Velvet Chains (Historical Romance) Page 6

  General Clinton interrupted the silence. "Lady Chatsworth, may I present to you your cousin, Edmund Kensworthy." The general smiled at Edmund's confusion.

  Season had paid no heed to the man to whom Lord Clinton had just introduced to her. Now he bowed politely. In a bold display, he took her hand and raised it to his lips. She felt a fool as he brushed her fingertips with his mouth.

  "I am indeed honored to meet you, my lady,"

  Edmund said, smiling brightly. He could hardly contain his joy or believe his good fortune. His future bride was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen!

  Season faced her future husband with a sinking heart. Why was she feeling such overwhelming disappointment? Edmund Kensworthy was a well-set man with a sincere light in his blue eyes. She would have considered him handsome had he not been standing next to the dark silent stranger.

  Season looked once more into those golden eyes as if beseeching their possessor not to allow all her girlhood fantasies to die so suddenly. She tried to find her voice, but even breathing seemed difficult. In her distress, she tried to hide her confusion by turning back to her cousin Edmund.

  "I. . . am pleased to make your acquaintance, sir," she said, hardly above a whisper.

  "I look forward to the time when we shall come to know one another, my lady," Edmund said, his good humor at finding his bride so pleasant to the eye obvious.

  "My father sends his regards," she said, for want of something better to say. Her whole being was attuned to the tall stranger who was still silently appraising her.

  "I am pleased indeed that my uncle should think of me," Edmund replied, suddenly noticing where his bride-to-be's attention was focused. As always, Lucas seemed to draw the eyes of any female away from him. Edmund was perturbed that it should be so with his intended bride. Good manners dictated that he should present Lady Chatsworth to Lucas, however, so he had no choice.

  "My lady, may I present my cousin, Lucas Carrington. Lucas, Lady Season Chatsworth."

  Season's eyes widened in surprise. "If the two of you are cousins, does that mean I am also related to you, Mr. Carrington?"

  "Lucas inclined his head. "I fear it isn't the case, my lady. You see Edmund is related to me on his mother's side, while he is aligned with you through his father. I am loath to tell you that I am no more than Edmund's country cousin from America."

  Lucas Carrington's voice was deep, and the sound of it sent shivers down Season's spine. She could read insolence in his eyes and she realized that Mr. Carrington was trying to be insulting to her. His rudeness fanned her anger to life, and she gave him her haughtiest glance.

  "What a pity," she said. Watching his golden eyes light up with amusement, she began to blush with maidenly shyness, and to cover her confusion she turned back to face Edmund Kensworthy.

  "You do not look anything like your American cousin, and he speaks with a strange accent," she told Edmund. Season felt herself flush again, and she was afraid that she was babbling like a silly schoolgirl. She heard deep laughter behind her and realized Lucas Carrington was amused by her foolish statement.

  "I am what you would term a colonial, my lady— thus the accent. If you will excuse me, I see a friend. It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady. Do enjoy your stay in my country." He bowed curtly and walked leisurely away. Season watched as he approached a lovely lady, took her hand, and led her away from the crowd.

  "I hope you will forgive my little jest earlier, Edmund," General Clinton said and laughed jovially.

  Edmund's laughter joined his. "You did have me squirming on tenterhooks for a while, sir," he admitted.

  Season paid little attention to the conversation Edmund held with the general; she was intent on watching Lucas Carrington take his partner out the side door to what she supposed would be the garden. Perhaps he is married and that woman is his wife, she thought, wondering why that speculation made her heart feel so heavy. She was having a strange reaction to a man she had met only a few moments ago.

  "I wonder if you would do me the honor of being my partner for the next dance?" General Clinton asked, breaking into Season's thoughts. "As your future husband's commanding officer, I feel it is my right."

  Season nodded her agreement and offered him her hand. She found that she and the general danced the minuet well together. It was the first time she had danced with anyone other than her dance instructor, and she was pleased to find that she had been taught well. At least she hadn't embarrassed herself by being clumsy.

  Later Season danced with Edmund and found him a delightful partner—smoother and more agile than the general had been. She was beginning to relax and enjoy herself.

  "What do you think of the Colonies?" Edmund asked when they came together at one of the turns.

  "I have seen very little of it so far. Mrs. Tibbs, the lady who is my chaperon, has been ill and unable to show me around."

  They drew apart; Season curtsied to her new partner and then moved back to Edmund.

  "We shall have to remedy this situation," Edmund told her, smiling. "I have a week's liberty and would be glad to show you around if you would allow it."

  "Thank you, I would like that," she said, beginning to warm to the man who would soon be her husband. He was indeed handsome and had a most charming manner. Season began to think he would make a very admirable marriage partner. She realized he wasn't the man her young heart had dreamed of, but he was far better than the odious Lord Ransford.

  When the music stopped, Edmund took her about the room, introducing her to his friends. Few of them had ever met the daughter of a duke, so they appeared stiff and formal when, in truth, they didn't know how to address Season.

  She felt most uncomfortable and was glad when Edmund led her to the morning room where the two of them could talk in private. He settled her on the sofa and then took a chair across from her.

  "I am aware of how difficult it has been for you to come to this country and to be thrown in with so many strangers, my lady."

  Season was immediately warmed by his kindness. "Please call me Season," she urged.

  He chuckled. "I think that would be most wise under the circumstances—will you call me Edmund?"

  "Yes, of course, Edmund."

  His eyes drifted across her face, and he couldn't help but draw in his breath at how lovely she was. "As I told you earlier, I have a week's liberty. Would you consider it bad form if I were to ask you to marry me this soon?"

  Season opened her fan nervously and closed it with a snap. "I... hardly know you. Could we not wait until we are better acquainted?"

  Edmund smiled. "Of course. Perhaps it would be wise. I will want to find a suitable house for you. I know everything here is new to you, including myself. We will wait until you feel more at home." His eyes fastened on hers. "I hope you will not delay too long."

  Season saw something in his eyes that she couldn't define. It was a deep searching look, and suddenly she knew he had heard the rumors that had been circulated about London by Lord Ransford.

  "Edmund ... I am aware that there is talk about me, but let me assure you—"

  "Do not speak of it, my lady," he said hurriedly. "We shall close the chapter of your past and make a new beginning. Before I met you tonight, I wasn't too happy about the prospect of making you my wife." He took her hand. "Now that we have met, I will feel honored to be your husband."

  Season couldn't help but be confused by this man. If he believed the wicked lies about her, why would he want to marry her? "You are very kind. I would like to tell you about myself, however. I believe I owe you that much."

  Edmund raised her hand to his lips. "I will not ask for your confession."

  Before Season could react, Edmund moved to sit beside her. His hand slid down her shoulder to boldly rest against her breast. For a moment she looked at him in shock, too stunned to react. As his fingers began to trace a pattern across her breast, her anger soared.

  "How dare you, sir!" she cried, pushing his hand away and quickly risi
ng to her feet. "You take liberties that are not allowed!"

  Edmund jerked himself to a standing position. "Don't try to play the innocent with me, cousin. I can assure you, your reputation has preceded you."

  Season shook her head. "I don't understand. You were so kind a moment ago."

  "Oh, I shall be kind to you, Season, but I will never trust you. Don't you think I was aware that you couldn't keep your eyes off Lucas Carrington tonight? Don't you think he was aware of it also?"

  "I…didn't... I thought he was you."

  "Listen well, Season. Lucas is my cousin and a friend, but that friendship doesn't mean we will be sharing your favors. When you take my name, I will expect you to honor me. I will not be the laughingstock of the regiment—do I make myself clear?"

  Season glared at the man's audacity. She had been willing to tell Edmund the truth about herself, but now her lips were sealed. She couldn't bear to think of being married to a man who didn't trust her. She had only met Edmund tonight, yet already she could feel his possessiveness and jealousy. If he was this bad now, what would he be like when they were married?

  "If you do not wish to marry me, I release you from any obligation," she said, hoping he would, indeed, release her.

  Before Season knew what was happening, he pulled her against him and forced her to look into his eyes. "Oh, no, Season, I will never release you. You will be my wife, and if you should ever play me false . .." His hand tightened on her chin, and Season blinked at the pain.

  She tried to move away as he lowered his head, knowing he was going to kiss her. She struggled as his lips covered hers. Season remembered the time Lord Ransford had tried to kiss her and she had bitten his lip. She didn't hesitate to do the same to Edmund. He swore loudly as he shoved her away.

  Her breasts heaving, Season clenched her fists tightly together. "You are a monster! I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth," she whispered through trembling lips.

  "Yes, you will. You have no choice. It will be my good name which will bring you respectability. Do you think now that I've seen you I will let you go?"

  Angry words tumbled to her lips, but before Season could utter them, a young corporal appeared at the door. "Begging your pardon, sir, but Sir Henry would like to see you in the study."

  Season watched as Edmund dabbed at his lip with a lace handkerchief. He waited until the corporal left the room before he spoke. "We will settle this later, Season," he said before stalking out of the room, his back straight and his face livid.

  Season felt her legs go weak. What manner of man was Edmund Kensworthy? Placing her trembling hands over her eyes, she held back her tears. So much for girlhood dreams of undying love. Something about Edmund frightened her more than Lord Ransford ever had. What could she do—where could she turn for help?

  Sitting down on the sofa, she buried her face in the soft cushion. She was in a war-torn land among strangers. Suddenly Season yearned for the comfort of Chatsworth. She was so miserable that she didn't hear a man enter the room. In truth she thought herself to be alone until she heard a deep voice.

  "Is there something amiss, Lady Chatsworth," Lucas Carrington inquired.

  Season's head snapped up and she stared into the face of the disturbing stranger. "I…no, nothing."

  Lucas sat down beside her, still gazing into her teary green eyes. He thought nothing could be so lovely and so unsettling as misty green eyes. This woman's unhappiness tugged at his heart. She seemed so young and innocent that he had to remind himself for the second time that night that Lady Chatsworth was not what she seemed.

  "I think differently, my lady. Something has caused your tears—or should I say someone?"

  "It is nothing for you to be concerned over," she told him, wishing he would go away. "I am but homesick."

  "Ah, perhaps there is a young gentleman in England that you pine for," Lucas suggested.

  "You have no right to ask that of me," she said, thinking he too had heard the vicious rumors about her. "You are far too bold, sir. I wish you would just go away and leave me to myself."

  "I think perhaps you need a friend, just now," he said, showing no indication that he would honor her wish for him to leave.

  "I just need some time alone," she said, swallowing hard. In truth she didn't really want to be alone. She desperately needed to talk to someone and Lucas Carrington seemed willing to listen.

  "So you miss your home," he stated, dipping his head so he could catch her eye. When she looked at him and nodded, he smiled crookedly. "I know everything is different to you here. You are not accustomed to our ways."

  "It's not just that. I don't like being in the city. I was raised in the country where I was allowed to feel free. I feel that I will suffocate with so many people about."

  Lucas' smile deepened. "Yes, I suppose one can have more freedom in the country away from prying eyes."

  Season looked at Lucas. Did his statement have a double meaning? she wondered. Was he aware of her tarnished reputation? "Do you perhaps live in the country, Mr. Carrington?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact I do. I have a plantation in Virginia."

  "I have read about Virginia. It is lovely, is it not?"

  "I think so, my lady. I would compare it to your English countryside."

  "You have been to England?"

  "Yes, on several occasions. My mother was from England, and I attended Eton with Edmund."

  Suddenly Season realized that it was improper for her to be alone with Lucas Carrington. She remembered Edmund's warning and knew she was committing a serious breach of etiquette. She did not want to start tongues wagging about her here in the Colonies.

  "I must go," she said, rising to her feet.

  "Must you leave?" Lucas asked, standing up and towering above her.

  "Yes, I'm sure it isn't proper for us to be seen together. It wouldn't be wise to start tongues to wagging. Gossip can be very cruel." Season lowered her head so she wouldn't have to look into those disturbing, golden eyes. When she looked up, she saw amusement behind his lowered lashes.

  "Have you found that to be so, my lady?"

  "Yes, of course ... I mean I have seldom been alone with a man. ... I didn't have too many gentlemen callers since I lived in the country."

  Season was startled when Lucas Carrington took her hand, and she could feel her face flush. The strong charge of electricity that flowed between them upset Season.

  "Maidenly blushes become you, my lady," he said in a deep voice.

  "Insolence doesn't become you, sir," she chided, jerking her hand from his grip.

  Deep laughter filled the room. "Tell me, underneath all that powder on your head, is your hair perchance red as your temper would indicate, or is it a brilliant golden color?"

  "You go too far, sir! If you are representative of the men from the Colonies, then I can well do without your acquaintance. I can tell you didn't benefit by your education at Eton." Season's temper was rising by degrees.

  Still he seemed amused by her. "It's true, I have not the pretty manners of your English-bred gentlemen, but take heart; you will find I am not the rule, but the exception. My fellow countrymen would be able to hold their own with a beautiful lady, such as yourself." A smile played on his sensuous lips, and his golden eyes sparkled with mirth.

  Season gathered up her gown and brushed past Lucas Carrington. "I will bid you good-bye, sir."

  His laughter followed her out the room.

  When she reached the ballroom, Season searched the crowd for Colonel Tibbs. The whole evening had gone from bad to worse as far as she was concerned. She was to marry a man who was insulting and who couldn't keep his hands off her, and she wondered what she had ever seen in Lucas Carrington. She was aware that he had been talking down to her with hidden remarks and innuendos. He was an egotist and a scoundrel, and it had been apparent that he did not think much of her.

  At last she spied Colonel Tibbs and headed in his direction. When she reached his side, he was deep in co
nversation with another officer, so she waited, not wanting to interrupt them.

  "Did I hear you say The Raven was sighted last night?" Colonel Tibbs asked.

  "Yes. He was spotted near the docks by two of my men," the other officer confirmed.

  "Good Lord, he grows bolder with time. I assume he made his escape as he always does?"

  "Yes, I'm afraid so. My men gave chase, but The Raven seemed to disappear into thin air."

  "Of whom do you speak?" Season asked, interested.

  "No one you need concern yourself with, my lady," Colonel Tibbs assured her.

  "You spoke of a Raven, but I gather you weren't speaking of a bird," Season said, refusing to be put off.

  "That's true," Edmund stated, coming up beside Season and giving her a slight smile. "The Raven is a great irritant to us. He sneaks about in the shadows, and it is said he sails on a phantom ship called the Andromeda."

  By now Sir Henry Clinton had joined the group as had several of the ladies. "The Raven is more than an irritant to the crown, Edmund," Sir Henry declared in his boisterous voice. "He seems to be in two places at once. Somehow he always knows how to strike at us where he can do the most harm."