Wicked Pleasures Read online

  ‘Then why now?’

  ‘Because of this rumour—about you and Lady Waverley.’

  Something in the soft romanticism of her words irritated and irked Grant. He did not like being the subject of gossip and speculation. ‘I can see word of my recent visit to Westwood Hall has reached the ears of your visiting ladies. Really, Mother. I credited you with more sense than to listen to gossip.’

  ‘Can you blame me?’ She smiled. ‘When I hear that my eligible son—a man who seems to avoid young ladies of impeccable background as if they have some kind of dreadful disease—is suddenly seen visiting a beautiful socialite? And on more than once occasion, it would appear.’

  The Leighton brow quirked in sardonic amusement. ‘At twenty-eight, and a widow of five years, Diana can hardly be classed as a “young lady”, Mother.’

  ‘Then at fifty-five I must seem positively ancient to you. You know nothing would please me more, Grant, than to see you settle down with someone who will make you happy.’

  ‘I will—in time. But not with Diana. Six years ago I might have, but she chose to marry Patrick Waverley instead.’ He spoke dispassionately, giving away nothing of his feelings. ‘The idea of being Lady Waverley outshone that of being plain Mrs Leighton. But I am still fond of her, and enjoy her company from time to time.’

  ‘I only met her on one occasion, and I was not in her company long enough to form an opinion. Did she hurt you?’

  Grant shrugged and smiled wryly. ‘I was young, and easily drawn to a pretty face. I think I was more angry and humiliated by her rejection than anything else.’

  Hester studied her son intently. ‘And now you’re not—drawn to a pretty face?’

  ‘Now I tend to look beyond the pretty face. It’s what’s on the inside that determines a person, not what’s on the outside. Diana is beautiful, intelligent, well bred and well connected. But—and you said it yourself—she is a socialite. She is an appalling flirt who likes to play hard. Her husband left her well provided for, but Diana is a spendthrift and will soon have nothing left if she doesn’t curb her spending. Money is important to her. She would sell her soul to have more.’ He grinned. ‘I soon realised she did me a favour by marrying Patrick. Believe me, Mother, you would not want Diana Waverley as a daughter-in-law.’

  Hester sighed and rested her head wearily against the cushions. ‘Oh well, that’s a pity. But if she is as you say, then you must avoid her. You are in a position to choose better.’

  She gave him the beguiling smile that, ever since he was a boy, had been able to get him to do almost anything she wanted, but on the subject of marriage he remained unmoved. ‘When I choose a woman who is most suited to be my wife in every way, there will be affection and respect. When I finally settle down I expect to be made happy by it. Marriage to Diana would ensure nothing but misery.’

  ‘And love, Grant? Does that not come into it? It is necessary if you are to have a good marriage, you know.’

  Standing up, he laughed and kissed her forehead. ‘I might have known that would concern you. You always were sentimental. When I decide to settle down you will be the first to know. I promise you.’

  On arriving back at Oaklands—the magnificent Leighton residence situated in a verdant valley in the heart of the Kent countryside, so large it made Newhill Lodge look like a garden shed—carelessly dismissing his mother’s desire for him to settle down, Grant thought seriously about her other request. He would write to Horace Osborne and request to see him—perhaps stay overnight with Frederick.

  Grant had never met Horace Osborne, but he knew him to be a shrewd, hard-headed and self-made businessman. He was a parvenu, but he had been accepted by the leading members of established society with far more favour than most of the newly rich.

  The Leightons were ‘old money’, and because Grant seemed to have the golden touch when it came to making investments they still had plenty of it. For his mother’s sake Grant would ask that Mr Osborne give the proposition he would put to him serious consideration. Not for one moment did he think Horace Osborne would refuse his offer—and if he should prove difficult Grant didn’t have the slightest doubt of his own ability to negotiate and persuade him.

  The gathering later that day at Rosehill was a quiet and dignified affair, attended by elderly relatives from both sides and a few business associates. As Paul and Adeline were congratulated on their engagement on this day, which should have been the happiest day of her life, Adeline felt as though she was standing at the bottom of a high cliff, on top of which a huge boulder teetered.

  Everyone complimented her on how she looked, but she knew they were only being polite.

  ‘Too thin,’ Paul’s elderly Aunt Anne said. ‘Too tall,’ said another. ‘Too plain,’ someone else commented.

  But what did any of that really matter when her father was a wealthy businessman and respected in the circles in which he moved?

  Adeline knew she didn’t make the best of herself. Her deep red hair was usually fashioned into a bun, and she wore dresses in varying shades of brown, beige and grey that did nothing for her colouring and made her look like some poor relation. Her eyes were foreign-looking, and in her opinion her cheekbones were too high and her mouth too wide. As a rule men took one look at her and didn’t look again.

  But if anyone had been inclined to look deeper they would have found that behind the unprepossessing appearance there was a veritable treasure trove. Twenty years of age, and formidably intelligent, Adeline had a distinct and memorable personality, and could hold the most fascinating conversations on most subjects. She had a genuinely kind heart, wasn’t boastful, and rarely offended anybody. She was also unselfish, and willing to take on the troubles of others. She never showed her feelings, and she seemed to have the ability to put on whatever kind of face was necessary at the time.

  She was also piercingly lonely. Her maid, Emma, was her only companion, her only source of love and affection since her mother had died, when Adeline had been ten years old.

  A knot of people crowded the platform. Between them, Emma and Paul’s valet took charge of the luggage—Paul was talking to the stationmaster. As the train to take them to Ashford pulled into the station, in a cloud of smoke and soot, Adeline stepped forward and watched as it came to a stop in a hiss of steam. The passengers began to get off. Pushed and jostled as people seemed to be going in all different directions, she dropped the book she was holding, which she had brought to read on the journey.

  Suddenly one of the passengers who had got off the train stepped forward.

  ‘Allow me.’ The man, taller than Adeline, and dark, bent and retrieved the book before it was trampled on and handed it to her.

  Adeline took it gratefully. Looking up, she met a pair of silver-grey eyes. There was no overlooking the sensuality in the mould of his mouth, even when it had a sardonic twist, as it did now. ‘Thank you so much. That was careless of me.’

  He smiled. ‘These things happen.’ He tipped his hat. ‘Good day.’

  Without a second glance, and dismissing the incident from his busy mind, Grant walked away. Frederick was to have sent his carriage to meet him. He was to stay overnight with Frederick before going on to Rosehill tomorrow—where he had arranged to see Horace Osborne.

  What an attractive man, Adeline thought as she watched him walk towards the exit with long athletic strides. She wondered who he could be. There had been a cool purposefulness about him—a confident strength that emanated from every inch of his body.

  Feeling a hand on her elbow, she turned to find Paul beside her.

  ‘Come alone, Adeline,’ he ordered briskly. ‘We don’t want the train to go without us.’

  On arriving at Ashford, they found Lady Waverley had sent her carriage to the station to meet them. When they reached Westwood Hall, Emma and Paul’s valet disappeared to see which rooms had been allotted to them.

  Westwood Hall was a large, sprawling half-timbered Tudor structure, and so beautiful that when Adeline first
set eyes on it she temporarily forgot her reluctance for this weekend party. The lawns had been mown to resemble smooth velvet, and the terraces all around were ablaze with trailing roses in various colours, and pots of flowering shrubs.

  Most of the privileged, rich and well-connected guests had already arrived. Swarms of titled, wealthy and influential people invaded the house, lawns and terraces, their colourful gowns, jackets and painted parasols echoing the bright colours of the flowerbeds and the graceful sculptures.

  Lady Waverley, widowed after just five years of marriage, was flitting among them like a butterfly. With her confident manner she presented an imposing figure.

  On seeing Paul, she made a beeline for him, her red lips stretched over perfect teeth in a welcoming smile.

  ‘My dear Paul. What a pleasure it is to see you. It has been altogether too long. I trust you are not too fatigued after your journey?’

  Looking distinguished in an elegantly tailored tweed jacket, Paul smiled at her and stooped politely over her hand. ‘Not at all. It’s good to see you again, Diana.’ Taking Adeline’s hand, he drew her forward. ‘Allow me to present Miss Adeline Osborne—my fiancée.’

  Lady Waverley received Adeline with noticeable coolness. But she was also curious, and Adeline was uneasily conscious of being measured up. She decided there and then that she didn’t like Diana Waverley. There was a cloying scent of musk about her, which Adeline found sickly sweet and unpleasant. Not unaware of the woman’s exacting perusal, of a sudden she wished she had taken more care over her appearance. The dark brown hair of Lady Waverley was exquisitely coiffed, and she was gowned with costly good taste in a high-necked russet and gold-coloured dress, offset by ribbons and flounces.

  ‘I appreciate your invitation, Lady Waverley,’ Adeline said, determined to be polite.

  ‘Well, now, I could hardly invite Paul without you, could I? You must call me Diana, and I shall call you Adeline. Still, I like the title, and it is one of the few good things—this house in particular—that my late husband left me. Any feelings I had for him I left at his graveside five years ago.’

  Adeline’s raised eyebrow betrayed some amazement, but out of good manners she didn’t dare question a woman on such brief acquaintance.

  Diana laughed at her expression. ‘Oh, it’s no secret—please don’t look so shocked. Everyone knows about my marriage to Patrick Waverley. He was a gambler and a drunk, but he died before he could gamble away all his wealth, thank God. Still, I make the best of what he left me. You will find my house parties are very informal. I must congratulate you on your engagement, by the way. Do you have a date set for the wedding?’

  Paul shook his head. ‘Not yet—perhaps early spring.’

  Adeline’s eyes shot to him. This was the first she’d heard about it. But, as with everything else that concerned her, she was never consulted by either Paul or her father.

  Diana nodded and looked at Adeline. ‘It’s a shame you have not been to one of my weekend parties before, Adeline. They are an experience to be enjoyed—is that not so, Paul?’ Her full lips curved in a smile and her eyes were half closed as they settled on Adeline’s fiancé. ‘You never fail to miss an invite.’

  Adeline already knew that this was not the first function Paul had attended at Westwood Hall, and she did not like being reminded so blatantly of the fact.

  ‘I’ve been in London for several weeks,’ Diana continued, ‘but with too many parties behind me I have removed my aching feet from the city’s cobblestones and settled for the calmer joys of the country. However, I do make Westwood Hall quite lively when I’m here, and surround myself with company. I do so hate an empty house. Now, I will have you shown to your rooms, and afterwards I will introduce you to my guests—I insist on you enjoying yourself to the full while you are here.’

  Westwood Hall was as elaborate inside as out—ornamentation, decorative scrollwork, heavy furniture, gas and lamplight on polished panelling. There were so many guests it was impossible to be introduced to all of them. Some Adeline knew, some she didn’t, and she quickly lost interest in them. There was one person she was pleased to see, however, and that was Frances Seymore. She had been invited along with her older brother, Mark.

  Frances was older than Adeline but just as plain, deemed to remain a spinster, unlike her three sisters—all sweet-faced, plump-breasted and coppery-haired—who had made splendid marriages. Frances was very dear to Adeline. The whole family was dear to her. They had befriended her when her mother died and had been very kind. She also suspected they felt sorry for her—motherless, and living with an arrogant, authoritative man who seemed to be indifferent to her.

  Relieved that Adeline had found someone to talk to, Paul quickly excused himself. Adeline watched him heading Diana off in the direction of the terrace. She saw him slide his arm about the waist of their hostess, saw his head bend towards her upturned face, and with a stirring of irritation sensed that what they felt for each other was more than friendly regard. When Paul dropped his arm Diana took it, and pressed her breast against his sleeve. The contact was evidently intentional, for Paul did not draw away.

  Feeling that she had witnessed something she had not been meant to see, Adeline turned away to accept a glass of spiced wine. She was embarrassingly conscious to find that some of the other guests were giving the couple a second glance, too. It seemed their closeness was too conspicuous to be ignored—and the weekend had only just begun, Adeline thought. More annoyed by the scene she had just witnessed than hurt, she turned to Frances, who was looking at her with quiet understanding.

  ‘Diana has a penchant for handsome men, Adeline. Paul is no exception, and I suspect his maturity appeals to her gregarious nature.’

  ‘I see.’ And she did see. Quite clearly.

  ‘In fact if you and Paul hadn’t recently become engaged I would have said Diana Waverley has set her cap at him. I’ve been here twice before—I always seem to get invited with Mark. I only come along because I have nothing else to do—and it can be quite entertaining, I suppose. Diana goes to great pains to see that her parties are highly pleasurable to those who have a taste for sexual intrigue and illicit liaison. She is always an ever-willing and resourceful collaborator.’

  Adeline raised her brows, quite shocked. ‘Are you saying that she encourages that sort of thing?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely. When an illicit couple come to an understanding, it is usually agreed that something is left outside the lady’s bedroom door to signify that she is alone and the coast is clear.’ She laughed, vastly amused by the whole thing. ‘When you hear the stable bell ring at six o’clock in the morning—providing a reliable alarm, you understand—there is always such a rushing about on the landings as everyone returns to their respective rooms and their own beds.’

  ‘Goodness! If that is the case then I shall be sure to lock my door—and I hope that Paul does likewise,’ she murmured as an afterthought.

  Frances studied her thoughtfully. ‘You know, I must say that I have misgivings about your engagement, Adeline. You deserve better than Paul—someone with a more generous nature, with passion in his veins. Someone who will care deeply for you.’

  Adeline gave her a wry smile. ‘You always were too sentimental, Frances. I don’t require passion in a husband.’

  ‘Of course you do—every woman does. Beware the perils of a pompous husband.’

  Later, sitting under the trees where tea tables had been laid, Adeline sat drinking tea out of china cups and eating dainty cakes with Frances.

  The afternoon was hot. With the sun shafting through the trees, the noises from the tennis court as background, people laughing, people talking, birds singing, it should have been perfect. But it wasn’t. Adeline wished she could feel the happiness such a lovely day demanded instead of being alternately angry with Paul for neglecting her and miserable, exhausted and bored with the sheer physical effort of smiling and chatting to people she didn’t know. What she really longed for was Monty, and to ride awa
y like the wind.

  Dinner was a long drawn-out affair, and everyone could not have been more gracious in their compliments. The food was sublime, the wine superb, but the choice of conversation was different from what Adeline was used to.

  As the meal progressed, and more wine was consumed, cheeks grew florid and talk raucous. Few remarks were addressed directly to her, and when they were she replied with a murmur or a smile or a nod. Most of the time she was unhappy with the trend of the conversation—its content became shallow, and leaned towards the vulgar—so she kept quiet, for fear of making a fool of herself, and then began to fear that her silence was creating precisely that impression.

  She was appalled when Diana suddenly looked down the table and spoke to her.

  ‘You are very quiet, Adeline. I suppose as the proper, dutiful daughter of Mr Horace Osborne you don’t find the conversation as interesting or as stimulating as it is at Rosehill—perhaps you find all this superficial social chit-chat rather boring.’

  Adeline stared at her. Was she mocking her? She saw no sign, but she sensed it. Her quietness had been misinterpreted as intellectual boredom. She didn’t intend to alter that impression, but nor was she about to forget that she was at Westwood Hall on Diana’s invitation. She would not be rude, but she would be the butt of no one’s joke—especially a woman who was making a play for her fiancé, however subtle her methods.

  Adopting a pleasant smile, she said slowly, and with great restraint, ‘You’re quite right. It isn’t easy to work oneself into a passion over who is having an affair with whom. And with so many doing so surely they must be at the point of exhaustion in their search for pleasure for much of the time?’