Fortune's Folly - The Confessions Of A Duchess Part 5

"f.e.c.kless libertine..."

Laura's voice was like a mocking whisper in Dexter's mind. He clenched his fists. h.e.l.l and the devil. He had come to Fortune's Folly with the simple aim of investigating a case for Lord Liverpool and finding an heiress bride if he could. How had matters become so complicated so quickly? He had no desire for any of the insipid misses who flocked the ballroom and an all-too-strong desire for the Dowager d.u.c.h.ess of Cole. But indulging in a liaison with Laura was impossible. Besides, it was the type of thing that he, Dexter Anstruther, simply did not do these days. Losing his head, kissing Laura, burning to make love to her-these were the actions of a previous life. They were not the behavior of the responsible, principled man who sought nothing more than a well-ordered existence and a biddable bride.

He saw Lord Armitage lean close to leer down Laura's gown under the guise of kissing her hand. He felt a primal and possessive fury almost swallow him whole. Was he to call out every last libertine in Fortune's Folly? Because if they laid a finger on Laura Cole, that was exactly what he was afraid he would do and that would not be the action of a rational man.

He ran a finger around the inside of his collar, trying to loosen it a little. He had no idea what was making him think like this. It was utterly out of character. h.e.l.l, he was out of control already. And for a man who prided himself on his sound judgment it was inexplicable. He had no idea where it would end.

LAURA SURREPt.i.tIOUSLY PRESSED her hands together as she walked away across the ballroom. Her palms felt hot within her evening gloves. Her whole body felt strangely sensitive, her skin p.r.i.c.kling and a curl of excitement as well as a barb of anger still deep in her stomach. The impulse to turn round and look back at Dexter Anstruther was so strong that she could barely resist it.

What on earth was wrong with her? As d.u.c.h.ess of Cole she had entertained princes and dignitaries. She had not enjoyed it but the point was that she had fulfilled her role with grace and charm. She had never allowed any man to shake her composure.

Dexter could get under her skin with the slightest word, undermine her with the smallest touch. His presence was like a p.r.i.c.kle in the blood, aggravating, provocative, impossible to ignore. She could not bear it. It tormented her. She had sworn to keep away from him and yet he had been right-she had sought his company deliberately and there was no point in pretending otherwise. It was foolish, it was dangerous and it felt irresistible.

She rubbed her wrist where he had held her. She could still feel the imprint of his fingers on her skin and felt an echo of that touch in the hot silken coil of desire in her belly. She wanted to turn around and grab Dexter. She wanted to drag him from the ballroom and take him to her bed and make love to him until they were both exhausted and the torment was soothed at last. She had felt like that from the very first moment she had seen him that evening. She had pretended barely to notice him but it had been precisely that-a pretense. He had looked very smooth and elegant in his black evening coat and pristine white linen, his tawny fair hair cut in a Brutus crop-she imagined that a longer style would demonstrate too little order and restraint-and the planes of his face harder and leaner than she remembered. And yet despite the outward control there was something about Dexter that she recognized instinctively because it was in her, too. It was the wildness beneath the surface, the danger and the power that no amount of elegant black superfine could subdue. Dexter might be determined to impose discipline on his life because of the chaos of his family background but there was a pa.s.sion in him strong enough to shatter any barriers. He was denying his true self.

She understood him, and that made her feel a treacherous affinity with him. But that affinity was illusory. He thought her heartless for the way she had treated him in the past and she would allow him to continue to believe it because it enabled her to keep her secrets safe from him. She needed to remember Hattie and that it was essential to protect her. She could not risk exposure of her daughter's secret. Keeping Dexter out of her life was an absolute necessity. She should be finding eligible females for him and throwing them at his feet so that she would be free of his troubling presence in her life. But the idea of Dexter finding a conformable wife turned a knife in her. She felt d.a.m.nably bad-tempered to imagine it.

It did nothing to raise her spirits when she saw the new Duke of Cole, her cousin by marriage, and his wife, Faye, shepherding their daughter Lydia through the crowds in the ballroom. Faye Cole had the unfortunate appearance of a farmer presenting a prize heifer at market, encouraging her daughter along with little shooing motions of her hands, smiling flirtatiously at every gentleman in sight and pus.h.i.+ng Lydia forward to meet them. Lydia was two and twenty now, and very definitely considered an old maid, and Laura realized that Faye must be taking advantage of the Dames' Tax to find her daughter a husband at last. The new duke and d.u.c.h.ess did not live in Fortune's Folly, but Cole Court was certainly close enough to take advantage of all the suitors flocking to the village. And Lydia, tricked out in unbecoming pink satin, looked as miserable as sin at the prospect.

Laura watched as the Coles paused to return the greetings of Warren Sampson, an occurrence that struck her as odd since Faye Cole was the sort of sn.o.b who would normally cut a cit dead. Sampson was fulsomely flattering to Lydia, which made the poor girl blush even more uncomfortably. Then Henry Cole's eye fell on Laura herself and he hailed her with surprising enthusiasm.

"Cousin Laura!" Henry kissed her hand with heavy gallantry. Faye was a great deal less affectionate and gave her a tight little nod. Her cold gaze itemized Laura's appearance with pursed lips and narrowed gaze, a.s.sessing the gown and jewels as though placing a cost on each. Laura suspected that Faye already knew the gems were paste and was merely judging how good a counterfeit they were.

"I trust we shall see plenty of you, cousin, during our stay in Fortune's Folly," Henry said, and Faye's mouth turned down at the corners.

"Thank you, cousin Henry, but I do not go much into society," Laura said.

"Which is quite as it should be," Faye snapped.

"Dowagers should neither be seen nor heard?" Laura inquired sweetly, and saw Miss Lydia Cole stifle a smile. Then Lydia's gaze fell on Dexter Anstruther and her face lit up, making her look pretty and animated. Laura felt a pang of raw jealousy spike her inside. Dexter and Lydia had met four years before at Cole Court and had seemed to enjoy one another's company. Laura knew that if Dexter genuinely wished to find a conformable bride he could do a lot worse than Lydia Cole. And Henry and Faye were so desperate to see her settled now that they would probably accept a man with an old family name but no fortune. Laura knew it would be a good match for both of them. The fact that she felt sick with envy to think of Lydia and Dexter together was something she would have to keep to herself. Her ungovernable feelings were her own problem.

A tide of panic rose within her as she realized that if Dexter and Lydia married it would bring him into the Cole family and therefore closer to his own daughter. Except that she seldom saw Faye and Henry socially, of course, and they had never showed any interest whatsoever in Hattie. That was the way it would have to stay, Laura thought. But it was d.a.m.nably awkward for in the small world of the Ton people were always falling over distant relations and it was most unlikely she could hide Hattie from Charles's family forever. She sighed as she felt the web of deceit weave a little tighter about her. It was starting to be a tangled web indeed and one that taunted her with a lifetime of emptiness.

"I will leave you to renew your acquaintance with Mr. Anstruther," she said wearily. She had seen how Faye's face had sharpened into interest to have an eligible gentleman in her sights. "I am sure that he will be delighted to see you again."

"He is extremely handsome, but he has no money, has he?" Faye said thoughtfully, sizing Dexter up like a horse trader. "Still, that should make him grateful to secure a duke's daughter in marriage."

"Mama!" Lydia gasped, turning bright red at her mother's barefaced gall.

"What?" Faye looked impatient. "There is no need to be missish, Lyddy. We all know why we are here, so you had better give him some encouragement."

Laura shot Lydia a sympathetic glance as the poor girl looked as though she was about to bolt from the ballroom.

"Yes, Mama," Lydia said, in a stifled whisper.

As Laura went out Faye was already dragging Lydia across to accost Dexter whilst Henry watched with the calculating expression of a man working out how much the wedding was going to cost him. Laura saw Dexter take Lydia's hand and bow over it and the same shocking spear of jealousy pierced her to the core like a physical pain.

When she reached the door she could not prevent herself from looking back. Dexter was leading Lydia into the set that was forming for a country-dance. He did not look at Laura. It seemed he had already forgotten her.

LYDIA COLE WAS an observant girl. She had already noticed that Dexter Anstruther, though pretending to be utterly indifferent to Laura, had watched her covertly all the way out of the ballroom. She had felt the tension in his body as he led her into the country-dance. She had even noticed that although Dexter was making perfectly pleasant conversation with her, part of his mind was preoccupied with something-or someone- completely different. She was not the main focus of his attention. In truth, she barely had his attention at all.

She was hugely relieved. Dexter Anstruther, with his tawny golden hair, his deep blue eyes, his commanding physique and authoritative presence, scared her to death. He was far too handsome, far too clever and generally far too overwhelming for her.

Lydia understood her mother's absolute determination to marry her off. She also knew that Dexter was looking for a rich wife. It should have been the perfect, convenient combination. Except that it was not, for she was sure that Dexter's feelings were already engaged elsewhere and she...Well, she had formed a tendre for a totally unsuitable man. She was almost certain that she had fallen in love at first sight.

She glanced over at Faye and sighed. The d.u.c.h.ess had the instinct of a major predator where her daughter's marriage prospects were concerned and was watching Lydia with a mixture of smugness and vague threat as though she was about to pounce on Dexter and carry him off to announce the banns immediately. Matters, Lydia thought, might well become complicated. She had to ensure that she did not end up being bullied into marrying Dexter and she had to try to cure herself of her hopeless pa.s.sion for another gentleman. She hoped she had sufficient will to succeed. She was not sure that she did.

Lydia glanced at Dexter's face as the steps of the dance brought them together. He smiled at her but she knew he was not thinking of her. She knew that all his interest, all his energies were concentrated on thinking about Laura. She s.h.i.+vered and felt a secret rush of relief that all the complex emotion and ruthless, sensual demand that she sensed in Dexter was not for her. Never in a million years could she deal with that. There was a hardness, a cynicism and a level of experience in him, for all his outward conformity, that she could not begin to handle.

But Laura could. She sensed that, too. She knew they were well matched and that they should be together.

Lydia sighed. She had lived long enough and knew well enough that things that were meant to be did not always happen as they should.

After that brief smile, Dexter's attention had wandered from her again. It did not matter in the least to Lydia, for she was no longer thinking of him, either. Across the ballroom her eyes met those of the gentleman who was the object of her affection. He held her gaze and smiled gently but meaningfully at her and she forgot everything else in that instant. It seemed that he was as interested in her as she was in him. The thought made her heart pound. Love at first sight felt wonderful.

CHAPTER SIX.

"SO," LAURA SAID TO her cousin, "when are you going to tell me what is wrong, Miles? You have been like a cat on hot bricks all afternoon."

They were standing in the long gallery watching Hattie as she played with the spinning top Miles had brought for her from Hamley's toy shop in London. Rachel was showing her how to use the little stick to get the top to whirl so fast that its bright colors all merged into a spinning rainbow and Hattie was squealing with excitement. The sun, s.h.i.+ning through the mullioned windows, illuminated her eager little face and brought out the chestnut tones in her black hair. At one point she looked up at Laura, her head tilted in precisely the same mannerism that Dexter had. Laura's heart missed a beat at the betraying gesture and she glanced quickly at Miles, but he appeared to be studying one of the portraits of some seventeenth-century Asthall ancestor with intense concentration.

On the threadbare carpet lay Miles's other gifts-a book of nursery rhymes, a set of tiny carved wooden animals and a doll dressed in pink with a matching bonnet. There was also a new dress for Hattie in crimson brocade, but Laura had insisted on putting that aside for Christmas so that Hattie did not become too ridiculously spoiled. He had also brought some presents for Laura herself-sugared almonds from Gunters and a book she had particularly wanted-and Laura was touched because she knew Miles's financial state was almost as hopeless as her own but he had insisted that she should not reimburse him.

Hattie had monopolized Miles for the first hour of his visit and Laura thought that he had coped admirably well. It was clear that a part of his mind was elsewhere, though, so whilst Hattie played with the top, Laura drew her cousin to one side.

"Miles?" she prompted, and her cousin straightened up and sighed.

"There is something that I need to talk to you about, Lal," he said. His gaze was fixed on Hattie and he spoke softly. "We need your help."

Laura looked at him sharply. She knew that tone, half firm, half apologetic. It meant that she was not going to like what she heard but she was going to have to do it anyway. She walked over to the carved bal.u.s.trade that overlooked the great hall below and rested her hands on its smooth wood.

"Lord Liverpool?" she asked quietly. "I always knew that though he said it was ended, that would not be the last of the matter."

Two years previously she had helped the Home Secretary in return for a free pardon for her role in the Glory Girls. The matter had been hushed up to avoid scandal and Liverpool had a.s.sured her that it would never be mentioned again, but Laura had not been naive enough to believe him. And now here was Miles two years later, asking for her help again, and she knew she could not refuse because Liverpool would always have the whip hand with what he knew about her.

"It is only information," Miles said soothingly. "We need to know anything you can tell us about Warren Sampson. Or rather, Dexter needs to know because this is his case-"

"I have to speak to Dexter?" The words were out before Laura could help herself. Both Rachel and Hattie looked up, startled by Laura's horrified gasp, and Miles stopped, raising his brows. Laura moderated her tone quickly. Her heart was slamming now. "Miles, I have no objection to talking to you about Sampson but why must it be Mr. Anstruther?"

"Why not?" Miles said. "This is Dexter's case, Laura. I am in Fortune's Folly on quite another matter."

"I know," Laura said bitterly. "Fortune hunting! I saw you practicing your charm on Miss Lister last night." She lowered her voice still further. "And I hear from servants' talk this morning that you spent the night with one of the barmaids at the Morris Clown Inn. I don't approve of you, Miles, and if everyone hears of your rakish ways you will never catch a wife."

Miles laughed. "We are here to talk about the consequences of your misdemeanors, Lal, not of mine. Now, Dexter is leading this case for Lord Liverpool and I am only here to back him up, so he is the one you must speak to."

"But I can't talk to Mr. Anstruther," Laura protested. She felt panicky and breathless at the thought. "He was the person sent to arrest Glory four years ago," she argued. "He has never known that she was me. I mean that I was her...Oh, you know what I mean! How will he feel to discover-" She broke off in despair. When Dexter knew the truth he would see her rejection of him as an even more calculated and manipulative act. She could hardly bear the thought. "He does not know already, does he?" she asked.

"Not as far as I am aware," Miles said cheerfully. "Why does it matter? You have your pardon now, Lal. All you are doing is helping us with a bit of information. I am sure that Dexter will see the benefit of it and not feel too outraged that you evaded capture four years ago."

"I am sure of nothing of the sort!" Laura snapped. She was feeling very unsettled now. The prospect of going to Dexter Anstruther and revealing herself to have been Glory the highwaywoman was intolerable. She spread her hands in a gesture of despair. "You know how odiously stiff-necked and upright Mr. Anstruther can be, Miles! He is bound to lecture me on the evil of my ways and come over all virtuous and principled! Oh!" She threw her hands up. "I could not bear it!"

Miles was laughing. "I'll allow that Dexter can be rather righteous at times," he said, "but you must remind him that you took the role of Glory to avenge the poor and the weak. You are not without principle yourself, Lal."

"I doubt Mr. Anstruther will see it like that," Laura said bitterly.

"What does it signify?" Miles asked. "Unless..." He eyed her shrewdly. "Unless his good opinion matters to you."

"Hardly," Laura said untruthfully. "He already holds me in dislike," she added with a sigh. "This will see him despise me."

"You could have fooled me," Miles said caustically. "I saw you together at the a.s.sembly, Lal. Never have I felt so much de trop. Dislike is not what Dexter feels for you."

Laura could feel herself coloring up fierily. "Well, he will do after this," she said.

"But you will do it?" Miles pressed.

"Of course," Laura said tartly. "You have presented it as though I have a choice, Miles, but in fact I have none at all." She sighed again. "Tell Mr. Anstruther that I will meet him tonight at Half Moon Inn. I can scarcely have him calling here. All the village tabbies would notice and I am already quite scandalous enough. And please send to warn Josie to put the private parlor aside for us, as well."

"Do you need me to escort you?" Miles asked.

"Of course I do not!" Laura said crossly. "I was a highwaywoman, Miles. I have a brace of pistols and I can look after myself!" She stopped. "I beg your pardon," she said, seeing his quizzical expression. "I am tired and on edge. Thank you for offering but it is quite unnecessary. And I would ask you not to tell Mr. Anstruther my ident.i.ty in advance, Miles. If anyone has to explain this to him, it is me."

"As you wish," Miles said. "I will send word to Dexter. Thank you, Lal."

"Don't thank me," Laura said wearily. "I am only doing this because you have twisted my arm, Miles. I will tell Mr. Anstruther whatever I can to help his investigation and then it will be finished."

Finished indeed for Dexter and for her, she thought bitterly. In her heart she had known they had no future but this was a different matter entirely. After he learned the truth tonight he would never wish to see or speak to her again.

FOR A MAN who prided himself on his reputation for rect.i.tude, Dexter Anstruther had seen the interior of more seedy alehouses than he cared to remember. Half Moon Inn, an inn on the Skipton road, was a cut above many of the London drinking dens he had slunk around in as part of his work, but it still had a rough clientele. A few heads turned as he entered the taproom that night before men turned back to stare into their pints of ale with studied lack of interest. A strikingly pretty barmaid with a disreputably low-cut blouse smiled warmly on seeing him but her smile faded when he asked for Josie Simmons, the landlady. A moment later, Josie burst through the door, sending the flagons flying, and stood looking him up and down, her hands on her hips. She was a huge woman, not fat but simply built on epic lines. She was as tall as Dexter but about twice as broad and so solid that he understood why so few of the drunks turned nasty when she asked them to leave.

"Mr. Anstruther," she said. She did not sound welcoming. "I understand that Glory wants to see you."

They still spoke of Glory as a legend in the Yorks.h.i.+re Dales.

"No," Dexter said. "I want to see Glory."

Josie almost smiled. "Got blood rather than water in your veins these days, have you, Mr. Anstruther?" She roared. She grabbed his arm in a wrestling hold. "Well, Glory isn't here yet but come through...." She practically dragged him into a tiny cupboard of a room with faded chairs set before the fire.

"I'll fetch you a drink," Josie said, depositing him in one of the chairs. "Brandy do for you, Mr. Anstruther?"

"No, thank you," Dexter said, a little stiffly. He did not want a drink.

"You're going to need it," Josie said threateningly, disappearing back through the door.

Left alone, Dexter got up and paced across the tiny parlor, stopping to pull back the faded curtains and stare out into the darkness. Never before had he felt so nervous on an a.s.signment. He could not sit still and he certainly did not want a drink. When Miles had first told him that his informant was Glory and that she was willing to meet with him to throw some light on Warren Sampson and his a.s.sociates, Dexter's jaw had practically dropped to the floor. Miles had flatly refused to answer any of his questions, however, other than to tell him that Lord Liverpool had granted Glory a free pardon several years before and she was helping them out of goodwill alone. Dexter had then been left to watch the clock and to fret and worry fruitlessly about his a.s.signation with a woman who had been, four years before, both his nemesis and his secret heroine.

The door creaked open and Dexter turned. A woman was standing on the threshold wearing a dark blue cloak and matching blue mask. The hood was drawn close about her face. She was very tall and she held herself very straight. Dexter sensed defiance in her, as though she were daring him to make judgments, and something else, too, that could have been anxiety or fear. He straightened, too, and she came forward into the room, closed the door with precision behind her and raised her gloved hands to untie the mask.

He recognized her a second before she put back her hood.

It was Laura Cole. Understanding broke over him then and his heart turned over. It felt deep down as though he had already known the truth and yet had been too slow or too willfully blind to see.

"I am Glory, Mr. Anstruther," she said. "I understand that you want my help."

Laura Cole was the notorious highwaywoman, Glory.

The Dowager d.u.c.h.ess of Cole was a highwaywoman.

Even though he had already accepted that it must be true, Dexter felt another wave of utter stupefaction wash over him as he looked at Laura standing there before him.

He had always thought that he could not be shocked. He had seen so many terrible, desperate and downright dreadful things in his working life that he was sure he had become inured to the feeling. Now he knew that was not true. He was astonished, angry and appalled. He felt as though he did not know what to feel.

Laura was standing very straight and proud before him, her chin raised, a defiant gleam in her hazel eyes, but her hands, twisting together nervously in the folds of her dress, told a different story. She was frightened.

Dex cleared his throat, aware that he was finding it difficult to frame a suitable response. "If you are Glory," he said, "then I did want to see you."

Her gaze flickered to his face and away again. "I have been Glory on some occasions."

"What do you mean?"

"I rode as Glory sometimes and my cousin Hester Berry took the part the rest of the time," Laura said.

"And Miles is evidently aware of it." Dexter felt a twist of bitterness that his friend had known all this time and kept the secret from him.

"Miles only knew because he was the one who arranged a free pardon for me from Lord Liverpool two years ago," Laura said. She came forward slowly into the room. She took some logs from the pile by the hearth and built up the fire again, stirring it into flame. She seemed to need to have something to occupy her and though she appeared composed, Dexter thought she was still apprehensive beneath her outward calm. He watched her every move and thought he saw her hands shake a little.

He walked slowly across the tiny parlor then turned back to see her settle herself in one of the chairs before the fire. All the time he was thinking, and wondering how he could have been so stupid not to see the whole picture from the very first. When he and Nick Falconer had gone to Peac.o.c.k's Oak four years before with the express intention of hunting Glory down, Lady Hester Berry, Laura's cousin by marriage, had been the obvious candidate for the role. Yet the final time that the Glory Girls had ridden out to free Hester's husband, John Teague, somebody else had taken the role of Glory and that person must have been Laura. It was Laura who had held up the carriage conveying Teague to trial, Laura who had held Dexter himself at gunpoint, Laura who, as Glory, had kissed him before seducing him so thoroughly in her own persona later that very same day...

His heart lurched again and a sickness seemed to settle deep within him. At last his pa.s.sionate night with Laura and her subsequent rejection of him made perfect, if painful, sense. She was not simply a bored aristocrat taking and discarding lovers at whim.

She was worse than that.

She had made love to him for the one simple purpose of distracting him from his duty. She had dazzled him, bewitched him and deliberately diverted him so that he would forget all about hunting Glory and would be so utterly wrapped up in her that he would have no room in his mind for anything else at all.

It had worked.It had worked so well that he had fallen in love with her.

The anger and pain hit Dexter squarely in the solar plexus. He took a harsh breath, concentrating on mastering his fury. What mattered now was to take from her what information he could that would be useful to his investigation. His personal anger had to be controlled. He remembered the secret admiration he had cherished for the woman he had thought of as a popular heroine and the taste of betrayal was bitter in his mouth.

"To think that I never guessed it," he said. "I already knew you could shoot straight."

"Of course," Laura said. "I am a country girl born and bred."