Conspiracy Of Hearts. Helen Dickson
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on her own confusion, and she was determined that tonight she would be more in control of her emotions and herself and set the marquess of Thurlow agog.
She chose to wear an extremely fetching ruby-coloured velvet gown, one Andrew had brought as a present for her from Italy. The full skirt draped luxuriantly over hoops, and the sleeves were puffed, the ruche-edged stomacher emphasising the slimness of her waist. The collar, elevated at the back, framed her delicate, heart-shaped face.
After her maid had quickly and deftly arranged her hair in soft, high curls and Serena felt confident that she looked her best, she went downstairs to the great hall with its vaulted, rib-caged roof, unable to think of a plausible excuse to remain in her room. A murmur of voices came from one of the chambers leading off from the hall. Serena advanced towards it, her footsteps on the tiles heralding her arrival. Her father and Lord Brodie were standing before the giant hearth where a fire burned bright, the lively flames sending dancing shadows over the richly tapestried walls.
At fifty-five, Sir Henry should have been a rich man. The fact that he was a relatively poor man was largely due to his own recklessness throughout his life—the large recusant fines, the funding of the Catholic cause and the amount of money he spent on his beloved horses. He was still a handsome man, jovial and of average height, with twinkling blue eyes and thinning dark hair liberally sprinkled with grey. Like that of King James, a small square-cut beard covered his chin.
Conversation between the two men ceased when Serena made her entrance. When she stepped into the range of Kit’s vision, he could not believe the beautiful and well-groomed lady—who seemed the very spirit of virtue and moved with all the poise, grace and cool dignity of a queen—was the same bedraggled shrew he had encountered earlier.
Serena’s gaze flicked over Lord Brodie before coming to rest on her father, sensing his displeasure that she had absented herself from his side on his guest’s arrival.
‘Ah, Serena! You have finally deigned to grace us with your presence,’ Sir Henry rebuked. ‘Kit, may I present my daughter, Serena, and apologise most profusely for her absence on your arrival. I would like to say she is not usually so absent-minded or so ill-mannered, but I am sorry to confess that when other matters of interest crop up to occupy her mind she is forgetful of all else.’
At nineteen, the frequent flashes of childlike ardour and deep affection in Serena’s eyes whenever they settled on her father blinded him to her wilfulness and often reprehensible behaviour. Despite his gentle reproach there was a warm admiration in his eyes when they rested on her. It was no secret that he doted on his daughter unashamedly, and was in no hurry to marry her off. She was just one more reason why he had not yet succumbed to the quiet charms of Mrs Davis.
Kit watched Serena approach with interest. She came to stand close, tilting her head as she gazed into his handsome visage from beneath eyebrows delicately sweeping like a winged bird’s. A bloom of rosy pink heightened her high cheekbones, and her eyes—emerald green orbs flecked with brown—were thickly fringed with silken black lashes tipped with gold. The firelight gave her hair a rich warm hue the colour of rosewood, and the heady fragrance of rosewater on her skin was intoxicating.
Kit felt his pulses leap and the blood go searing through his veins at her nearness and the coyness of her little smile as she demurely lowered her eyes. Drawing his dark eyebrows together in a frown he became cautious, strongly suspecting he was being beguiled and led into a trap. Serena lifted her gaze, the eyes beneath the thick fringe of lashes steady and disconcerting, shining with an intelligent brightness which proclaimed an agility of wit and a craving to taste all that life had to offer.
Her beauty fed Kit’s gaze, rekindling the ache he had felt earlier. Never had he met a woman who intrigued him more, but because he had given his troth to another, the tantalising Mistress Serena Carberry was forbidden fruit—and he was beginning to thank God for it. She would bring him nothing but trouble.
‘Mistress Carberry, I am honoured to meet you.’ Kit’s eyes met hers with amusement as he bowed with a grand, sweeping gesture.
‘Lord Brodie,’ she acknowledged.
‘Don’t be disheartened,’ he murmured, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. His dark eyes, holding hers, sparkled with humour when he felt her fingers tremble involuntarily on coming into contact with his lips—which told him she was not altogether as in control of her senses as she would like him to think. ‘You are forgiven.’
Snatching her fingers from his strong hold, Serena favoured him with a sweet smile and feigned a slight curtsy. ‘Thank you, sir. I apologise for keeping you waiting.’
‘You are forgiven,’ Kit replied, his voice deeply resonant, his eyes, openly unabashed, displaying their appraisal of her attire as they travelled the full length of her body. ‘The wait was well worth it,’ he murmured.
Kit’s perusing eye left no curve untouched, no article of clothing intact, until Serena felt completely naked. She felt a sudden impulse to retreat before his smouldering gaze, but held her ground admirably.
‘We are waiting to eat, Serena,’ said her father with impatience, unaware of the secret play that was taking place between the other two as he led the way into the dining room. ‘The meal is getting cold.’
With reluctance Serena placed her slender fingers on Lord Brodie’s gallantly proferred arm to be escorted into the dining room. Feeling his gaze on her face, she looked up at him inquiringly. ‘Is something troubling you, my lord?’
‘Forgive me. I do not mean to stare, but you seem familiar. I have a rather peculiar feeling that we have met somewhere before. But then, I ask myself, how can that be? I am not one to forget a face—especially not when one is as unforgettable as yours.’
Kit spoke casually, his words faintly teasing and meaningful. In alarm Serena’s fingers tightened on his arm and she threw him a savage look, appalled that he might be about to betray her misdemeanour to her father when she had begged him not to. Earlier, her qualms had been eased by his promise not to speak of the incident, and she was incensed that he should continue to find so much humour in what, to her, had been the most brutal and embarrassing experience of her entire life.
‘I can assure you we have not met before,’ she answered firmly.
Kit smiled calmly into her glare, a corner of his lips lifting roguishly. ‘No? Then I must take your word for it.’
‘Perhaps it’s the likeness my daughter bears to Dorothea,’ said Sir Henry, with a low chuckle. ‘They are very much alike.’
Bemused, Serena glanced from one to the other. ‘Dorothea? Do you know my cousin, Lord Brodie?’
‘Kit has recently become betrothed to Dorothea, Serena,’ her father explained. ‘No doubt she will tell you all about it when you visit Carberry Hall in a day or so.’
Serena stared at Kit in astonishment, and so amazed was she at this announcement that she almost overstepped the bounds of decorum and laughed out loud. It was impossible to believe that this overbearing man was to marry her gentle cousin. Her eyes were bright with humour as they met his with disbelief. ‘You? You are to marry Dorothea?’
Kit’s black eyebrows lowered in a frown. ‘You find it amusing that I am to marry your cousin?’
‘I find it strange and intriguing that someone as fainthearted as Dorothea would agree to wed someone so—so—’
Kit raised a questioning eyebrow, watching her closely. ‘So what?’
‘So very different from the type of man I expected her to settle for.’
‘And do you find it so incredible that she has settled for me?’
‘Yes. I can only think that my cousin must have taken leave of her senses.’
A smile touched Kit’s lips. ‘I can assure you she has not.’
‘Nevertheless, you cannot know each other well, otherwise she would have mentioned you to me.’
‘And