The Duke's Secret Heir. Sarah Mallory
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elderly admirer led her back to the dance floor for a lively gavotte and when it ended she was approached by several other gentlemen, all hopeful of a dance, but she announced her intention of sitting out for the rest of the evening. She could not see Max, but she knew he was somewhere in the crowded room, watching her. She could feel his presence, menacing and dangerous. She considered leaving early, but was afraid he might follow her home and that was the last thing she wanted.
When supper was announced Ellen decided there was safety in numbers and headed for the large table that ran down the centre of the room. With relief she saw an empty chair beside Georgie Arncliffe and she hurried towards it.
The Arncliffes had come to Harrogate two years ago, when Frederick’s doctors had advised him to try the spa waters, and Ellen and Georgie had immediately struck up an acquaintance. The fact that they both had young children had drawn them together, but their lively minds were very much in harmony and the acquaintance soon blossomed into a firm friendship. Now, Georgie’s smile of welcome was balm to Ellen’s battered emotions.
‘I did not know you had returned, Ellen. Welcome back, my dear.’
‘Thank you.’ Ellen took the outstretched hand and squeezed it gratefully as she sank down on to the chair. ‘I am so pleased to see you and Frederick tonight.’
‘As if you did not know almost everyone here.’ Georgie laughed. ‘And I had been hoping to impress you by introducing Frederick’s good friend, but alas Lady Bilbrough has stolen my thunder.’
Georgie turned to smile across the table and Ellen’s heart sank when she saw the Duke of Rossenhall lowering himself into the vacant seat opposite. He gave her a look that was nothing short of predatory.
‘So,’ he said. ‘We meet again, Mrs Furnell.’
Frederick Arncliffe looked up. ‘You two are acquainted?’
Ellen kept her eyes on Max, wondering if he would tell them the truth; that they had met in Egypt four years ago, when he and his men, a mixture of English deserters and Mameluke warriors, had come upon two Englishwomen with their woefully few guards and had offered them protection. But it was Georgie who laughingly replied.
‘Why, yes, they are, my love,’ she said. ‘His Grace requested an introduction from Lady Bilbrough.’
‘What man would not?’ Max murmured with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
‘Indeed, Mrs Furnell is one of the diamonds of our society,’ put in Mr Rudby, sitting close by.
‘So I am informed,’ replied Max. ‘The golden widow.’
Ellen’s cheeks flamed. He made it sound like an insult, although no one else appeared to notice. True, Georgie gave a little tut of disapproval, but Frederick merely laughed and shook his head at her.
‘Pho, my dear, Mrs Furnell is not offended. She knows it is a compliment to her radiant beauty.’
‘Yes,’ the Duke agreed quietly. ‘I have been unable to think of anyone else all evening.’
‘Indeed?’ Ellen’s brows rose. She turned to Fred and said coolly, ‘I fear your friend is a breaker of hearts, Mr Arncliffe.’
Sitting a few seats along from the Duke, General Dingwall gave a bark of laughter. ‘How could he not be? Handsome young dog, with a title and a fortune, ’tis no wonder that all the ladies are hot for him.’
‘But I was not always titled, or rich. A few years ago I was merely Major Colnebrooke of a Regiment of Foot.’ He leaned back, his long, lean fingers, playing with the stem of his wineglass. ‘Then ladies were more inclined to run away.’
There was uproar at this, hoots of laughter from the gentlemen while from the ladies came disclaimers that their sex would be so fickle. Only the Duke and Ellen appeared unmoved. She felt his eyes upon her as she concentrated on her supper, cutting the meat into precise little portions. Each mouthful tasted of ashes, but pride forced her to continue. How dared he chastise her? What had he expected her to do, once his deceit was discovered?
And your own deception?
She would not think of that. She had done what was necessary to survive.
The scrape of fiddles heralded the start of another dance and the supper party began to disperse. The Duke pushed back his chair.
‘May I escort you back to the ballroom, Mrs Furnell?’
‘Thank you, Your Grace, but that will not be necessary.’
‘What, madam, are you afraid of me?’
Slowly she came to her feet, saying with a laugh, ‘Of course not, Your Grace.’
But the look in his eyes told her she should be. Very afraid.
Ellen stood, waiting, while the Duke made his way around the table to join her. His step was firm, assured, and he had the lithe grace of a big cat. When they had first met she had likened him to a lion, with his shaggy mane of thick, wavy fair hair. It was shorter now, and darker than she remembered, but four years ago his locks had been bleached by the Egyptian sun. Now it had golden highlights that glinted in the candlelight.
All that glitters...
Mrs Ackroyd had called them a golden couple, but Ellen had quickly discovered that Max was not gold but dross. Foolishly she had allowed herself to be taken in by his charm, so blinded by love that she had ignored her friend’s advice to wait, and had entered into a hasty marriage, only to discover within weeks that it was all a pretence.
Now the man who had broken her heart and ruined her life was towering over her.
‘Well, madam, shall we go?’
With a smile she took his arm. She had vowed that no one would ever know how foolish she had been, how much she had suffered. Least of all Max Colnebrooke.
* * *
Max kept his pace slow, measured, as he escorted Ellen back to the ballroom. The shock of seeing her again after all these years had abated. Upon his return to England, four years ago, he had searched for her, hoping against all the evidence that she had come back to him and not forsaken him for the French Consul, but it had been in vain. She had left Egypt under her new lover’s protection, leaving him no word of explanation. Not even goodbye. His temper was under control now and it must stay that way. His anger against the woman beside him had cooled long ago, he would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that her betrayal had almost destroyed him. But there were questions he wanted to ask, things he needed to know.
‘We must talk,’ he said.
‘No, we must dance.’ She was smiling, but not at him. She lifted her hand to acknowledge those already on the dance floor who were inviting them to join in.
He could refuse, he could drag her away to some secluded spot, but how would that look? Everyone would say he was besotted with the golden widow and he had no intention of adding to her consequence in that way. Max took his place in the line. It was a country dance and would go on for some time, perhaps as much as an hour. He almost ground his teeth in frustration, but there was nothing he could do now. Talking would have to wait.
The fellow standing beside him, a Mr Rudby, Max recalled, looked at Ellen in surprise.
‘Dash it, I thought you was not going to dance again tonight, ma’am.’ He laughed and threw a sly glance at Max. ‘I am glad you persuaded her, Your Grace, for now I can reserve the next for myself. And I’ll take no denials, madam, it would be dashed uncivil of you to refuse!’
Max saw the look of distaste in Ellen’s eyes at this forthright speech. She could not reject Rudby without giving serious offence and Max knew he could not stand up with her again. He silently cursed these rigid ballroom conventions; he would be obliged to invite