Conspiracy Of Hearts

Kit’s look became serious suddenly. ‘Did Blackwell hurt you?’

‘I told you. I can fend for myself. Now, if you will allow me to go on my way, I will bid you goodnight.’ Unfortunately it was not as easy as she hoped to be rid of him, for he briskly ignored her request.

‘You may still have need of my services. I insist on offering my protection and escorting you to your home. Who knows—your tormentor may come back.’

‘I don’t think so. It’s my guess that he will have returned to the White Swan where he will consume more liquor before the night is out and he seeks his bed—or someone else’s.’

‘Nevertheless, I do insist.’

His insistence was beginning to stretch Serena’s nerves. ‘You are extremely gallant, sir, but that will not be necessary. I can see myself home. It is not far,’ she replied tersely.

‘And where is that?’

The softness of a moment before left Serena’s eyes, turning then to flint. Her mouth hardened to an unsmiling resentment as her temper rose once more. Feeling less than proud of herself for the way she had acted, the mere thought that this arrogant and impertinent man had heard and witnessed the scene between herself and Thomas Blackwell was too embarrassing to contemplate. ‘What has that to do with you?’

Kit suppressed a smile with amused patience as he sheathed his rapier. ‘Absolutely nothing. Tell me, do your parents often let you out alone like this—to make assignations with men of Blackwell’s ilk?’

Icy fire smouldered in Serena’s eyes as she faced him with chilled contempt. ‘My encounter with Thomas Blackwell was not an assignation—and, no, my father does not even know I have left the house. But I am a gentlewoman, if that is what you mean.’

Kit’s bold eyes sparkled with merriment in the face of her anger, and his strong, animal white teeth gleamed in the gathering gloom. ‘No gentlewoman remains a gentlewoman after doing and saying what I have just overheard,’ he answered airily.

‘Then I would be grateful if you would forget what you have overheard, sir, and forget your encounter with me. Good evening.’

Spinning on her heels, Serena stalked ahead with an indignant swing of her hips. Grinning broadly and, with a soft chuckle, grasping the reins of his horse, Kit tucked the young lady’s handkerchief into a pocket inside his doublet. Quickening his stride he followed, indicating for Robin to do likewise, who was watching his master with an amused expression on his boyish face.

‘Wait,’ Kit said, having no mind to let her go lightly.

Serena turned and waited for him to approach, taking stock of him for the first time. Attired in the manner of a wealthy lord, he was a magnificent man—as handsome in physique as he was of face. Her eyes wandered over his strong shoulders encased in a black velvet doublet, tapering to a narrow waist, and long, lean, muscular thighs—so unnervingly masculine.

Her anger began to drain from her and a small frown of perplexity creased her brow when he came close and stood looking down at her. His mere presence touched her senses with an acute sensual awareness that left her weak. She flushed, angered by her wayward thoughts. No proper lady would think such things and allow such imaginings to take root in her mind—but then, no proper lady would have done what she had done and gone searching for a man she had foolishly become infatuated with.

‘Well?’ she said, her tone brittle.

‘Since we seem to be going in the same direction, perhaps we might walk a little way together? Being a stranger to these parts, I would be glad of the company.’

Serena stared into his eyes, which still sparkled with unbridled humour. After a lengthy pause she slowly released her breath, relenting a little, if reluctantly; the sooner she was rid of this disconcerting man, the better she would feel. They were going in the same direction and she would only have to suffer his company for a little while.

‘Very well,’ she conceded, beginning to walk on. ‘My home is not far. Are you just passing through Ripley, or visiting friends?’

‘I am here on business—although Sir Henry Carberry, who I am visiting, is also my friend.’

Thunderstruck, Serena froze, and with an expression of stunned horror she stopped dead in her tracks and looked up into his dark eyes, realising who he was. ‘You are visiting Dunedin Hall?’

‘I am. Do you know it?’

‘Yes—I—I should,’ she stammered hesitantly, suddenly wishing the ground would open and mercifully swallow her up. For the first time since meeting him she was almost at a loss for words. ‘I—I am Serena Carberry. Sir Henry is my father.’

Seeing the horror and dismay on her face, Kit smiled slowly, his gaze sparkling and taunting. Cocking a handsome eyebrow, he gave her a lengthy inspection, his teeth gleaming behind a lopsided grin. ‘Well, well,’ he murmured, letting his breath out slowly. ‘I see.’

Serena was unable to prevent the onslaught of shame that engulfed her. Of all the people in the world to visit her father, it had to be this terrible person who had witnessed that awful scene between herself and Thomas Blackwell that would haunt her for ever.

‘You—you must be the marquess of Thurlow?’

‘Yes—and I can quite understand why you would rather I weren’t.’ Kit chuckled, seeming to enjoy her discomfiture. ‘I realise how uncomfortable it will be for you having me under your father’s roof for a whole night—knowing what I do,’ he said quietly, meaningfully. Looking up at him, Serena saw something in his look that challenged her spirit and brought back her strength and a surge of dislike.

‘I would appreciate it if you did not mention any of this to my father. He would be extremely angry, you understand.’

‘I consider he would be better off knowing in order to deal with his wayward daughter so she does not repeat her misdemeanour.’

‘I will remind you, sir, that this is none of your affair. You are here to see my father’s horses and to ride to Woodfield Grange tomorrow for the hunt. I am reluctant to lend myself to my father’s anger should my encounter with Thomas Blackwell become known, and I would be more than grateful if you did not tell him. If he should hear of it, his tirade will challenge the loudest broadside and my reputation will be in ruins.’

Kit gave her a wolfish grin. ‘Then let me set your mind at rest. You can rest assured, dear lady, that your guilty secret is quite safe with me.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said as graciously as she was able under the circumstances, walking briskly on her way.

Kit fell into step beside her. ‘I am Lord Brodie by the way—Christopher Brodie—Kit to my friends.’

‘Because I do not know you, sir,’ Serena replied testily without looking at him, her nose in the air, ‘I shall address you as Lord Brodie. To be more familiar would be inappropriate.’

Kit grinned. ‘As you wish.’

With Robin following at a discreet distance, they walked side by side. Serena felt herself enveloped in Kit’s perusal which brought a flush to her cheeks; if she had turned and glanced at him and noted the attention he was paying to her gently swaying body—his gaze passing with leisured interest over her hair and slender hips swinging provocatively in unison—her flush would have deepened to poppy red.

Kit’s thoughts turned to his sweet-natured betrothed, Dorothea Carberry—this young lady’s cousin—with relief. His betrothal to Dorothea was recent, and he would call on her and Lord Carberry after the hunting at Woodfield Grange. The gentle nature of Dorothea was far more favourable than the fiery nature of her cousin. Any man finding himself attached to this particular firebrand would know no peace. Kit felt heartily sorry for anyone this wench unleashed her tongue on. And yet, he was beginning to understand how a man could so easily succumb to a woman’s charms that he would forget the troth so soon made to another.

Serena slipped into the house ahead of Lord Brodie. Not until she reached her chamber did she allow her mind to conjure up an image of Thomas Blackwell’s face—the man she had foolishly allowed to dominate her every waking hour since she had last laid eyes on him. The image she had of him now was distorted and ugly beyond recognition.

Unbidden, the humour-filled black eyes of her rescuer took its place, and she realised he posed as much a danger and threat to her emotions and senses as Thomas Blackwell had before. Collecting her scattered wits, she formed a firm resolve not to let the marquess of Thurlow intimidate her. Earlier he had stung her pride by playing humorously on her own confusion, and she was determined that tonight she would be more in control of her emotions and herself and set the marquess of Thurlow agog.

She chose to wear an extremely fetching ruby-coloured velvet gown, one Andrew had brought as a present for her from Italy. The full skirt draped luxuriantly over hoops, and the sleeves were puffed, the ruche-edged stomacher emphasising the slimness of her waist. The collar, elevated at the back, framed her delicate, heart-shaped face.

After her maid had quickly and deftly arranged her hair in soft, high curls and Serena felt confident that she looked her best, she went downstairs to the great hall with its vaulted, rib-caged roof, unable to think of a plausible excuse to remain in her room. A murmur of voices came from one of the chambers leading off from the hall. Serena advanced towards it, her footsteps on the tiles heralding her arrival. Her father and Lord Brodie were standing before the giant hearth where a fire burned bright, the lively flames sending dancing shadows over the richly tapestried walls.

At fifty-five, Sir Henry should have been a rich man. The fact that he was a relatively poor man was largely due to his own recklessness throughout his life—the large recusant fines, the funding of the Catholic cause and the amount of money he spent on his beloved horses. He was still a handsome man, jovial and of average height, with twinkling blue eyes and thinning dark hair liberally sprinkled with grey. Like that of King James, a small square-cut beard covered his chin.

Conversation between the two men ceased when Serena made her entrance. When she stepped into the range of Kit’s vision, he could not believe the beautiful and well-groomed lady—who seemed the very spirit of virtue and moved with all the poise, grace and cool dignity of a queen—was the same bedraggled shrew he had encountered earlier.

Serena’s gaze flicked over Lord Brodie before coming to rest on her father, sensing his displeasure that she had absented herself from his side on his guest’s arrival.

‘Ah, Serena! You have finally deigned to grace us with your presence,’ Sir Henry rebuked. ‘Kit, may I present my daughter, Serena, and apologise most profusely for her absence on your arrival. I would like to say she is not usually so absent-minded or so ill-mannered, but I am sorry to confess that when other matters of interest crop up to occupy her mind she is forgetful of all else.’

At nineteen, the frequent flashes of childlike ardour and deep affection in Serena’s eyes whenever they settled on her father blinded him to her wilfulness and often reprehensible behaviour. Despite his gentle reproach there was a warm admiration in his eyes when they rested on her. It was no secret that he doted on his daughter unashamedly, and was in no hurry to marry her off. She was just one more reason why he had not yet succumbed to the quiet charms of Mrs Davis.

Kit watched Serena approach with interest. She came to stand close, tilting her head as she gazed into his handsome visage from beneath eyebrows delicately sweeping like a winged bird’s. A bloom of rosy pink heightened her high cheekbones, and her eyes—emerald green orbs flecked with brown—were thickly fringed with silken black lashes tipped with gold. The firelight gave her hair a rich warm hue the colour of rosewood, and the heady fragrance of rosewater on her skin was intoxicating.

Kit felt his pulses leap and the blood go searing through his veins at her nearness and the coyness of her little smile as she demurely lowered her eyes. Drawing his dark eyebrows together in a frown he became cautious, strongly suspecting he was being beguiled and led into a trap. Serena lifted her gaze, the eyes beneath the thick fringe of lashes steady and disconcerting, shining with an intelligent brightness which proclaimed an agility of wit and a craving to taste all that life had to offer.

Her beauty fed Kit’s gaze, rekindling the ache he had felt earlier. Never had he met a woman who intrigued him more, but because he had given his troth to another, the tantalising Mistress Serena Carberry was forbidden fruit—and he was beginning to thank God for it. She would bring him nothing but trouble.