The Rake's Defiant Mistress
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‘On which note, I must thank you for a delicious dinner,’ Ruth said graciously, indicating she’d eaten her fill.
A polite murmur of assent came from Clayton as he too laid aside his cutlery.
‘Well…shall we leave the gentlemen to their port?’ Sarah suggested.
Ruth gave her a grateful smile. She could always rely on Sarah to sense her mood. Her friend knew very well she was keen to escape any further of Clayton’s probing questions.
‘If James is abed, we can bid him goodnight even if he is asleep.’
As the door closed on the two strikingly attractive ladies—one very fair, one very dark—Gavin gave his friend a wry glance and a measure of port he’d dispensed from the decanter. ‘I take it you’re glad you came.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘I’d need to be a blind man not to notice you’re smitten by Mrs Hayden.’
‘And I’d need to be a cynic to think that perhaps you’re glad of that. As we both know, I’m a cynic.’
Gavin grimaced bemusement. ‘I’m not good with riddles. What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Did you know that Mrs Hayden would be here when you asked me to come home with you?’
‘Of course I did,’ Gavin said and lounged contentedly back in to his chair. ‘Sarah was keen to see her best friend straight away. I still don’t see…’ A look of amused enlightenment crossed his rugged features. ‘Ah, you think Sarah has some maggot in her head about matchmaking the two of you.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first, or the hundredth, time a lady had arranged a dinner party for just that purpose. So, am I correct?’
‘No,’ Gavin said bluntly and sipped at his port. ‘You might have designs on Ruth, but, not to put too fine a point on it, my friend, I doubt she has any interest in you.’ Gavin gave Clayton a cautionary look. ‘She’s no man’s mistress…not even yours, no matter how generous you’re feeling. Take my word on it.’
Clayton sat back in his chair and fondled the stem of his glass with long fingers. His slate-grey eyes watched the crystal as it performed a balletic twirl. ‘Is she spoken for?’
‘Sarah told me earlier this evening that Ruth’s recently received a proposal of marriage.’ Gavin refilled his glass and pushed the decanter towards Clayton. ‘Her suitor is by all accounts a pillar of society here in Willowdene. Don’t ask more,’ he said ruefully. ‘I’ve been indiscreet as it is. Sarah adores Ruth, and with good reason. Ruth was a loyal friend and a support when Sarah was very much alone and in need of help,’ he explained gruffly. ‘I’d hate Ruth to think I’d spoken out of turn.’
Clayton nodded acceptance of that. ‘He’s a lucky chap, whoever he is.’
‘Indeed,’ Gavin murmured. He sent a subtle look at his brooding friend and amusement tipped his lips upwards.
He knew, of course, that Clayton was a hardened cynic where women were concerned. Clayton’s wife had made a complete fool of him by acting like a seasoned trollop throughout their short marriage. Since his divorce ambitious women had constantly thrown themselves at him, hoping to take her place. He was mercilessly hounded by every mama with aspirations of marrying her débutante daughter to a man of great wealth and lineage—when Clayton’s octogenarian grandfather died he would take a clutch of titles to add to the baronetcy he already had.
It seemed the longer Sir Clayton Powell remained stubbornly single, the more of a challenge the hostesses seemed to find him. Gavin knew that wagers had been laid amongst the ton’s grandes dames as to which of them might finally snare him for a favoured niece or goddaughter.
Clayton knew of their scheming too, and their ulterior motives. He knew he was wanted at their balls for what he had rather than himself. The more desperate they became to have him attend their functions, the more reluctant he became to turn up. The fact that his friend would choose to spend his evenings at the theatre with a demi-rep, or gambling with male friends, rather than socialise with women of his own class, spoke volumes about his friend’s attitude to courtship and marriage. In fact, Gavin mused, he would not be at all surprised to learn that Clayton had badly misjudged the situation tonight and treated Ruth as though she were some mercenary temptress with an eye on his wallet. It would certainly explain the frost he’d sensed in the atmosphere when he and Sarah had joined them in the library.
A soundless laugh tickled Gavin’s throat. He imagined from Clayton’s rather mystified expression that he was still wondering why Mrs Hayden had refused to flutter her eyelashes and gaze adoringly at him, as did every other single woman of his acquaintance. He could have told his friend that, in fact, Mrs Hayden had turned down the doctor’s proposal, but for some reason he had not. And it was not just because in another respect he’d told Clayton the truth.
Ruth would undoubtedly be better off financially as a rich man’s paramour, but in Gavin’s opinion she would hold out for a man to love, and to love her, before she slept with him.
Chapter Five
‘No! Please don’t say anything,’ Ruth begged. ‘Sir Clayton has apologised and been charm personified since his odd outburst.’
‘And so he ought to improve his behaviour!’ Sarah responded pithily.
After they had settled down into chairs beside the crib to chat and listen to James’s gentle snores, Ruth had quite naturally told Sarah she had clashed with her gentleman guest. They had long been kindred spirits and didn’t have secrets. But Sarah’s reaction to knowing that her husband’s friend had been rather insulting to her friend had been stronger than Ruth had anticipated. She’d immediately said that she’d tell Gavin to speak to Clayton about his manners.
‘How dare he suppose we might plot to get him to marry you!’ Sarah hissed beneath her breath so as not to wake her son.
‘Now I think on it,’ Ruth commented ruefully, ‘I’m not sure marriage entered his mind.’ The more indignant Sarah became, the more her own annoyance receded and she saw a farcical side to it all. ‘I’m a widow, unattached, of limited means,’ she listed out her fair-game status. ‘It’s possible he believed I harboured no such high aspirations and was angling for a less formal arrangement with him.’ On seeing Sarah’s anger re-igniting, she made a small dismissive gesture. ‘No doubt he is used to women fawning over him. He is handsome…rich too, I expect.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Sarah stressed, nodding her head vigorously and setting her blonde ringlets dancing. ‘He’s chased mercilessly by the débutantes, and equally enthusiastically by ladies of a different class,’ she added as she recalled she’d once seen him at the theatre with several demi-reps in one evening. ‘And he must have an enormous fortune, for Gavin jokes that he makes him feel like a pauper. But none of that excuses his rudeness to you.’
‘Well, we must make allowances for such a popular fellow. It is not worth making a fuss.’ Ruth shook her friend’s arm gently to emphasise she meant what she’d said. ‘I imagine Sir Clayton is now feeling awkward too. There’s just this evening for us to get through, then tomorrow I shall go home and that will be an end to it. When we go back to the drawing room, shall we suggest a game of cards until bedtime?’
‘I was going to ask you to play and sing for us, but after what you’ve told me he doesn’t deserve to listen to your fine voice.’
Ruth clucked her tongue and raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘You will have it I can hold a tune. I cannot, Sarah. Honestly, I cannot.’
‘Of course you can!’ Sarah contradicted. ‘Compared to my musical efforts, you are talented enough to perform at Drury Lane.’
‘That’s true,’ Ruth said, mock solemn. Sarah’s description of her attempt to warble soprano sounding like a cat having its tail trodden on, was, alas, correct.
‘Well, really! I was hoping you might fib and flatter me just a little bit,’ Sarah reproved with a twinkling smile. ‘Come, let’s join the gentlemen. I won’t say anything to Gavin about Clayton’s behaviour, but I’m not sure I’ll let him off too lightly either. If the rogue thinks me capable of meddling, I might feel inclined to prove him right.’
‘Ah…we were just saying, my dear, that if horse riding is out of the question in the morning Clayton and I might take a different sort of constitutional and have a snowball fight.’
‘What a good idea!’ Sarah chirped gaily as she and Ruth, in a cloud of freshly sprayed French perfume, joined the gentlemen in the drawing room. ‘Perhaps we might join you. I doubt Ruth would be averse to throwing missiles at Clayton.’
Ruth inwardly winced. Sarah had not after all been able to refrain from a little barbed remark about what had occurred between her guests.
‘What is your answer, Mrs Hayden?’ Clayton asked mildly, apparently unperturbed to discover that she’d told tales about him. ‘Shall we draw battle lines and bombard each other?’
‘I’m not sure it would be a fair fight,’ Ruth responded lightly. ‘You have an unfair advantage, sir, having been in the army.’
‘Did I tell you that?’ Clayton inquired in surprise.
‘Um…yes,’ Ruth answered quietly and quickly looked away. Why on earth had she mentioned the army? Obviously he’d forgotten that when they’d met in Willowdene last year he’d commented that he was acquainted with her father-in-law, Colonel Walter Hayden, from his army days. Now she’d idiotically paved the way for the conversation to once more turn to her marriage and perhaps her late husband, Captain Paul Hayden. And she certainly had no desire for that.
‘We could make a snowman,’ Sarah blurted, once more coming to her friend’s rescue. She knew very well how loath Ruth was to talk about Paul, for invariably questions would be asked about his untimely demise. ‘If there’s no sign of a thaw tomorrow, I think we should do that. Of course, we wouldn’t want to sculpt the fellow, then see him too soon melt away before our eyes.’
Ruth rewarded her friend with a subtle smile for valiantly attempting to divert the conversation away from a sensitive subject. ‘But let’s hope for a thaw,’ she commented lightly. ‘Then Sir Clayton can ride to his heart’s content.’
‘Towards London?’ Clayton ventured in a drawl, with a steady look at Ruth.
‘If you wish, sir,’ she responded and held his eyes.
‘And what do you wish, Mrs Hayden?’
‘Shall we play cards?’ Sarah interjected hastily and gave her husband a meaningful frown. Gavin seemed privately amused by the verbal battle between their guests. ‘I know Ruth is good at piquet and so am I. We shall play together and beat you two gentlemen,’ she declared. ‘And the losers must…well, we’ll decide that later,’ she said, rather flustered by the sultry look her husband bestowed on her.
The following morning Ruth arose early, despite being reluctant to quit her bed as it was wonderfully warm and comfy. Her cold toes sought the satin slippers Sarah had lent her. Drawing about her the warm dressing gown that was also being loaned by her friend, she padded to the window.
She drew back the heavy velvet curtains and gazed out, rather blearily, at a stunning sight. Small clouds were scantily placed on a high azure sky. The sun was blindingly bright and beneath its rays the ground was a sheet of twinkling white. The trees, shrubs, hedges gracefully bore their sugar coating, only rarely shedding granules as the breeze stirred branches to life. Despite being disappointedly aware that the conditions were still too perilous for even a short journey through back lanes, Ruth marvelled at the natural beauty she gazed upon. It made her wish that she had an ability to paint or draw and capture the pristine scene.
Turning into the room, she approached the dresser and tested the water in the pitcher. It was cold, but not unbearably so. Logs had burned in the grate all night and were only now disintegrating into flaky grey ash. Quickly she filled the bowl and used the scented washing things Sarah had thoughtfully provided for her.
Having freshened up, she quickly donned her clothes without waiting for a maid to appear. She knew that Sarah would send someone to attend on her, but not yet, it was far too early. She would not be expected to rise till after ten at the earliest. Now she looked down at her silver silk dress with a frown. It was not suitable daywear, but would have to suffice for just this morning. This afternoon she hoped to be in her own home.
Now ready to face the day, she none the less lingered in her chamber. She sat upon the bed and wondered if it was too early to go downstairs. Not that she was expected to stand on ceremony when enjoying the Tremaynes’hospitality—she was treated as one of the family. But she’d guessed that Sarah and Gavin might enjoy a lie in while their other guest might be up and about as early as she was. She’d no intention of again finding herself alone with Clayton, desperately seeking to engage him in some innocuous conversation till their hosts appeared.
When she’d bid Clayton a goodnight yesterday evening at close to midnight, and had received a similar cordiality from him, they had seemed to part on fair terms. It would be wise to keep it that way for the short time they remained penned together in close proximity.
After they had played piquet together and each team had won a game, Gavin and Sarah had opted to play dominoes. Ruth and Clayton had persevered with the pack of cards.
Ruth had then won two hands of piquet, playing solo. She’d had a suspicion that Clayton had allowed her to do so and had been initially rather miffed in case he was attempting to patronise her. Then she’d mused that his intentions could be philanthropic. He might have been seeking to compensate for his boorish behaviour earlier and so she’d graciously accepted her victory. But it had been impossible not to bring to his notice their wager. She’d been correct in guessing they would dine on poultry with stuffing. She’d also beaten him at cards, yet he’d cheated her of her prize in bringing a musical evening to Sarah’s notice. He’d affected to look chastened and had offered to make amends by fetching for her another small sherry. But when he’d handed it over he’d again raised her hackles by giving the softly scornful advice that it might be advisable to sip at this one slowly.
Thus had the evening progressed in an atmosphere of gentle joviality till bedtime. Yet she knew that, for all his sophisticated charm and easy smiles when their eyes had held for a second more than necessary or their fingers had inadvertently brushed together, an undeniable tension had strained between them.
With that thought in her mind, Ruth lingered by the dressing table and again picked up the hairbrush. She drew it slowly through her thick dusky hair and, raising her eyes to the mirror, gave her reflection a wistful smile. At least her unexpected meeting with Clayton had helped her forget the other gentleman unsettling her. She’d given Ian Bryant very little thought since she’d again made Clayton’s acquaintance. Nevertheless, she must soon return to Fernlea and the gossip that would spread about her rejecting the doctor’s proposal.
A noise from outside her window was slowly penetrating Ruth’s introspection. She approached the glass to peer out. A groom was by the stables and she craned her neck to see more of what was going on. It was a bright sunny day, but surely the conditions were still too perilous for the gentlemen to ride? The stable lad had a black horse by the bridle and it skittered in his grasp, prancing and pulling as though to gain its freedom. The boy seemed to gratefully relinquish the steam-snorting beast to someone just emerging from the stalls. With lithe ease Clayton swung himself into the saddle and gave the boy a nod of thanks.
He cut a dashing figure in his long leather riding coat and with the sun burnishing his pale hair. He appeared to be an impressive horseman, too—the stallion seemed calmer beneath his mastery despite Ruth not seeing him do much to bring it about. But then she knew very little about equestrian matters, having only ridden infrequently. But she could drive a pony and trap very well, she reminded herself with a little smile. Her humour faded as she became aware that he was looking up at her window and it was too late to duck from sight. She stood quite still, solemnly returning his gaze although every fibre of her being urged her to slip aside. With acute embarrassment she saw him smile slowly as though he guessed her predicament. With exaggerated politeness he tipped his hat before he turned the horse’s head and was galloping away over virgin snow.
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