he released her, taking up a post at the window, as far away from her as the room would allow, she noted without surprise. ‘May I ask where you plan to go?’ he asked.

Caro shrugged. ‘Back to my lodgings, where else?’

‘I took you there from St John Marne’s. I couldn’t believe it when I discovered you don’t even have a maid. I paid that vulture of a landlady to watch over you once the doctor had given you a purge, and when I came back the next morning she was nowhere to be seen. Your trunk was packed. She left me a note requesting me to leave the key in the lock.’

It hurt, more than it should, for she should be accustomed to being an outcast by now. ‘One more place where I am persona non grata,’ Caro said with a fair attempt at nonchalance. ‘There are plenty other landladies. I must assume, from your decision not to return me to the bosom of my loving family, that you are aware that I have been cast out?’

‘I heard that you and Rider had separated.’

She felt her cheeks flame. ‘It is not like you to be so polite, Sebastian. I can tell from the way you hesitated that you have heard significantly more than that. You have not asked me how much of it is true.’

‘What difference would it make? Besides, whatever you may think of me, I am no hypocrite. My reputation is hardly snowy white.’

She smiled faintly. ‘No, but it is different for a man.’ This was such an incontrovertible fact that he made no attempt to answer, for which she was strangely relieved. Whatever he had heard, he had not judged her. It was the smallest of consolations, but it was a balm nonetheless. ‘My father came to see me earlier on the day you found me at St John’s. He was just back from the Balkans. He was so angry that I, the one dutiful daughter he thought he had, should be the cause of such a dreadful scandal. It is ironic,’ Caro said with a twisted smile, ‘that of the five of us, I am the only one to have gone through with a match of his making, if one does not count Celia’s first marriage, and it is that very match which is now the subject of every scandal sheet in London. He told me—he said to me—he said he was ashamed of me.’

She dug her nails into her palms. To cease feeling sorry for herself was one of her new resolutions. ‘He told me that I had brought disgrace to the family name. That I was not fit company for my brothers, and that—that I am no longer his daughter. I know it was weak of me, but at the time—for that to happen on top of everything else, it was the final straw. You must believe me when I tell you that I had no intention of doing myself any fatal harm, but I confess that for a few hours, I really didn’t care whether I lived or died. I am grateful to you for coming to my aid,’ she finished, blinking furiously, ‘truly I am, but I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.’ She ran her fingers through her tangle of lank hair. ‘I must look a fright.’

‘Yes, you do,’ Sebastian said, forcing her to laugh, for he never had been one for empty compliments. ‘What will you do, Caro?’