Page 24 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding

L ord Whilton’s icy tones cut through the fog in Flora’s head. She saw Matt’s brows snap together and she was suddenly alert to the very present danger. She summoned all her inner strength to face the Viscount, head up and smiling.

‘That is nonsense, Quentin. We have merely been dancing.’

‘But it was a waltz, my dear.’

Matt heard the menace behind the words. His hand itched to move, to reach for the sword he no longer carried, but that might be construed as an admission of guilt.

‘A waltz, yes,’ said Flora. ‘And if you had been present, I would have danced it with you.’ She stepped closer and took Whilton’s arm. ‘Now, shall we go into supper? I take it that is why you came to find me.’

‘Yes, it was.’ His cold gaze swept over Matt. ‘We will speak later, Mr Talacre. That is, unless you are leaving now?’

* * *

Despite the storm raging inside him, Matt conjured a smile of disdain.

‘Leave, before the ball has ended? I see no reason to do that. Until later, my lord.’ He gave a little bow and strolled away.

Confound it, I should not have come tonight!

he thought, walking off the dance floor.

Lady Condicote’s invitation had presented him with an opportunity he could not resist: the chance to see Flora again.

Since their meeting at Bellemonte he had not been able to get her out of his mind.

He had thought—hoped—it was a mere flirtation, but tonight, dancing with her, holding her in his arms for the waltz, had proved him wrong.

Flora had felt something, too, he would stake his life on that. He had seen it in her eyes, but whether it was infatuation, or something more, he did not know. Lord, what a coil!

* * *

‘What did you mean by dancing with that man?’ demanded the Viscount, as he escorted Flora out of the ballroom.

‘It would have caused comment if I had not.’

‘I forbid you to dance with him again.’

‘Then I suggest you quit the card room and dance with me for the rest of the evening,’ she retorted. ‘That was the reason for your coming, was it not? To dance the night away with me. ’

‘It was, yes.’

The admission gave her some satisfaction and she squeezed his arm.

‘Thank you, Quentin,’ she said, more warmly. ‘I shall look forward to it.’

They went into the supper room, where the Farnleighs were seated at one of the first tables they passed. Mr Farnleigh immediately jumped up.

‘It is quite a crush in here, my lord. I doubt you will find another table free now. Won’t you join us?’

‘Thank you, Aunt, we would be delighted!’ Flora replied before her companion could refuse and Lord Whilton acquiesced, but with only just enough grace to avoid comment. She had expected as much and, if he was quiet during the meal, she chattered quite enough for both of them.

She was desperate to avoid a tête-à-tête with Quentin until she had examined her own feelings. She had convinced herself that the kiss she had shared with Matt at Bellemonte meant nothing. It had been caused by the situation: the dancing, a balmy night and the attentions of a charming man.

Seeing Matt again tonight, laughing with him, dancing in his arms, had turned her ordered world upside down. She did not love Matt. How could she, on such a brief acquaintance? But the bigger question was, could she marry the Viscount?

She was not sure now that she wanted to do so, but the wedding was only weeks away. All the arrangements had been made, money spent, invitations sent out. To withdraw now would have serious consequences, for everyone. Even now she could hear her uncle’s response, if she told him of her doubts.

You would be a fool to throw away an excellent match and for what? A charming rogue you know nothing about. He has probably broken more hearts than you could count.

She could believe the last quite easily, but it made no difference to her wayward heart. She knew now she did not love Lord Whilton, so could she—should she—marry him?

* * *

Before supper was finished the effort of constantly chattering while her brain tried to wrestle with her problems had taken their toll. Flora fell silent, and when Mrs Farnleigh remarked that she was looking a little pale, she admitted that she had the headache.

‘Oh, my poor girl, that is not like you, I hope you are not sickening for something.’

‘No, no, it is merely the heat,’ muttered Flora.

‘Perhaps, my dear, you should go home,’ suggested the Viscount.

Flora was momentarily surprised at his concern, until she realised it was a convenient means of getting her out of the way. He would not have to spend the rest of the evening dancing with her and could instead indulge his passion for cards.

The new fiery spirit in Flora wanted to declare that she was very well and would happily dance with him until dawn, only the dull throbbing pain in her skull told her that would not be sensible. So, instead, she gave him a wan smile.

‘Yes, my lord, I think that might be best.’

‘Then I am sure Mr and Mrs Farnleigh would oblige…?’

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ exclaimed her uncle, looking anxiously at his niece. ‘We will take her home directly.’

The Viscount rose. ‘Very well. No need to delay, sir, I shall make your apologies, for all of you. I am sure our hostess will understand.’ He turned to Flora, all affectionate concern. ‘You must go home and rest, my dear.’

He kissed her hand and Mrs Farnleigh, watching this display of affection with approval, said quickly, ‘Pray do not be anxious, Lord Whilton. We shall take good care of her.’

With a final nod and a smile, the Viscount walked out of the supper room, leaving Flora and her aunt and uncle to make their way home.

* * *

No sooner had Matt returned to the ballroom than Lady Condicote appeared at his side.

She presented him with a dance partner for the next set and he could not refuse.

He politely stood up with a very shy young lady who barely opened her mouth during the whole time they were dancing.

Perhaps he should have been more attentive, but all he could think of was Flora in his arms, laughing up at him, making his heart soar.

He had just escorted his young partner back to her party when he felt a touch on his arm. Matt looked around to find Lord Whilton at his side.

‘A few moments of your time, Talacre, if you please.’

With a shrug he followed the Viscount out to the terrace.

‘I cannot think you brought me out here to enjoy the night air, my lord,’ he said.

The Viscount strolled over to a low balustrade that separated the terrace from the gardens below and stared out into the darkness.

He said coldly, ‘If you thought to enlist Miss Warenne’s aid to recover the statue, then you are mistaken.’

‘Am I?’ Matt was surprised. The statue was the last thing on his mind.

‘You are. The decision will be mine and mine alone.’

‘I beg to differ. The decision will lie with the courts,’ Matt repeated what the lawyers had told him. ‘Good title to the statue remains with Bellemonte and does not pass to you, even if you were the unwitting purchaser of a stolen item. ’

The Viscount said nothing. He continued to stare out over the gardens, washed in shades of blue-grey moonlight. Matt waited and at length Whilton turned back and laughed softly.

‘This is no subject for a ball, is it? We should discuss this another day. We agreed I would give you an answer by the end of the month, but perhaps you would like to hear it a little sooner.’

‘If you have made a decision, you can tell me now.’

‘Ah, such plain speaking, it will not do,’ murmured the Viscount. ‘Join me for dinner tomorrow.’

Matt made no attempt to hide his impatience. ‘Is that really necessary? I should have thought you were wishing me at Jericho.’

‘Ah, but I like to observe the proprieties, Mr Talacre.’

In the moonlight, Matt saw the Viscount smile. He had no desire to dine with Lord Whilton, but if it meant he could bring an end to the matter a little quicker, then what had he to lose?

‘Very well, if that is what you wish.’

‘I do wish it. We dine early,’ said the Viscount. ‘Country hours.’ He gave a little bow. ‘Until tomorrow, Mr Talacre.’

With that he sauntered off, leaving Matt to wonder just what the devil that had been about.

The look Whilton had given him in the ballroom suggested he would like to run him through and Matt did not trust this sudden display of urbanity. The man was up to no good: he would be wise to be on his guard tomorrow night.

For propriety’s sake, Matt stood up for a couple more dances, but when he learned that Flora and the Farnleighs had already left he decided that he, too, had stayed long enough. He called for his horse and was soon on his way back to the Red Lion.

The evening had given him much to think about.

The Viscount’s invitation to dine had surprised him, but although recovering the statue was important, he could not stop his thoughts straying to Flora.

Talking with her, dancing with her this evening had proved to him how much he wanted her, not only in his bed, but by his side.

A wife, a friend. For ever.

It was strange, unsettling. Matt had never felt like this before about any woman.

Not even the French widow who had cheated him.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. If this was love, then he was in love with Flora Warenne.

But did she love him ? She was not in love with Lord Whilton, he was certain of that, but she was engaged to the man. Their wedding was only weeks away.

‘Perhaps she is merely amusing herself.’

Even as he voiced the thought, Matt knew it was not true. He looked up at the moon sailing in the cloudless sky. He needed to see Flora. Until he had talked to her, he would take nothing for granted.

* * *

When Betty came in with Flora’s hot chocolate the following morning, she also brought with her a note.

‘It’s from Lord Whilton, Miss Flora. Delivered by hand just as I was coming up the stairs!’

Brimming with curiosity, the maid put the hot chocolate on the table beside the bed and held out the folded paper. Flora took it and placed it on the covers before her. Was Quentin still angry with her? Perhaps he had decided to cry off from their engagement.

The flicker of hope she felt at that thought was telling.

She had spent a restless night, going over and over the same argument.

It was not just that she did not love the Viscount, she did not even like him very much.

The little things that had annoyed her over the past two years had coalesced to become an insurmountable problem.

He was vain, arrogant and selfish. It was clear to her now that she had known this for a long time, but had chosen to ignore it.

Until last night, when she had danced with Matt Talacre and observed the Viscount’s reaction.

If he had been consumed with a lover’s jealousy she might perhaps have forgiven him, but that was not the case.

He saw her only as one more possession, much as he regarded the statue of Mars installed in his garden.

As for Matt, perhaps he was like those early suitors, the ones who had courted her assiduously, then drawn back before declaring themselves. But for now that was unimportant—she could not even consider the matter while she was betrothed to Lord Whilton.

She glanced again at the letter. Perhaps Quentin, too, had realised they had made a mistake.

‘Thank you, Betty, you may go.’

Flora waited only until the door had closed behind her inquisitive maid before snatching up the letter.

It turned out to be an invitation to dine at Whilton Hall that evening. Without the Farnleighs. Flora put her hand to her mouth. What on earth should she understand that to mean? Did he think their wedding day was close enough now that he could take her to his bed?

The very idea of it made her shudder. She must put an end to this, and quickly.

Having made her decision, Flora was impatient to get the meeting over as soon as possible.

She finished her breakfast and set out for Whilton Hall, hurrying through the woods and gardens until she reached the moated house.

She followed the footman across the hall and walked past him into the drawing room even as he was announcing her.

Lord Whilton was standing in the window embrasure, deep in conversation with his housekeeper. They both turned quickly as she entered, but it was Mrs Goole’s expression that caught Flora’s attention. The woman’s eyes positively blazed with anger.

‘That will be all, Goole,’ said the Viscount .

Thus dismissed, the housekeeper lowered her eyes and hurried out of the room. Quentin walked over to Flora and she allowed him to take her hands, but as he raised first one and then the other to his lips, her mind was racing with conjecture over the little scene she had just witnessed.

‘My dear Flora, this is most unexpected. Did you receive my note?’

‘I did.’ He was still holding her hands and she gently pulled them free. ‘I did not want to wait until this evening to see you.’

‘Should I be flattered?’

He was smiling, but she saw the wary look in his eyes. She took a deep breath and plunged into the speech she had been preparing as she walked here.

‘I am very sorry, Quentin, I cannot marry you. I do not love you and I am sure you do not love me.’

‘Love is not important.’

‘It is to me. I did not think so, at first, but now… Now I do not believe we can be happy without it.’

She began to pull the diamond ring off her finger and he stopped her, putting his hand over hers.

She said quickly, ‘Please, Quentin. I want us to end this charade now.’

‘There are things to be considered, my dear, before you contemplate terminating our engagement.’

‘I have thought about it very carefully, I assure you. ’

‘I do not think you have considered everything, my dear. This is about your parents.’

She frowned. ‘My parents?’

‘More specifically, your mother.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Flora shook her head. ‘My parents died sixteen years ago.’

‘Yes, on their way to France. Do you know why they were going there?’

‘The Treaty of Amiens had been signed. We were at peace. Everyone was going there that summer.’

‘But not all for the same reason. Your mother and father were not going as visitors, my love. They were quitting England, for ever.’

‘No, no,’ she laughed at him. ‘That is ridiculous. They left me with my aunt and uncle in order to enjoy a little travel abroad.’ Her laughter faded. ‘What is it? Quentin, why are you looking at me in that way?’

‘Ah, my poor Flora, I am sorry to be the one to tell you this,’

‘Tell me what?’

‘Your father was taking your mother abroad to save her life. You see, she had been spying for the French.’