The Daring Deception

CHAPTER ONE ~ 1840-2

It was not surprising because Lady Karen was extremely beautiful. She was dark and had an almost Madonna-like serenity about her face, which, as the Marquis himself well knew, was intriguingly belied by the voluptuous passions that could be aroused by any man who appealed to her.

A widow since the age of nineteen, Karen Russell had become the toast of St. James’s and one of the most acclaimed beauties of the Court. It was said that Queen Victoria disliked her, but that was merely gossip and it was indeed not surprising that almost every woman was jealous not only of Lady Karen’s beauty but of her undoubted successes.

“There is not a man whose heart does not beat quicker when she enters the room,” one jealous wife had exclaimed with venom in her voice.

The Marquis had overheard what she said and had thought that unlike most statements of the kind this one was indeed true. He had pursued Karen determinedly, knowing that she was engaged in a clandestine love affair with an influential Statesman. It had added spice to the chase to realise that he could seduce her away as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

They had met at the same house party. The Statesman had been called to Windsor and the rest had been just a repetition of a dozen of the Marquis’s easy conquests. But in some way Karen had been different.

He had never known a woman respond so ardently to his love-making. He had never before known anyone who with the face of a Saint could become a devouring demon in the secret darkness of a double bed.

It had been exhilarating and exciting and at the same time without really putting it into words, the Marquis had realised that Karen was dangerous. He was to learn how dangerous on his second night at Quenton.

There were two other women in the party and perhaps on another occasion they might have seemed attractive or even interesting, but they faded into complete insignificance beside Karen.

She had come downstairs to dinner wearing a dress of gold-speckled yellow gauze that seemed to give her not the spring-like look that one might expect, but something Oriental, seductive and vaguely improper.

Her waist was tiny above dozens of rustling petticoats which held out the glittering skirts of her gown. Her décolletage was very low and revealed the curves of her small breasts. There was a huge necklace of topaz and diamonds round her throat, her wrists were weighed down with topazes and there were huge rings of the same stone on her hands.

She glittered as she crossed the room and her eyes which were green, flecked with gold, seemed to glitter too as she looked up at the Marquis. He saw a flicker of desire deep within them and knew that she deliberately provoked him with her parted lips and the soft touch of her hand.

They played cards after dinner and Karen gave him little glances from under her dark eyelashes which were an invitation in themselves. Then, as they said ‘goodnight’, he felt the pressure of her fingers and heard her whisper,

“The last door at the end of the corridor.”

There was no chance, the Marquis knew, of their being discovered. Lady Gerrard had retired to bed early and his friend, Johnny, and the other bachelors in the party were sleeping in a different wing. He and Karen and a married couple were the only ones sleeping in the centre rooms.

Karen was waiting for him. The only light in the room came from the two large silver candelabra on either side of the draped bed. She was lying back against the pillows, her long dark hair trailing over the lace-edged sheets with her nakedness barely concealed by the transparency of her nightgown.

She held out her arms to him and there was no need for words. He felt her eagerness, her desire and passion go to his head like wine.

‘To be with Karen is almost like being drunk,’ he had thought. ‘One ceases to think and one’s whole body becomes just an aching furnace of fire, which can be assuaged only by the touch and feel of her,’

It was nearly dawn before the Marquis went back to his own room and it seemed to him that he had slept only for a few minutes before he was awakened by his valet drawing back the curtains.

He enjoyed an excellent day’s shooting. He was a crack shot and he accounted for more than half the bag, which in itself was satisfactory. He came back to the house tired and hungry to find Karen giving him sidelong glances and knowing full well what she expected of him.

‘Well, tonight she will be disappointed,’ the Marquis told himself, ‘I am too tired.’

It was a most pleasant tiredness he thought at dinner, as one well-cooked dish followed another and the wine from Lord Gerrard’s cellars would have been the envy of anyone.

After dinner he refused to play cards and seated himself comfortably in a chair by the fireside. He talked for a little while to Lady Gerrard and then when she retired to bed found his head nodding.

The air had been deliciously crisp and frosty and they had walked a long way. He had the comfortable feeling of a man who was about to fall asleep from sheer physical exhaustion.

“I think we are all tired,” he heard Johnny say, just as his eyes were closing. “What about an early night?”

There was a murmur of consent and the Marquis rose to his feet.

“You must have walked us well over ten miles today, Johnny,” he said.

“But it was worth it, was it not ?” his friend asked, “and I have never seen anyone shoot better than you, Ivon. Your last right and left of mallard was a classic.”

“Thank you,” the Marquis smiled, “you flatter me.”

“It is true,” Johnny insisted. “I hope to give you some more sport tomorrow, but I cannot promise that the bag will be as big as today. You have made a new record for Quenton.”

They said ‘goodnight’ to the ladies and the Marquis felt Karen press his hand. Almost imperceptibly he shook his head.

His valet was waiting to help him undress. He climbed into the big comfortable bed with a feeling of almost sensuous delight. It was very warm and he was very sleepy.

He was in fact almost unconscious when he heard the door open.

He woke with the quick alertness of a man who has known danger. Then in the darkness he heard the key turn in the lock.

There was no question of who was there. There was the heavy exotic fragrance of a scent that reminded him of the East and of tuberoses, there was the soft sinuous warmth of a body close to his, of passionate lips seeking his mouth and her eager hands that swept away his tiredness as if he drank a glass of champagne.

There was no need for words, Karen lit a fire within him.

Very much later, as he lay back against the pillows, the Marquis heard her say,

“You are a very exciting person, Ivon. How soon can we be married?”

For a moment the Marquis thought that he could not have heard her correctly. Then, as he was suddenly rigid, she said softly,

“You must know I mean to marry you.”

It seemed to the Marquis in that very moment as if his thoughts swept into a chaotic whirlwind over which he had no control.

Karen – Karen Russell – was proposing to him! Taking it all for granted that he would marry her. Karen with her beautiful serene face. Karen passionately and fiercely demanding like an untamed tiger. Karen flirting, beguiling and enticing. Not only himself but other men.

It was only years of training that prevented the Marquis crying out his refusal. He knew that never in his wildest imaginations had he envisaged Karen Russell as the Chatelaine of Mell Castle.

This was not what he wanted as a wife, although what he did want he was not sure.

He only knew that he had no intention of marrying her. No intention of being saddled with this tempestuous, wild and permissive creature for the rest of his life.

He desired her and he found that to make love to her was an experience that he had not enjoyed with many other women. But as his wife, no! This was not the woman who should take his mother’s place or the woman who should bear his children.

As if Karen sensed his hesitation and his reluctance, she gave a little laugh.

“I want you,” she said simply. “You are most desirable and I want you. We shall deal well together.”

“I doubt that,” the Marquis managed to reply in a steady unemotional voice. “You see, Karen, I am not the marrying kind.”

“But you will marry me!” she answered and he could feel the iron determination beneath the words.

“No,” he replied lightly. “You are far too exciting and exotic a creature to be placed in a cage. You should be free for all men to enjoy. It would be a crime against nature to confine you to one insignificant husband!”

“I am not asking for an insignificant husband,” she replied softly. “I am asking for you! I shall grace your table, Ivon, I shall wear the family jewels with an elegance they have never had before and, most of all, I shall keep you enraptured with me.”

She turned towards him as she spoke and he felt her lips seeking his. He had a feeling that if he kissed her again he would drown in her voluptuous hunger.

She was insatiable. She was a woman who would leech off a man until he was nothing but a pale shadow of himself, without personality and eventually without character.

She was a vampire, concerned only with the desires of her body and she wanted little or nothing from those who admired her except a passion to equal her own.

The Marquis turned his head aside.

“I think, Karen, this is hardly the moment to discuss anything so serious as marriage,” he said. “Go back to your room. We will talk about it on another occasion.”

“There is no need for that,” Karen replied. “I have told you that I want you. When you return to London, you can talk to Papa. He will be delighted to accept you as a son-in-law.”

The Marquis was quite certain that this was the truth.

The Earl of Dunstable had been deeply worried about his daughter for quite some years. Chamberlain to Queen Victoria he lived in dread that there should be a scandal because of Karen’s irresponsible behaviour.

That she should be married to anyone of the Marquis of Melsonby’s consequence would indeed be an answer to his most fervent prayers.

The Marquis sat up in the bed.

“Go to your room, Karen,” he said firmly. “I am not going to discuss such matters now, when we are both tired. But I have already told you I have no wish to be married.”

“Then it would be very unfortunate, would it not,” Karen said slowly, “if I told Papa the truth.”

“Would it surprise him?” the Marquis asked with a hint of laughter in his voice. “He must now have some idea that you are not still wearing the willow for your long forgotten husband!”

“No, indeed, Papa would not think anything so nonsensical,” Karen replied. “But if I told him that I was to have a baby, he would be exceedingly perturbed!”

“A baby!” the Marquis’s voice vibrated into the darkness. “It is not true. And if it is, it is not mine.”

Karen laughed. It was a low laugh of sheer amusement.

“All men are the same,” she said. “One can frighten them so easily.”