Undesirable Liaison (30 page)

Jerome groaned.
‘For the Lord’s sake, don’t get upon your high ropes.’

But the pent-up
emotion found expression in Flo’s anger.

‘You began it,
did you not? I tried to stop, but you came to me last night. I have
said I will leave, but you will not let me. Now, because you are
forced to desist, you choose to believe you are the more hard done
by. Then let me tell you, my lord Langriville, it is not so. What
you have awakened in me has spiralled out of my control, and if I
am chewing my pillows in torment this night, you are to blame for
it!’

To her chagrin,
amusement crept into his features. An infuriated sound escaped her,
and she would have flown from him but that he caught her,
imprisoning her in a close embrace.

‘Ah, Flo, Flo,
my impassioned little captive! Believe me, nothing could give me
greater pleasure than to find a myriad ways to make it up to
you.’

She struggled
against him. ‘Do you think that is what I want?’

‘What do you
want, my bird?’

The endearment
caused a prickle at her eyelids and she fought the rising lump in
her throat. She uttered words from the heart.

‘To be free.
Set me free, Jerome.’

He released her
at once, confusion spreading across his face.

‘I don’t
understand you. Is it all against your will? Not now, Flo,
surely?’

‘Now and
always,’ she told him, certain she spoke nothing but the truth. ‘I
cannot do this. It is not in me, Jerome. I am not my mother.’

With which, she
turned blindly from him and hurried away, uncaring whether or not
he might make any move to stop her. The Wild Wood rustled in her
ears as she went, and the first drops of rain gave blessed
concealment to the tears on her cheeks.

Chapter
Eleven

The ride
provided altogether too much time for thought. Sheinton might
accompany him, but the necessity to converse vanished when the
horses were set to a canter. Jerome found his mind turning yet
again on the insoluble difficulty confronting him.

If nothing
else, he reflected, his cold demeanour—wholly unfeigned—towards his
mother’s companion, must have convinced his cousin there was
nothing between them. Had any such suspicion occurred to him. There
was no longer any sign of the oddity in his glance Jerome had
noticed the first day, which led him to the conclusion he had
imagined it.

On the other
hand, Theo’s prolonged visit chafed his temper. Had Florence Petrie
not confused and alienated him, he dared say he would have broken
his own determination and gone to her bed days since. It was near a
week, yet there was no diminution in his desire for her, to his
cost. But he knew not how to overbear the distress of her last
private words to him. The poignancy of her tone caused him an
unbearable ache, even in memory.

His mount must
have sensed his unease, for the horse’s stride lengthened,
straining towards a gallop. Jerking his attention back, Jerome
reined him in, dropping to a walk. The pursuing hoof beats followed
suit, and in a moment, Theo’s mount fell in beside him.

‘I thought you
were going to speed away then,’ commented his cousin, a little out
of breath.

‘Not on this
turf. Too many rabbit holes.’

‘I am relieved.
We must have ridden for miles.’

Jerome glanced
at him. ‘Tired? Do you wish to go back?’

Theo grinned.
‘Yes, but I’ll await your return from whatever clouds have been
claiming you.’

A frisson shot
through Jerome. Of annoyance or apprehension? ‘I can’t imagine what
you are at.’

‘Come now, old
fellow, will you pretend you are not embedded in some secret
trouble? I may have remained tactfully silent, but I am not blind.
It is not Letty again, is it?’

‘Letty? Good
God, no!’

‘Then there is
something. I knew it.’

Cursing
himself, Jerome tried to turn it off. ‘Your imagination is running
away with you, Theo. Let us turn back.’

He wheeled his
horse as he spoke, and his cousin did the same. Yet it was clear he
had failed to convince, for Theo took him up again the moment they
were ambling in the other direction.

‘My dear
Jerome, you will not put me off by this means. If I was prone to
flights of fancy, I should certainly be supposing you were wishing
me otherwhere. You have been as surly as a bear almost since my
arrival.’

How to refute
this exact truth Jerome knew not. His cousin’s advent was
peculiarly mistimed, and had precipitated the current dissatisfying
situation between himself and Florence. To say so, however, must
involve him in explanations he could not make. Aware Theo was
eyeing him in question, he sought in vain for an innocuous
response. He hesitated too long.

‘I see I am
right,’ sighed Theo. ‘In which case, I have only to ask what it is
I have done. Believe me, I have searched my conscience and can find
nothing with which to reproach myself concerning our
relationship.’

It was too
much. Jerome exploded.

‘For the Lord’s
sake, don’t talk such gammon! You know you have done nothing. If I
am surly, as you put it, is it any different from how I have been
any time these seven years?’

‘Yes,’ said his
cousin unexpectedly. ‘Very different. You were used to exude
bitterness, old fellow. Understandable, one feels. But now—what
shall I say? If I did not know better, I should imagine you were
grieving.’

‘
Grieving
?’

Jerome turned
his head, staring at the man in shock.

‘Is it so odd?
After all, you have been holding a torch for Letty for so long. Is
it any wonder you should grieve at her passing?’

A short bark of
laughter escaped Jerome. ‘That’s your conclusion, is it?’

Theo’s green
eyes showed puzzlement. ‘I should not have thought it before she
died, but I cannot otherwise account for the heaviness of your
spirits.’

A jolting
realisation threw Jerome. By heaven, that was it! His spirits were
as heavy as bedamned. How well Theo read him. Better than he did
himself. He recalled their encounter in London, when his cousin had
demonstrated a similar shrewdness. He should have remembered it. He
did remember it. It was why he had warned Florence, fearing the
man’s piercing eye would undo them. Now it appeared he had given
himself away through a different channel.

He toyed with
the notion of pretending it was his wife’s decease that had brought
him down. Disgust rose inside him. No. It would demean Florence,
and that he could not bear.

‘The reason is
my business. But you may be sure it has naught to do with
Letty.’

To his
surprise, Theo made no answer to this. His gaze withdrew from
Jerome’s and he rode in silence. Glad of it at first, Jerome took
opportunity to reflect upon his discovery.

He had been
depressed ever since that last exchange with Flo. The reason leapt
at him, so obvious he wondered he had not realised it before.
Engrossed in her, he had yet failed to understand the change in
himself. And this time, he knew the feeling was real. It was
utterly different from his experiences with Letty. He never had
felt towards his sometime wife the way he felt towards Florence.
The witch truly had enchanted him.

The moment of
ironic amusement was brief, preceding the remembrance of all the
difficulties standing in the way. Not least of them, his damned
cousin. The fellow had not again spoken, but his reticence
engendered in Jerome a creeping sense of unease. All the puzzlement
that had beset him upon Sheinton’s arrival came rushing back, and
it occurred to him the conversation had not been accidental.

Had Theo been
waiting an opportunity speak out? What was in his head to make him
probe in such a fashion? A memory sneaked up into the surface of
his mind. A remark of his cousin’s that first day. About his having
failed to take up references. Jerome became convinced he had
stumbled upon a clue.

‘What is it,
Theo?’ he demanded without preamble. ‘What have you against Miss
Petrie?’

His cousin
jumped, turning a face of surprise to Jerome. It was quickly
masked, and a hasty laugh dredged up, which Jerome judged to be
spurious.

‘I was not
aware we were discussing Miss Petrie, old fellow. What in the world
makes you ask me such a question?’

Jerome gave an
impatient snort. ‘Don’t play games with me, Theo. I may have been
too preoccupied to see before, but the scales have fallen from my
eyes. You came here with a purpose, and not from a social point of
view. What was it?’

‘Really, my
dear Jerome, I cannot imagine—’

‘Will you cease
this pretence? I am in no mood for it, Theo, and so I warn
you.’

‘You are in a
mood ripe for madness, it seems,’ retorted his cousin. ‘And you
accused me of imagining things.’

Doubt seized
Jerome. Was he mistaken? That, or his cousin was a more
accomplished actor than he had given him credit for. He would not
retract. Let the fellow at least understand, if he was playing a
deep game, that Jerome was not the gull he took him for.

Silence reigned
for some time. The horses had entered the grounds of Bedfont Place
before Theo spoke again, with a studied carelessness that put
Jerome on his guard.

‘If we are to
be truthful, old fellow, I am in agreement with your esteemed mama.
It is the younger Petrie who has captured my interest.’

Startled,
Jerome gazed at him. ‘Belinda interests you? In what way?’

Theo laughed.
‘Oh, not in any romantical sense, be sure. A gawkish child, with
little to recommend her bar an appealing impishness.’ He cast a
rueful look at Jerome. ‘Pray don’t betray me to the elder, old
fellow, for I fear she would be excessively displeased to know her
sister’s lessons have been abandoned these many days.’

‘How do you
mean?’

‘While you are
closeted with your precious
Iliad
, my dear Jerome—’

‘It is the
Odyssey
, as it happens,’ corrected Jerome, fleetingly
recalling his futile attempts to put Flo out of mind by burying
himself in Latin prose.

Theo gave a
mock little bow. ‘Whatever Latin tome it is that currently keeps
you holed up in your library. I, on the other hand, have been
passing my afternoons in the entertaining company of young Belinda.
You need not look censoriously, for we have been chaperoned most
effectively by Cousin Avice.’

‘Good God! And
Florence knows nothing of this?’

‘Lord, no.
Belinda assures me she would unfailingly disapprove and put a bar
in the way of our enjoyment.’

Jerome was
conscious of a degree of annoyance out of keeping with the event.
It was nothing to him, after all, if Belinda and his mother chose
to divert themselves in the company of a pleasant young man. But
that Florence was being deliberately deceived by the one person who
owed her allegiance, he found intolerable. It was disgraceful
conduct, and he ought to take steps to stop it.

‘I cannot
undertake to keep it secret from Miss Petrie,’ he said curtly. ‘You
should not have told me if you did not wish her to know of it.’

He turned his
head, about to add his own instant prohibition of the habit
continuing, and caught a look of smug satisfaction on his cousin’s
face. Shock ripped through him. Damnation! He had been inveigled
into betraying himself.

The stables
were within sight, and Jerome drew rein, pulling his horse to a
standstill before they came within earshot of his servant. Words
erupted from his mouth.

‘That was
despicable! I don’t know what you are up to, Sheinton, but if you
have any more tricks up your sleeve, save them for your London
cronies. I am sure they will welcome your return.’

With which
parting shot, he kicked in his spurs and set his mount speeding
towards the stables.

***

Unable to
sleep, Florence got up out of her bed and donned her robe. For a
while, she contented herself with wandering up and down her
bedchamber, her thoughts in turmoil. What had changed? It had been
hard enough maintaining an appearance of normality, Lord knew, in
the face of Jerome’s cold air of indifference. Why then tonight had
he all of a sudden directed upon her that look of intensity?

Dinner had
become an ordeal these last days to be got through by sheer will
power. She had lost the battle to keep her sister from joining
them. But Bel, for a wonder, conducted herself with unprecedented
modesty. She neither put herself forward, nor made any attempt to
engage Mr Sheinton’s attention. Once or twice a pert comment passed
her lips, but a look from Flo had been enough to contain her.

Lady
Langriville and the guest kept up a languid flow of conversation,
but Jerome had been markedly uninvolved, adding to it only when he
was rallied by his cousin. Worst to bear had been his disinterest
in Florence. She knew it was feigned. She was herself demure to the
point of coldness. But it hurt nonetheless, and made the food turn
to ashes in her mouth.

At night, she
missed him unendurably. Particularly because she guessed he would
have overborne his own scruples and come to her, had she not
repulsed him.

But the
discovery she had made, at the instant of realising why she could
not live as his mistress, had been all too overwhelming. She could
no more have suppressed her despair than fly to the moon. She knew
her words had wounded him, but there was nothing she could do. How
explain the truth? She was glad to think he must have
misinterpreted her outburst. He could not know—must never know—how
it had been prompted by the recognition that she was sickeningly in
love with him.

She had cried
out for an impossible freedom. How could Jerome free a heart
already given?

Mama’s warnings
no longer bore weight. Flo had been mad with desire and seen it
satisfied. She might have continued to enjoy his caresses, and
their aftermath, the memory of which haunted her sleeping and
waking. Yet she knew it to be impossible.