The Decadent Countess Read online

Until her stepmama’s admirer kissed her, Miranda had truly believed herself happily immune from the disreputable element at the villa.

  After the kiss, she knew she was not immune after all, and her safe world rocked alarmingly upon its axis. She realised that Julian, whose concerns she had previously dismissed with a laugh, was right. Miranda began to gaze into her looking-glass with new eyes. A girl such as she, tall and slender, with hair the colour of autumn leaves, was sure to attract attention in Adela’s drawing room. No matter how quiet she might try to be, she could not help but be noticed. And although Adela had sent the offending ‘gentleman’ off, there would be others.

  Julian was right, things could only get worse.

  At that stage Miranda had known Julian for half a year, and although she enjoyed his company she certainly did not—could never—love him with the mad passion Adela appeared to exhibit whenever a new admirer entered her sphere. But, as Julian said, he was very fond of her and it would please him to be of use to her. In fact, Julian begged Miranda to let him help her, to let him give her his name and the protection it afforded. She could travel back to England and reside among the respectable Fitzgibbons and be safe.

  Reluctant but at the same time thankful, Miranda had accepted Julian Fitzgibbon’s proposal.

  They had married within weeks, but by then Julian was already too feeble to stand without assistance. His illness, which until then had seemed content to move sedately, set off at a gallop. Instead of being Julian’s wife, she had become his nurse. A month after their vows, he was dead.

  Miranda sighed, allowing the past to slip from her. Her current situation presented her with quite enough problems without dwelling on those left behind!

  Had the Fitzgibbons not read Julian’s letter? He had promised Miranda he would write to his mother and explain everything, that she would have nothing to worry about, that Leo would take care of her. Take care of her!

  Anger burned through Miranda again as she remembered the scene at Berkeley Square. How dare that man speak to her in so insulting a manner! Offering her money in that careless, arrogant voice. As if he had always had, or been given, everything he wanted. Well, he would learn disappointment! Miranda would make him wish he had never laid eyes on her.

  Oh, yes, he would learn!

  Miranda simmered for a few more moments, pacing about the room and staring unseeingly from the windows at the busy street below. The contrast to her home in Italy caused her a sharp pang. She felt more alone at this moment than she had ever felt in Adela’s chaotic surroundings. But the emotion was brief and had more to do with her encounter with Leo than any real wish to return to the uncertainties of the Villa Ridgeway. This was her home now, and she would not be frightened away by an overgrown bully, even if he was a Duke!

  It was strange, but when she had first stepped into the drawing room at Fitzgibbon House and been confronted by Belford, Miranda had found herself attracted to him. She had not thought him arrogant or bullying then. She had thought…well, there had been an odd sense of recognition. Not because he was Julian’s cousin, but…well, because he was Leo.

  Miranda shook her head. She must have been very tired from her journey to have woven herself such a fantasy. She sank back into her chair and stared at nothing. Her thoughts turned to The Grange. She quickly dismissed Belford’s attempts to frighten her into giving it up. Julian had been very fond of his manor house, and now that it was hers she would pay his memory the courtesy of viewing the house before making a decision. Julian had spoken of The Grange often, especially in the last days of his illness. Of course, nearly everything had been prefaced with ‘Leo and I’, which at the time Miranda had found poignant, but now…well!

  They could not stop her from moving down to Somerset and living there. In fact, Miranda thought that the two Fitzgibbons she had met so far would be very glad to see her go. Perhaps the odious Leo would decide Somerset was almost as good as Italy in regard to its distance from London and, when he discovered that she meant no mischief, leave her alone?

  Until she left, however, she would make him very sorry for his behaviour, oh, yes! Miranda had no intention of following up her threats, but how was Belford to know that? As far as he was concerned she was the wicked Adela, capable of any mischief.

  Another thought entered Miranda’s head: the empty vow she had made to the Duke that she would send her hotel bill to him. Of course she had not meant to do so—she would rather die than take credit from his Dukeship!—but her fury had overcome good sense, and Miranda had found herself directing the cab driver to Armstrong’s and soon after ordering herself a room when she had always intended to find modest lodgings at a modest inn.

  She had little enough money and now a goodly portion of it would have to go on the bill. Miranda took a deep breath. It could not now be helped, but first thing in the morning she would call upon Julian’s bank and discover exactly what her present financial situation was. As well as paying Armstrong’s, she would require some funds once she reached The Grange, even for the frugal life she envisaged.

  Miranda experienced a faint flutter of unease at the idea of living alone in a strange house. Villa Ridgeway had always been full of people, people of all sorts, stations and ages. Adela, the hostess, had never had much of a practical head on her shoulders. It was left to Miranda from her first days in residence to juggle accounts and order the servants. She was a clear-headed, clear-thinking girl, certainly not prone to extremes in behaviour. Which made her current conduct so puzzling, not least to herself.

  Still, and Miranda quashed her doubts, it would never do to let cowardice cripple her plans. If she was so afraid, she may as well turn tail and hurry back to Italy now.

  There was an alarming thought!

  Fond of Adela as she was, Miranda had no desire to return to the past. No, Julian had left her The Grange, and she owed it to him to take full advantage of his generosity. At least she would be safe there. None of Adela’s wet-lipped admirers would be lurking on the terraces or in the corridors, waiting to pounce. And there would be no arrogant dukes to enrage her…

  Miranda sighed—she told herself it was a sigh of relief. Her mind made up, she rose briskly and set about making use of the warm water, soap and towels which had been left her. She would brush her hair and change into a crisp muslin gown—despite their reduced circumstances, and their often depleted larder, Adela had always made certain they were well dressed.

  They would be serving luncheon downstairs shortly, and Miranda was suddenly very hungry.

  The evening had been exceedingly dull. Leo made his excuses as soon as was politely acceptable and, collecting his hat and cane, strolled out into the night. A brisk wind swirled the edges of his coat, but he didn’t feel the cold. He was pondering the puzzling fact that he had been quite looking forward to tonight’s dinner at the Torringtons, and now suddenly it was…well, dull.

  Cautiously, as though he were probing a tender spot, Leo asked himself whether his dissatisfaction might have something to do with a woman with hair the colour of autumn leaves, liquid dark eyes and a wide, full-lipped mouth. Such a face had been hovering in his thoughts since the moment the Countess entered the drawing room at Berkeley Square. He had held it at bay, telling himself—somewhat foolishly, he saw now—that if he did not think of her she would cease to annoy him. He had made a mess of their first meeting; anger—or something very like it—had taken possession of his usually imperturbable tongue. That was why he had felt so agitated ever since.

  Aunt Ellen, he recalled, had displayed an insulting ingratitude, telling him he had only made things worse. Leo had been sorely tempted to give her an uncharacteristic, icy set-down, but instead informed her that he was not finished with the Countess yet. He would visit her the following day at her modish hotel, and persuade her to accept his offer.

  It was the way in which he said ‘persuade’ that pacified his aunt. She eyed him sharply, then set aside her handkerchief and smelling salts. By the time she left him, she wa
s in much better spirits, and talking of everything soon returning to comfortable normality.

  Normal? thought Leo now, as he strolled along the deserted street. What was normal? And comfortable, what was that? He had thought his life both until today. Now he was wondering whether the last thirty-five years had been just a dream, and he had at last awoken to reality.

  ‘Belford! Wait on, man!’

  Leo turned with a frown. He would as soon be left in solitude, but he could hardly tell Jack Lethbridge to go away. They had been friends since childhood. Jack’s family lived on the opposite side of the village from Ormiston, the Fitzgibbon country residence. Jack even indulged in the hope that one day Leo would marry Sophie, Jack’s sister. Leo had no intention of marrying Sophie, and as Jack had not mentioned his sister lately—she had remained in the country after one disastrous season—Leo hoped his friend had forgotten his fond dream of uniting the Fitzgibbon and Lethbridge families.

  Not that Sophie wasn’t a very sweet girl. Leo would even admit to her being pretty, in a washed-out sort of way, but girls like Sophie bored him, though he would never hurt his friend’s feelings by telling him that he had seen too many girls like Sophie over the years, and they held no surprises.

  ‘I thought you were deep in a game with Lord Ingham, Jack. What, have you lost already?’

  Jack laughed good-naturedly. ‘You know I have no head for cards, Leo. Can never remember what’s trumps. No, I left them to it, went in search of you, and then someone said you’d just left. I thought you might have something more entertaining in mind.’

  Leo strolled on and his friend fell into step beside him.

  ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you.’ Leo spoke in his usual mild tones. ‘I was going home. I have a particular problem occupying my mind and I am afraid I am not very good company tonight.’

  Jack gave him a blank stare. After a moment he cleared his throat. ‘I know I’m not the brightest spark, Leo, but I hope you know that if you’re in any difficulty you can talk to me about it?’

  Leo smiled. ‘I know I can, Jack. However, this is family business. To do with my cousin Julian, actually.’

  ‘Julian? A good chap. Sad to hear he was ill, and then that he’d lost his fight. I sent a letter.’

  ‘Yes, you did, thank you, Jack. This “difficulty” doesn’t concern Julian so much as…his wife.’

  Jack scratched his head. He was a good-looking gentleman in a round-faced, innocent sort of way. His eyes were brown and trusting, and his mouth often hung partly ajar. The kinder of his friends said this was because he was pondering some great mystery. Those less kind said he was thinking about his dinner.

  ‘Didn’t know Julian was married,’ he announced now, very surprised.

  ‘No, it is not widely known. Yet.’

  ‘He never showed the least partiality to anyone in my presence, Leo. Not a runaway marriage, was it?’

  Leo shook his head. ‘No, Jack. My cousin didn’t run off with anyone, although in hindsight I wish he had.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘He fell into the talons of a woman in Italy, a lady my Aunt Fitzgibbon would be loathe to allow in the rear door, let alone the front. In short, Jack, he has married the Countess Ridgeway, otherwise known as—’

  ‘The Decadent Countess!’

  Leo turned to his friend in surprise. ‘You’ve heard of her?’

  Jack was goggling at him. ‘Hasn’t everyone? She’s infamous, Belford! Don’t tell me Julian fell for her? Well, this is beyond anything! And she’s now a Fitzgibbon? If you want my advice, Leo, you’ll make damned sure she remains in Italy. Pay her if you have to, you can bear it. Pay men to watch the ports, too, and if she so much as sets foot on a boat have her arrested!’

  Despite himself, Leo laughed. When he had sobered enough, he said, ‘Thank you for your advice, Jack. You know I always value it. Sadly it comes too late. The Countess is already in London and I have had the pleasure of meeting her.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘I wonder, is “pleasure” the right word? Yes, I do believe it is. Have you seen her, Jack? She is very beautiful.’

  Jack’s round eyes opened even rounder. ‘No, I haven’t seen her, I only know of her. But look here, Leo. You’re not falling into her clutches, too, are you?’

  Leo raised an eyebrow. ‘Of course not. I hope I can appreciate a thing of beauty without being taken in by it. Some of the most vicious and dangerous creatures in the world are beautiful, but that doesn’t mean I would like to cuddle up to them.’

  Jack contemplated this for a while, then shook his head. ‘Maybe not, but you’re the right age, old boy. If you were going to make a fool of yourself over a woman, it’d be now. Have you forgotten the Fitzgibbon curse? The first Fitzgibbon married a scarlet woman and they’ve been the downfall of the male Fitzgibbons ever since. Remember your grandfather and that actress, what was her name?’

  ‘Thank you, Jack,’ Leo replied drily, ‘I’ll keep your warning in mind. But if you want my opinion the Fitzgibbons have a damned sight too many curses and legends! Now, my apologies, but I’ll bid you a goodnight.’

  Surprised, Jack looked up, and saw that they had reached Belford’s house. ‘Will you be travelling down to Ormiston this month?’ he asked casually.

  Leo shook his head. ‘Not that I’m aware. Why?’

  ‘Oh, I thought I might mention it to Sophie. If you were, that is.’

  Leo sighed inwardly. ‘Goodnight, Jack.’

  What was it about some men and their sisters? he asked himself, as he climbed the steps to his front door. He was quite fond of Clementina, his own sister, but he did not try and run her life for her, and he certainly had not attempted to find a husband for her. Tina had been quite capable of doing that herself, and had made an excellent choice. She was at this moment at home in the country, having recently been brought to bed of a second healthy baby boy.

  Pendle opened the door to him.

  ‘I’ll take brandy in the library, Pendle.’

  ‘Yes, your Grace.’ Pendle pursed his lips as if his evening meal had disagreed with him, but his master didn’t notice. Pendle had been a part of his life for so long now that Leo took his bossiness, his frosty demeanour, and his loyalty, for granted. Indeed, he appeared to regard Pendle with a tolerant affection quite bewildering to other members of his family.

  ‘No messages?’

  Pendle allowed himself a thoughtful moue. ‘No, your Grace, no messages.’

  Of course not, Leo told himself impatiently, why should there be? The Countess had only to await his next move, after all, she held the best cards.

  When Pendle had brought the brandy and closed the door, Leo sank down in his favourite chair, lifting his feet on to a padded footrest. The room was quiet, and smelt of tobacco, leather and books. A man’s room, a refuge from the rest of the great house, which he sometimes found very large and very empty, although he would never have admitted that to anyone.

  The Fifth Duke of Belford was the most urbane of men, the most tranquil of men. Ask anyone in the ton. He never got angry or excited or even mildly upset over anything. It was rumoured by those jealous of his good fortune that he was a very cold fish indeed. In fact, hardly human. For if one could not feel, then one could not show emotion, and Leo rarely showed any.

  They had not, of course, known him when he was young. Then, Leo had been a passionate boy, full of wild promise. The death of his father and the laying of great responsibilities upon his youthful shoulders had dampened down those earlier high spirits. Leo had tried hard to become what he believed a duke should be, and until now imagined his ambition to have been achieved.

  But tonight all certainties had come undone, like buttons popping off a coat one had thought securely fastened. He felt a queer restlessness, and the usual peaceful silence of the library had become an irritant rather than a balm. He found himself wondering what it would be like if he had a wife waiting for him. Children, too, to greet him with their laughter and noise. Usually such imaginings were rare for the Duke of Belford, but tonig
ht, deep inside, where the private man dwelt, Leo experienced an aching aloneness.

  With his yearly income of twenty thousand pounds, an estate in Somerset, a hunting box in the Shires, and a house in London, Leo had been the object of many a flinty-eyed matchmaker. He knew of at least a dozen titled young women who would willingly accept the position of his duchess. Lately he had been considering the Honourable Miss Julia Yarwood as a possible contender. A Duke had to produce an heir—it was his duty, and Leo had never been one to shirk his duty.

  Yesterday the Honourable Julia had seemed quite an attractive prospect, but now…

  Leo closed his eyes. ‘Damn the woman!’ he burst out, and he wasn’t thinking of the Honourable Julia. For some reason he didn’t yet understand, this was all that woman’s fault. She was turning his mind topsy-turvy. She had taken what had been a perfectly comfortable way of life and shaken it ragged! Tomorrow morning he would track her down and compel her to take up his offer. He would have her out of London if it was the last thing he did!

  His sanity demanded it.

  It was not quite ten when Leo called upon Miranda at Armstrong’s.

  Ten might have been too early for some ladies, and indeed that was what Leo had hoped. He told himself he wanted to fluster the baggage, catch her unawares.

  He was disappointed.

  Miranda had been up for several hours. She had not slept well, which was no fault of Armstrong’s excellent bed but rather her own disturbed thoughts. She was washed, dressed, breakfasted and had been on the point of setting out to visit Julian’s bank when a maid brought her the news that the Duke of Belford was awaiting her in one of the private downstairs parlours.

  After ascertaining which parlour, Miranda thanked the girl calmly, her manner in no way betraying the strange conduct of her heart, which seemed to be trying to leap out of her chest. As soon as the maid had gone, she ran to check her appearance in the looking-glass. The green walking dress she was wearing was both flattering and fashionable, with its long, close-fitting sleeves and a muslin ruff at the throat. Kidskin gloves, stout walking shoes and a warm cloak completed the outfit.