The Decadent Countess Page 16

  ‘For some reason it reminds me of Italy,’ she murmured.

  ‘My Fitzgibbon ancestor who built the house spent some time in that country,’ Tina replied. ‘The marble was brought from there. Come, Leo is in the saloon.’

  Miranda followed her, feeling rather light-headed. She had expected Ormiston to be grand, but not this grand. Somehow the beauty of the house made Leo’s perfidy so much worse, like an ugly chip in an exquisite piece of porcelain.

  ‘You do look lovely tonight.’ Tina’s voice was bright as she examined Miranda’s silk gown and the matching ribbon in her hair. The silk was a blue-green colour, reminiscent of the deeper parts of the ocean. It suited Miranda very well, accentuating the auburn of her hair and the pallor of her skin.

  Although perhaps, thought Tina, she was a little too pale tonight, and a little too serious. Whatever her inner qualms, however, Tina was far too experienced in her role as hostess to allow her bright smile and polite chatter to falter.

  ‘We will make but a small party tonight. I had thought we might ask some of our neighbours, but Leo insisted that you alone must be our guest. Our special guest.’

  She squeezed Miranda’s hand as she spoke, and Miranda could not mistake her meaning. Tina was hoping that she and Leo had made up all their differences—or were about to—and that soon she would be congratulating them on their coming nuptials.

  Despite her resolution to be strong, Miranda’s eyes flooded with tears. They were tears of anger, she told herself furiously, turning away and pretending to examine a large bowl of summer roses, no doubt picked this morning from Ormiston’s extensive gardens.

  When she spoke in reply her voice was pleasingly cool and without inflection.

  ‘Your brother is very kind, Lady Clementina.’

  Tina hid her surprise. ‘So formal, my dear! I thought we had got past that stage? You must call me Tina, for I shall certainly call you Miranda. We have a long history, you and I.’

  ‘If you wish,’ Miranda murmured. From being too pale, her face was now a little flushed and her eyes, when she turned them briefly upon Tina, were glittering as if she had a fever.

  Tina wondered if she were ill, but again did not say so. She had had high hopes for this evening, yet already the doubts were creeping in. Leo, too, was behaving strangely. Yesterday he had returned from The Grange raving of Miranda’s sweetness and sharing with his sister his touching and tentative hopes for the future.

  He had been so unlike the urbane, confident man she had grown used to, almost…well, almost vulnerable in his uncertainty.

  Today he had been busy on estate matters, and she had had no chance to speak to him until a few moments before Miranda arrived. He had looked particularly handsome in his formal attire, and she had hurried to his side in a bubble of delight. She had been missing her husband and sons dreadfully, but if by travelling to Ormiston she had been the instigator of Leo’s happiness, then it had been worth it.

  And then he had looked up at her and smiled, and it was as if, like a child’s balloon, she had brushed against something spiky and her joy had promptly popped.

  For Leo’s smile was not the smile he had worn yesterday. It was not even the smile she had grown used to since he came into the title. No, this was something altogether more brittle. And when she looked into Leo’s eyes, she understood why. Something lurked far back in the blue, something which reminded her, shockingly, of the hurt and bewilderment of a wounded animal.

  ‘Leo—’ she had begun softly, her heart contracting, but it was already too late. Miranda’s carriage had arrived, and the naked pain she had surprised in Leo’s eyes had been replaced by a polite, questioning smile.

  The evening, for good or for worse, was underway.

  Despite Tina’s friendly chatter, Miranda had felt the other woman’s disquiet. Lady Clementina had been her friend and her mentor, and Miranda was sorry that she would be disappointed by tonight’s outcome. She could only think that Tina did not really know Leo, that perhaps her eyes were blinded by the worship a younger sister might feel for her older brother.

  It was not for Miranda to enlighten her.

  ‘Miranda?’ Tina gestured to the saloon doorway, puzzlement in the blue eyes so very like her brother’s.

  With an unconscious straightening of her back, Miranda followed her over the threshold.

  Again, she couldn’t help but stare. The saloon was lavishly decorated, a study in white and gold. Large mirrors reflected the glitter of numerous candles, giving Miranda the impression of a hundred stars, captured purely for the Fitzgibbons’ pleasure. Velvet curtains of rich gold covered the bank of windows on the south wall—though one or two remained uncovered, giving a view of the park—the sumptuous cloth looped up with white tassels.

  In the midst of this grandeur, Leo stood completely at his ease, glass in one hand, the other in his pocket. As the two women entered, he set the glass on to a small gilded table, and walked towards them.

  Miranda had herself under control. The Adela persona had slipped over her own like a well-worn shoe. She could, she told herself, watch his approach with little or no emotion. And if her heart was beating a little quickly and her palms were damp, well that was only the mildness of the evening.

  ‘Miranda.’ Leo’s soft, deep voice was suddenly as familiar as her own. If voices had a colour then Leo’s would be golden brown, rich and smooth.

  ‘Your Grace,’ Miranda replied sweetly, and gave a curtsy. When she straightened he kept her hand in his. He was smiling at her. At least, Miranda corrected herself, his mouth was smiling. His eyes were as cold as the marble in his grand hall.

  What had happened to the warm, seductive man who had kissed her yesterday? Where was the libertine against whom Mr Harmon had warned her? Why was he hiding himself beneath this chilly exterior?

  ‘You look very beautiful this evening,’ he was saying, but there was no feeling in his words. It was as if he were reading a script…no, not even that, for an actor would have to at least pretend emotion. Leo showed none.

  Nevertheless, Miranda gave a gay little laugh. ‘Thank you, your Grace. I would prefer to be remembered for my fashion sense than for my good sense.’

  Tina winced at the false laugh as much as at the archness of the words that accompanied it. Hastily she took a step into the breach. ‘I have informed Miranda that she is our special guest tonight, Leo.’

  Leo had not taken his eyes off Miranda, and although the girl was fiddling with her gloves, she was very aware of him. Tina had to repeat his name again before he heard her.

  ‘Perhaps you would have preferred a larger party, Mrs Fitzgibbon?’ Leo finally responded, but not as his sister had hoped. ‘This is hardly fair on you, is it? You are the sort of woman who needs a large audience.’

  Tina gasped—Leo’s rudeness was not even subtle. And yet, when she expected Miranda to cry out in protest, the girl jutted her chin belligerently, gave that horrid little laugh, and gazing straight back into Leo’s eyes, replied,

  ‘Of course! I like to play to an audience. The larger the audience, the better. It is so dull when one knows everyone at a party. There is no sense of conquest, no sense of adventure. As you know, Duke, I am an adventuress at heart!’

  Leo went pale with anger. Tina, her gaze darting from one to the other, felt her spirits take another dip. This evening was not going at all as she had planned. That Leo and Miranda had had some sort of falling out was an understatement. Had Tina been made of weaker stuff, she might have excused herself and hurriedly retired to her bedchamber, but Tina was not yet prepared to concede defeat.

  It was her brother’s happiness at stake here, after all!

  ‘I believe Mrs Mullins is ready for us to be seated in the dining room,’ she said in a rallying voice. ‘But first I would like to show you something, Miranda.’

  Miranda turned and followed her without a word.

  The ‘something’ was a large, dark portrait. If it were not for a brace of candles on the mahogany
table beneath it, the subject matter would have been indistinguishable from the shadows. The candle light, however, picked out the face and figure of a man.

  He was dressed in the Elizabethan style, with padded doublet and a high neck ruff. His greying hair was cut close to his head, his nose prominent, his expression harsh. The resemblance to Leo was even greater than it had been in the effigy on the church wall. Especially with the eyes. The eyes in the portrait looked black, but Miranda knew they were blue, a dark piercing blue. He gazed down at her as if at any moment he would demand to know what she was doing in his house.

  ‘This is our famous ancestor,’ Tina murmured beside her, pleased by her absorption. ‘The one who built The Grange. He was King Henry’s man, and later his daughter, Elizabeth’s. I thought you might like to see him in the flesh, as it were.’

  ‘Not a man to be crossed, Countess.’ Leo’s voice was right behind her, and although Miranda kept her eyes on the portrait, she was intensely aware of him.

  Tina smiled. ‘Yes, rather a bully by all accounts. This is his wife.’

  Miranda turned from Fitzgibbon, and found herself facing a far smaller, far more intimate portrait. A woman with a pointed face, matt pale skin, and large dark eyes. Her hair was tucked under a jewelled cap, one long strand tumbling naturally over her white breast.

  The colour of her hair was a deep, rich auburn.

  ‘Oh,’ Miranda said.

  ‘Yes.’ Tina’s voice was dry. ‘The Fitzgibbons have a weakness for redheads. Is that not so, Leo?’

  Miranda experienced a hot wave of anger. Tina could not know that she had repeated almost exactly Mr Harmon’s words of warning.

  ‘To our cost,’ Leo said. His hand closed on her bare shoulder, his fingers very warm on her cool flesh. Miranda jumped. His touch seemed to sear her, shaking her to her very core, and giving the lie to all she was planning to say and do this night. He had felt her reaction, and he would know now how he made her feel. Well, it did not matter. He would never be able to turn her feelings for him against her—she wouldn’t allow it.

  She loved him, but he didn’t deserve her.

  ‘The dining room is this way.’ Tina broke the awkward moment.

  Leo dropped his hand, and Miranda released a quiet, shaky breath. As she followed Tina, she felt a strong urge to glance back over her shoulder, to look again upon the two portraits. Tina’s inference had been clear enough—the past was to repeat itself. But Tina didn’t know that Leo was every bit as bad as his ancestor. Worse! At least he had been faithful to the one woman he loved. Leo was incapable of loving one woman, let alone being faithful to her!

  In the dining room, Mrs Mullins had done them proud. The silverware was gleaming, the best crockery was laid out, and candles burned in the many sconces throughout the room. Leo, noting all this, wondered that it left him so unmoved. After that one moment of intense anger, when Miranda had more or less agreed to his summation of her character, he had felt very little.

  The arctic winter that had held sway over his emotions for so many years had returned. For him, spring and summer had been brief indeed, numbered in mere weeks. He didn’t want to remember the madness that had come upon him, only that he was now in a situation from which he must extricate himself at any cost. It would not do for the Fifth Duke of Belford to be thought of as a lovesick fool and that, he very much feared, was exactly how he had been behaving.

  Luckily—better late than never!—he had now come to his senses. The illusion was broken. His eyes were open, and he had seen the true Miranda. Now it was up to him to drive her back to Italy, where she belonged, so that he need never see her again.

  Tina was making conversation, still ‘flogging a dead horse’, as Jack would say. Miranda answered when she felt like it, but most of the time she appeared bored. Awaiting the entertainment, Leo supposed. Well, he would give her entertainment!

  His sister had just finished commenting on how nice it was to be spending time at Ormiston, and how comfortable it was to know people and be familiar with them, having grown up with them.

  ‘Do you think so?’ Miranda asked, a frown marring her smooth brow. ‘I find I become bored very quickly. I am always needing new faces and new places. Only the new is exciting.’

  Tina didn’t seem to know what to say to this, but Leo wasn’t surprised by her answer. It was exactly what he had expected. She was tantalising him, hinting that she had never meant to stay long at The Grange, and awaiting his next offer.

  ‘I wonder you don’t move on to greener pastures,’ he said in a bored voice.

  ‘I would,’ Miranda replied. ‘Sadly, I am as poor as a church mouse. But then, you know that, Duke.’

  ‘Are church mice different from ordinary mice?’ Tina was growing desperate. ‘I have often wondered.’

  ‘All mice are despicable and destructive little creatures.’

  Miranda glared at him—he saw the fury in her eyes—and then she laughed, and the door through which he had had a momentary glimpse of her soul was closed again.

  The meal was delicious, but Leo could not enjoy it. The talk grew desultory at best, even Tina appeared to have given up. The two women rose from the table and left him to his brandy, and where normally he would have forgone such tradition, tonight he was glad to be alone.

  That dress, the colours of it swirling around her, as if she were swimming beneath the sea. Naked, beneath the sea. He imagined her white skin and long, auburn hair as she moved languidly through the shadowy depths. It was surprisingly easy to imagine, but then his mind had been particularly active in the fantasy arena since he met the Decadent Countess.

  Leo had seen her as both the hard sophisticate and the sweet innocent, but now she was different again. There was something unreachable about her tonight, as though no matter what he said or did, he could not touch her. Perhaps he had never touched her, not really.

  The kisses they had exchanged were no more than a game on her part, while they had served to suck him deeper into self-delusion. He had believed what he wanted to believe, seen what he wanted to see.

  But now he had shaken clear of the dream, and stepped into the cold light of day.

  Jack was right, she and Harmon were a team. No doubt they meant to fleece him and then depart The Grange for greener fields. Well, they would learn he was a very lean sheep indeed!

  Leo reached for his glass and drank the brandy in one swallow. He was surprised to see his hand trembling, and squeezed it tightly into a fist. No weakness. Tonight he had set himself the task of sending his Countess off, far away from St Mary Mere. He had told Jack not to worry, that he would do everything necessary. He, Leo, had allowed this situation to develop, and now he must fix it.

  But it would be interesting to see just how far his Countess would be prepared to go.

  ‘Miranda, I must speak plainly with you.’ Tina’s blue eyes were almost as hard as her brother’s, and she leaned forward intently. ‘What is going on? I thought…I believed… Was everything not resolved yesterday?’

  Miranda shook her head, hands clasped tightly in her lap, face turned toward the windows. They were back in the saloon, and the large, splendid room seemed to echo about them. Someone had lit a fire, and she and Tina sat before it in straw silk chairs, drawn up in an intimate half-circle.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Miranda bit her lip. She did not want to hurt her friend, but how could she possibly tell her of her brother’s true character? Better that Tina should hate Miranda than that she should be disillusioned with Leo.

  ‘It is a matter between the Duke and I,’ she said quietly. ‘I cannot say more than that.’

  Tina let out an impatient sigh. ‘You have had a tiff.’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘Can you not make it up with him?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ No, never.

  ‘I wish you would, Miranda! If you mean to draw daggers at each other all night, then I would much rather leave you to it. I am sure I will have indigestion af
ter sitting through that meal with the two of you.’

  Miranda said nothing. She was now very quiet and subdued, and far from the bright, brittle person she had appeared to be in Leo’s company.

  Tina eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Do you mean to go on pretending you are Adela for the rest of the evening?’

  ‘I think I must.’

  Tina sighed. ‘Then I think it best if I do retire now. I am rather tired, and I do not enjoy conflict when I am tired. Leo will join you soon. Unlike me, I am sure he can hardly wait for the next round!’

  ‘Oh please, do not…Tina!’

  But it was too late. Tina had risen and, deaf to all entreaties, left the room. Miranda had jumped up as if to follow her when she heard muted voices from out in the hall, and the next moment, to her dismay, Leo appeared in the doorway and closed the door firmly behind him.

  He was watching her like a hunter his prey.

  For an instant she felt trapped and alone, but there was now no alternative but to conclude the drama she had been playing. Miranda, turning to Adela for strength and inspiration, strolled to a small table upon which a number of pretty objects were displayed.

  ‘My sister has retired.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Miranda heard him approaching and tried to remain calm and composed. He would kiss her, she supposed, and pretend to be enamoured of her. Her plan was to play along with the game for a little while, and then simply tell him she was bored with him. She wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her, although she did not expect it would have the same catastrophic effect.

  How could it, when he had no real feelings? No heart?

  ‘Tina was a little disappointed by this evening,’ Leo went on in that cold, steady voice.

  ‘Oh?’ Miranda made herself turn. ‘And has this evening been a disappointment for you, too, Duke?’