Lord Frederick lurched purposefully towards the marquess, blood from his nose staining the white front of his night-gown.
Suddenly Belinda’s bedchamber seemed to be full of people. Hannah was there, as were the Judds, the countess and earl, the Jordans, and several servants.
‘What are the pair of you doing, punching each other in the middle of the night?’ demanded the countess.
‘I found Lord Frederick in my fiancée’s bedchamber,’ said the marquess calmly, ‘and took appropriate action.’
Belinda blinked at him in a dazed way.
There was a sudden silence. Then Sir Henry Jordan gave tongue. ‘Do you mean to tell me you were courting my daughter while you were already engaged to this … to this …?’
‘Careful,’ warned the marquess.
‘Oh, Lord Frederick,’ cried Penelope. ‘You are hurt. I cannot bear it.’
She swayed and then neatly fell into his arms. ‘The deuce,’ said Lord Frederick, pushing her into her mother’s arms. ‘Let me get at him.’
‘Stop it, both of you,’ ordered the countess, ‘and tell me what this is all about. Frederick! What are you doing in Miss Earle’s bedchamber?’
Lord Frederick opened his mouth and shut it again. Then he raised the hem of his night-gown and mopped his streaming nose. Penelope screamed and averted her eyes. The truculence was dying out of Lord Frederick’s face and he was beginning to look puzzled.
‘Demne,’ he said, scratching his head, ‘looks like I got hold of the wrong end of the stick. Miss Jordan told me this evening that Miss Earle was no better than she should be, and so I decided to try for a bit of sport. Then when Frenton walked in, stands to reason I thought Miss Earle was his … er … little friend, if you take my meaning. Now Frenton says he’s engaged to her.’ He rounded on Penelope. ‘Why did you tell me such a hum?’
‘They cannot be engaged,’ gasped Penelope. ‘They only met the other week for the first time.’
‘It was love at first sight,’ said the marquess in an expressionless voice. ‘I am sorry I hit you, Frederick, but you were misled. My fiancée has suffered enough upset and distress. I suggest you go to bed and let me talk to her.’
‘There’s something havey-cavey in all this,’ protested the earl. ‘You never said anything about being engaged to Miss Earle when you arrived, and yet you must have known she was one of the stage-coach passengers.’
‘I am of a shy nature,’ said the marquess, ‘and my love for Miss Earle made me even more shy. Besides, I was stricken with remorse at having let her travel ahead on the stage in this weather.’
Belinda sat up in bed, unable to move or speak. The sheer gladness that had flooded her body when he had first said she was his fiancée was quickly ebbing away. The marquess’s eyes held a mocking glint now. He was making fools of the Twittertons and the Jordans, that was all.
One by one they all went out, all except Hannah Pym, who stood her ground.
‘You, too, Miss Pym,’ said the marquess.
‘Are you really engaged?’ asked Hannah.
‘Yes,’ said the marquess.
‘No,’ squeaked Belinda.
‘So,’ said Hannah, folding her arms, ‘what is going on?’
The marquess sighed impatiently. All he wanted was to be shot of Hannah Pym and to kiss Belinda Earle’s delicious mouth. He had said Belinda was his fiancée on the spur of the moment and to save her reputation. But now it seemed like an excellent idea. He would have Belinda Earle and that mouth of hers for his sole property for the rest of his life and he found the idea enchanting. On the other hand, he still felt guilty at having behaved towards Belinda in such an ungentlemanly way in the first place, and he had just made a noble gesture. So he opened his mouth and proceeded to put his foot in it.
‘It was all I could think of,’ he said. ‘Frederick has obviously been misled by Miss Jordan’s malicious and jealous gossip, although when I first saw Frederick entering here, I thought Miss Wimple might have had a hand in it. I had to save Miss Earle’s reputation, and so I said she was my fiancée.’
Belinda groaned and sank down on the pillows and drew the blankets over her head.
‘So now what are you going to do?’ asked Hannah.
‘Why, marry her, of course!’
‘Does she want to marry you?’
The marquess looked at Hannah in blank amazement. When did any woman not want to marry a wealthy marquess?
‘Go on, ask her, while I am still here,’ said Hannah grimly.
The marquess approached the bed. He tugged down the covers. Belinda’s furious eyes glared up at him. ‘Will you marry me?’ he asked.
‘No, I will not,’ said Belinda, and jerked the covers up over her face again.
The marquess swung round. ‘Do leave us, Miss Pym. Miss Earle is not your concern.’
‘No, I will not, sirrah. Miss Earle does not want you and so I shall stay right here until you leave.’
Belinda heard Hannah’s words, and instead of being grateful to her, she was suddenly and irrationally furious. Was her life always going to be dogged by middle-aged people who did not think she had a mind of her own?
She struggled up from under the blankets again. ‘I can fight my own battles, Miss Pym. Pray do as his lordship requires.’
‘I cannot argue with you, Miss Earle,’ said Hannah severely. ‘But I am going to fetch Miss Wimple. You are her concern and she should be here.’
Hannah marched out but left the door open.
Belinda surveyed the marquess with a militant eye. He was still in his evening dress and his hair was powdered. His eyes looked aloof and remote. ‘Well?’ demanded Belinda sarcastically. ‘Tell me all about this love at first sight.’
He sat down on the bed and looked down at her. ‘I was trying to save your reputation.’
‘Good!’ said Belinda, her eyes flashing. ‘Now you have done that … go away.’
It was obviously the moment to tell her he loved her, but his pride would not let him. He had already been made too vulnerable by this girl who could wrench his heart-strings so easily. She did not love him, he thought sadly, or she would not look so contemptuous and angry.
Then he began to find himself becoming angry. There was that mouth, just below his. He put his hands on either side of her body and leaned down. He bent his head … and passionately kissed a mouthful of blanket. Belinda had dived under the covers again. He stood up and stripped the covers off her and threw them on the floor. He knelt on one knee on the bed, grasped the front of her night-gown and jerked her up against him. ‘Now, you will kiss me,’ he said.
Belinda opened her mouth to scream. He covered her mouth with his own and began to kiss her with single-minded intensity. Belinda beat at his shoulders and then pulled at his powdered hair, giving it several painful yanks, but he had the rest of her body and mouth imprisoned. The hand holding the front of her gown was pressed tightly against her breast. Her body was turning to liquid fire and her lips were beginning to tremble beneath his own.
Hannah Pym stood in the doorway again. For a short moment, shock kept her silent. Such blatant passion was indecent. They were both alike. They must get married and leave the world safe for decent people who did not know the meaning of lust.
‘My lord!’ she called loudly.
The marquess dropped Belinda on the bed and then looked at Hannah with a basilisk stare. Hannah felt her authority shrivel before that stare. Hannah, the gentlewoman of independent means, fled; even Hannah, the housekeeper ruling over a large staff, melted away. She could feel herself back in the kitchens of Thornton House as a scullery maid. She felt like apologizing for her very existence, and only Duty, stern daugher of the voice of God, made her give herself a mental shake and say in a strong voice, ‘They’ve gone; fled. Miss Wimple and Mr Biles, and a footman tells me they’ve taken the earl’s carriage!’