Chapter Eight
Three days later
Dan had never known Oliver to laugh as much as he did when Dan announced he was going to an operatic recital that evening. When Oliver finally spoke, his voice still shook. ‘You hate all that warbling away in Italian. You always have!’
‘This is different.’ Dan was picking up his gloves and hat because his carriage was waiting outside. ‘I said I would take Miss Summerby.’
‘Ah. One of the outings you promised her? But…opera!’
‘It’s my duty as her neighbour. I told you so.’
‘Indeed you did.’ Oliver began laughing again, but Dan was already heading for the door, thinking, how the hell have I got myself into this mess?
And he didn’t mean the music. He meant Kate Summerby. Yes, he’d made his offer out of mingled guilt and pity, but there was something else—the urge to awaken the prim Miss Summerby’s lush lips with a kiss and hold that sweet, soft body of hers close to his own…
Ridiculous! She would be horrified at the thought of arousing the interest of a rake like him, because that was exactly what he was.
He’d promised himself a summer of fun, to which he would return as soon as these two outings were over.
But he still felt surprisingly unsettled and more than a little out of sorts.
The closer his carriage got to Clematis Villa the more restless he became, rearranging the extravagant cuffs of his blue satin coat and retying the knot on his yellow neckerchief at least twice.
This was a mistake, it had to be. But when he stepped from his carriage outside Kate Summerby’s house and saw her there waiting for him, the breath was momentarily knocked from his body.
She was dressed demurely in a grey gown and pelisse, which fitted her trim figure nicely. But her bonnet! It had a cluster of artificial cherries adorning the crown, there were pink ribbons trailing over the brim, and he absolutely had to smile. Trying to outdo him, was she?
‘Good evening, Miss Summerby,’ he said, ‘I really have to compliment you on your hat.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ She met his gaze steadily. ‘I didn’t wish to be completely outshone by you.’
He laughed then escorted her to his carriage.
She appeared quite calm, but as she sat on the cushioned bench and he settled to face her, she fiddled with her pink reticule and he thought, she is nervous.
As the carriage moved off, she looked up at him at last and said, ‘People will be surprised to see us together, won’t they? ’
‘Probably,’ he answered. ‘But they’ll be even more startled if we look as if we are actually enjoying one another’s company. So here’s the thing, Miss Summerby.’ He leaned forward a little. ‘For our strategy to work, I’m afraid you’re really going to have to pretend to like me.’
She jerked up her chin, making the cherries on her bonnet bounce. ‘Goodness, my lord. You don’t actually mean you wish me to flirt with you, do you?’
He laughed. Nerves be damned, she had recovered swiftly and he was surprised by how glad he was. ‘Flirt with me? No need to go quite that far, I assure you.’
‘Good,’ she said.
Dan was feeling as if he wasn’t quite in control of this situation, and yet he found himself more light-hearted than he had been for months.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘That was a definite put-down and I need my revenge. I estimate it will take us around fifteen minutes to get to our destination and, since I know virtually nothing about operatic music, I’d like you to give me some basic facts about it. ’
‘Really?’ She looked startled. ‘In fifteen minutes? Well, I suppose I could name some composers if you wish.’
‘Ideal.’ Dan settled back in his seat, folded his arms across his chest and grinned.
Ideal indeed, because this gave him the perfect chance to study her varying expressions of puzzlement, wariness and downright annoyance as his carriage rattled down the road to Brighton.
Kate was experiencing some disturbing emotions herself. Oh, my goodness, she thought. That smile of his. Not to mention the gleam in his hooded blue eyes. Bother the man; she wasn’t here for his amusement! Or maybe she was? She had a horrible suspicion that was the case.
She took a deep breath and began to speak in the most schoolmistressy voice she could summon. ‘Monteverdi,’ she began, ‘was Italian and the first composer of the opera as we know it. Then came Cavalli and Scarlatti—Italian again—while the English, of course, had Purcell and Handel…’
On and on she went, and soon she saw the dashing Earl of Rivington desperately trying not to yawn. She didn’t stop, partly because she found his discomfort very satisfying and partly because it kept her mind from thinking quite unsuitable thoughts.
Like how divine he looked in that blue coat and yellow neckerchief—half the dandy and half the rebel.
She couldn’t help noting too how frequently he crossed then uncrossed his long, booted legs, but she tried to avoid glancing at his strongly muscled thighs in those buckskin breeches, because they caused her more than a few internal palpitations.
Anyway, he wasn’t listening properly, she could tell, so after a while she leaned closer and said more loudly, ‘And then, of course, we get to the greatest composer of them all—Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. We are sure to be treated to some of his sublime music this evening, Lord Rivington!’
He sprang to attention. ‘Good lord—Mozart?’ He peered out of the window. ‘Are we not there yet?’
She gave him a sweet smile. ‘I believe, my lord, that your carriage is pulling up in the Steine this very minute.’
The evening could, she realised afterwards, have been a disaster, because as soon as they entered, the whispers began and they echoed around the high-ceilinged room for what seemed to be an eternity.
‘It’s Lord Rivington, with Jemima Honeywood’s niece—the spinster from London! Whoever would have thought it?’
For a few moments Kate felt all the bad memories surging back, the sense of inadequacy, of not belonging. She stumbled slightly but was instantly aware of the Earl’s hand tightening on her arm.
‘Hold your head high,’ he murmured. ‘And smile. Take pleasure in their surprise at seeing us together.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, I will. Thank you.’
He answered, ‘My pleasure,’ and the way he said it, with gravity but with kindness too, sent a rush of sudden warmth throughout her body.
She was imbued with a fresh and dangerous awareness of his easy strength and overpowering masculinity, forcing her to swiftly remind herself, any act of kindness is for show.
He feels obliged to do this. That is all.
But she drew great comfort from his presence as the greetings accompanied them all the way to their seats.
The concert began with a soprano singing an aria by Handel and at last she was able to relax and concentrate on the music, while the Earl, she could see, was really trying to look interested.
The standard of the string players and the soloists was high, and Kate glanced round to see that some members of the audience had their eyes closed in rapture.
After twenty mutes or so, the Earl’s eyes were closed too, but it wasn’t because he was concentrating, it was because he was asleep.
As each piece drew to an end, the audience clapped and the Earl roused himself to clap too.
But as the finale approached, he wasn’t even doing that; in fact, during the last solo, Kate was wondering how on earth she could wake him, but when the soprano reached a high C it was enough to rouse the dead, let alone the Earl.
His eyes flew open. He said, ‘My God. Are they still at it?’
Kate had to laugh. ‘It’s the finale, my lord. And you’ve missed almost all of the concert.’
‘Thank heaven for that. Let’s get out of here, before some fool demands an encore.’
On the way home, he was extremely polite. He apologised for falling asleep, he asked her what she thought of the music and she answered, ‘Generally, it was very fine, Lord Rivington.’
He nodded. ‘Good, but we won’t be repeating the experience, if you don’t mind.
What do you suggest for our next outing, Miss Summerby?
My brother told me there is to be a lecture about the Civil War at the library next week, where some learned fellow will tell us exactly why King Charles lost his head. Will that suit?’
A lecture. Of course—how very prim, how very suitable. She tried, she really did, to look pleased and said, ‘That will suit me perfectly, my lord, thank you!’
As soon as she entered Clematis Villa, Harriet rushed to greet her. ‘Kate! Tell me, quickly. What did the Earl say to you? Was he polite? Did he know everyone there?’
Kate removed the hat with the cherries and replied, ‘He spoke to me with perfect civility, Harriet. And yes, he knew everyone.’
‘Is anything the matter?’ Harriet peered at her. ‘You do seem rather quiet.’
‘I am fine.’ But she was lying.
She laid her hat on the hall table. How ridiculous of her, to have worn the thing.
She’d meant it as a gesture of defiance, to show she didn’t care what the world—or the Earl—thought of her.
But once again he’d thrown her, by liking it.
In fact, he had complimented her and had looked at her in a way that had disturbed her mightily.
Before going upstairs to get ready for bed, she stepped out into the garden and stood gazing up at the night sky, marvelling at the stars set against the inky blackness.
Long ago on a night like this, her aunt had said to her, ‘Choose the brightest star, my dear, and make a wish. You never know when it might come true.’
That was before her illness struck, and Kate recalled that she had wished for dances, for pretty gowns and for men to fall in love with her.
She knew now that such wishes were mere fantasies, certainly for her.
This evening the Earl had been pleasant and polite, which was fine, surely?
But actually, it wasn’t. For he was reawakening all her discarded dreams and oh, how it hurt.