The Temptation of Torilla Read online

  “Would not accept him?” the Countess repeated, her voice rising. “What on earth do you mean by that, Torilla?”

  “He is very – pleasant,” Torilla said hesitatingly. “But I – know I could never – love him.”

  “Love!” the Countess said sharply. “The sooner you get rid of such ridiculous romantic notions the better!”

  “Torilla is an idealist, Mama,” Beryl interposed. “She has always sworn that she will never marry a man unless she loves him. I think you are wasting your time in trying to persuade her into considering Lord Arkley. “

  “Torilla should realise,” the Countess had retorted sharply, “that it is the duty of every young girl to make a good marriage by the time she is nineteen and Torilla is nearly that already.”

  “I would not wish – ” Torilla began.

  “In your circumstances,” her aunt interrupted, “without money and with little to recommend you except your good looks, you must be grateful if you find a husband who will care for you and keep you in comfort.”

  Beryl laughed.

  “I seem to have heard you, Mama, giving me this sort of lecture when I first came out.”

  “Fortunately you were intelligent enough to realise that I was talking good common sense,” her mother replied. “There were times this last year when I thought you were throwing away your chances, but I admit I was wrong. You waited, then Gallen came along, and what mother could ask for a better marriage for her daughter?”

  There had been an almost ecstatic note in the Countess’s voice.

  Then she said in a different tone,

  “Where you are concerned, Torilla, it is quite different. You cannot afford to wait and the sooner you bring Lord Arkley to heel the better!”

  “Aunt – ” Torilla began, only to receive a sharp kick from Beryl under the carriage rug that made the words die on her lips.

  “It is no use arguing with Mama,” Beryl had said when they reached Curzon Street and gone up to bed together. “Whatever you say to the contrary, she will only think you half-witted.”

  “I don’t wish her to speak to Lord Arkley, as I am sure she intends to do,” Torilla insisted in a frightened voice.

  “Listen, dearest,” Beryl said, “it does not have to be Lord Arkley, if you dislike him. But you know as well as I do that this is a big opportunity for you to find a husband.”

  She added almost sternly,

  “Do you really want to go back to the North and meet no one and see nobody of any importance? It cannot be very amusing in Barrowfield or whatever it is called.”

  She saw the expression on Torilla’s face and put her arms around her.

  “I love you, Torilla. I want you to be married and then we can both have fun together. I have really missed you these last two years.”

  “And I have missed you,” Torilla said truthfully.

  “Then marry somebody quickly,” Beryl admonished, “so that we can move in the same Social world. Arkley is not a bad catch and other men like him, which is important.”

  She smiled and her eyes were twinkled as she added,

  “And far safer than if it is women, which is my problem!”

  Torilla had laughed at that, she could not help it.

  Beryl kissed her cheek.

  “Think about it, Torilla, and be sensible. I know if Aunt Elizabeth was alive she would want you to have a home of your own.”

  Beryl’s words echoed in Torilla’s mind long after she went to bed and she had found herself talking to her mother as she so often did.

  ‘I know you would want me to get married, Mama, but not to someone I did not love – but perhaps I shall never love anyone as you loved Papa?’

  Almost insidiously the thought came to her that what she was looking for was in fact the feeling she had had when the Marquis kissed her.

  It was because she knew she would never feel that rapture with Lord Arkley that she could not marry him.

  It was because she had known that the other men who had begun to be passionate in their protestations could never give her that Divine ecstasy she had felt with the Marquis that she had run away from them.

  As if she was frightened of where her thoughts were leading her, she had buried her face in her pillow, but it had been an uneasy night’s sleep.

  Now, sitting in the garden at Lady Melchester’s house awaiting her lemonade, and hearing the soft strains of music in the distance and the tinkle of the water as it cascaded down a small artificial waterfall, Torilla found herself thinking how conducive it all was to romance.

  She was quite certain that somewhere in the garden Beryl was being kissed, if not by Lord Newall, then by one of her other numerous admirers.

  She thought perhaps there was something wrong with her because she was content just to look at the beauty around her and would only feel frightened if her partner expressed himself in words of love.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the knowledge that a man had crossed the stream and was coming towards her.

  “You have been very quick – ” she started to say, thinking her partner had returned with the drinks.

  Then she gave a terrified start as she realised that the man advancing towards her was Sir Jocelyn Threnton.

  “I thought I was not mistaken in recognising you in the ballroom, Miss Clifford,” he said with a smile on his lips.

  He sat down beside Torilla on the seat, turning sideways so that he could look at her.

  She looked away from him feeling acutely embarrassed and at the same time outraged when she remembered his behaviour.

  “You are certainly more elaborately gowned than when I last saw you,” he said and, as the colour rose in her cheeks, he laughed quietly.

  “Please – leave me alone,” Torilla said finding her voice with some difficulty.

  “That is something I have no intention of doing,” Sir Jocelyn replied. “We were most unfortunately interrupted when we last met, but I have every intention of renewing our acquaintanceship.”

  “That, sir, is something I will not permit. Will you please leave me?”

  Torilla spoke firmly and now she was not so afraid.

  The shock of seeing Sir Jocelyn had made her for a moment too confused to think clearly, but now she told herself there was nothing he could do to hurt her.

  There were a large number of people within earshot and her partner would be returning at any moment.

  “I have a marked aversion to being pipped at the post,” Sir Jocelyn rambled on, “although of course I had no idea when I came to your room at The Pelican Inn that you were under the protection of the Marquis of Havingham.”

  Torilla turned to stare at him in astonishment.

  “What – are you – saying?”

  Sir Jocelyn smiled and there was something very unpleasant about it.

  “Does Lady Beryl know that her dear cousin accompanied the Marquis unchaperoned on his journey South?”

  “How dare you make such a suggestion!” Torilla said indignantly. “The Marquis overheard the disgraceful way you were behaving towards me and, as a complete stranger, he came to my rescue. I had never met him before and had no idea who he was.”

  “That is your story,” Sir Jocelyn said. “I only hope that Lady Beryl believes it.”

  “Lady Beryl does not – ” Torilla stopped suddenly.

  She realised too late that what she was about to say was exactly what Sir Jocelyn had wanted to learn.

  “So – you have not told your cousin,” he said after a moment’s silence. “Well, well, well – that is just as I suspected! I can only imagine that the information will be of some interest to her. I must ask her for the next dance.”

  Torilla gave a little cry.

  “No – please,” she said. “Please don’t – speak of – this to – Beryl.”

  Even as she spoke she knew by the expression on Sir Jocelyn’s face how much he was enjoying having her, so to speak, in his power.

  She had seen him humiliated when the Mar
quis turned him out of her bedroom and she knew this was his revenge – to hurt Beryl.

  She thought wildly if only she had told Beryl the truth as soon as she arrived at Fernleigh Hall everything would have been all right.

  But it was because Sir Jocelyn’s behaviour was irrevocably woven into the kiss that the Marquis had given her the succeeding evening that she could not bring herself to talk about it.

  Now she felt as if the ground opened in front of her and there was a bottomless gulf yawning at her feet.

  “I am prepared to bargain with you,” Sir Jocelyn now proposed.

  “Bargain?” Torilla asked sharply.

  “You are asking me to keep silent on a matter that I feel is of considerable interest to all the parties concerned, but my silence has a price.”

  “I think that is called ‘blackmail’,” Torilla asserted.

  “Correct!” Sir Jocelyn agreed triumphantly. “I intend to blackmail you, lovely Miss Clifford, because, as I have said, I don’t like losing a race when I am actually at the winning post.”

  “Your – behaviour was – despicable, as you – well know,” Torilla answered in a low voice.

  “It was entirely your fault for being so alluring,” Sir Jocelyn replied lightly. “And now – do you want to hear my terms?”

  Torilla did not answer and after a moment he carried on,

  “They are quite simple. Either you dine with me alone tomorrow evening or pay me the sum of five thousand pounds. The choice is yours!”

  Torilla turned to look at him.

  “D-dine with you – alone?” she faltered.

  “There is a little place off Jermyn Street where they have private rooms. No one will see you there and we can renew our acquaintance, where it was unfortunately broken off.”

  Torilla saw by the look in his eyes exactly what he intended and she made a little sound of sheer horror as she turned her face away from him again.

  “On the other hand,” Sir Jocelyn said, “my pride would be slightly mollified by the sum of five thousand pounds.”

  “How could I – possibly find a – sum like that?” Torilla asked.

  “It would not seem very large to the gentleman who came to your rescue.”

  “The – Marquis?” Torilla breathed.

  “Exactly – the Marquis! He is always quite prepared to pay for his amusements and I think you will find he agrees that I am really being very reasonable in this matter considering that his engagement to the incomparable Lady Beryl was announced the following day.”

  There was something very menacing in the way Sir Jocelyn spoke and at the same time it was almost as if he smacked his lips over the fact that he had such excellent cards to play.

  Torilla sat astounded.

  She could not think of what to say or do and everything seemed to be twirling round in her head in a hopeless confusion.

  “My Club is Boodles,” Sir Jocelyn continued. “If I do not receive a cheque for five thousand pounds there by noon tomorrow I shall expect you, Miss Clifford, at Duke’s Hotel at seven o’clock.”

  He reached out as he spoke and took one of Torilla’s hands from her lap.

  “I can honestly say,” he said in a low voice, “that I am hoping you don’t have the courage to ask the Marquis to pay up.”

  Before he could kiss her hand, Torilla snatched it from him.

  Then, without waiting for him to leave her, she ran across the garden towards the house.

  She felt Sir Jocelyn was pursuing her, enveloping her, and she could not escape from him.

  The ballroom was on the first floor and there were steps leading from the garden onto the balcony, which ran the whole length of the house.

  Hastily Torilla climbed them.

  She wanted the safety and security of the crowd, she wanted to get away from Sir Jocelyn and the terror of what he had suggested to her.

  Then, as she reached the last step leading up to the balcony, she saw a man standing alone looking out into the garden.

  Her heart turned over in her breast.

  It was like finding a sudden haven of security in the middle of a tempestuous sea.

  Without remembering anything that she had felt about him except that he had saved her before from Sir Jocelyn, Torilla ran towards the Marquis.

  She reached his side and put out her hands that were trembling towards him.

  “You are – here! You are – back!” she cried incoherently. “I need you – I need your – help!”

  Her voice was tremulous in her desperation and, as the Marquis turned to look down at her, she saw that he raised his eyebrows.

  “What has happened?” he asked.

  She thought his calm, drawling voice was like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.

  “I must – speak to you. I must – talk to you – alone.”

  “But of course,” he answered. “Shall we go out into the garden?”

  “No – no!” Torilla said quickly thinking they might again encounter Sir Jocelyn.

  “Then we will find somewhere else?”

  He gave her his arm and she put her hand on it feeling that she must hold onto him in case he escaped her.

  She was experiencing again all that she had felt when Sir Jocelyn first assaulted her in the bedroom at The Pelican Inn.

  Her heart was thumping in her breast, her lips were dry and the constriction in her throat made it hard to speak.

  The Marquis avoided the windows opening into the ballroom, which was crowded with dancers, and led Torilla to one at the far end of the house.

  Here there was a small sitting room arranged with sofas and shaded lights. It was, however, occupied by several couples and the Marquis passed through it to walk across a landing to open a door marked ‘Private’.

  He seemed to know his way about and Torilla found they were in a part of the house that was not so brilliantly lit and appeared to be deserted.

  The Marquis led the way and they entered a room that Torilla saw was decorated in very feminine taste and redolent with the fragrance of flowers.

  She had an idea later that it was the private boudoir of their hostess, but for the moment she could think of nothing save that she was alone with the Marquis and could tell him all that had happened.

  He indicated a sofa and she sank down on it, her eyes very dark and frightened in her pale face.

  Looking at her the Marquis realised he had seen such an expression on her face once before.

  “Tell me all about it,” he suggested and he was not drawling.

  Torilla clasped her hands together, but, as she opened her lips to speak, she realised how embarrassing it would be to explain to the Marquis what Sir Jocelyn had insinuated about them.

  Then she told herself that what she must primarily be concerned with was to prevent Beryl from being told such lies, for since she had never mentioned what had happened on the journey, Beryl might think that there was some truth in them.

  She raised her eyes to the Marquis’s face and said in a very low voice,

  “It is – Sir Jocelyn!”

  The Marquis frowned.

  “What has that swine done now?” he demanded sharply.

  “He – spoke to me just – now in the – garden,” Torilla answered. “He said terrible – things and I don’t – know what to do.”

  “What did he say?”

  Torilla felt the embarrassment of it made it almost impossible for her to speak.

  The Marquis waited and, although she turned her face away and her voice was almost inaudible, the words had to be spoken.

  ‘H – he – threatened to t-tell – Beryl that we were – together at The Pelican Inn!”

  The Marquis swore beneath his breath.

  “I might have guessed that was the sort of construction he would put on it,” he said sharply.

  “He – s-said that he was – prepared to m-make a b-bargain.”

  “What sort of bargain?”

  Again it was hard to answer the question.

/>   “He – s-said,” Torilla faltered after a moment, “that I could either – dine – alone with him – t-tomorrow night in a – p-private room, or I m-must pay him – five thousand pounds before n-noon.”

  “So that is his game!” the Marquis said quietly.

  He bent forward and put one hand over Torilla’s fingers, which she had been entwining together in her agitation.

  “It is all right, Torilla. I will deal with this. I know this type of bounder and I promise you that shall not be troubled any further.”

  “I am not w-worrying about – myself,” Torilla said, “b-but Beryl.”

  The Marquis’s fingers on hers gave her the same sensations she had felt before when he touched her in the Park.

  She felt a streak of lightning stab through her and she had an irrepressible impulse to cling to his hand, to hold on to him tightly and beg him to take care of her.

  It was not only Sir Jocelyn, she thought wildly, it was Lord Arkley, her aunt manoeuvring her into marriage, and what she herself felt about the men who approached her. Then she told herself severely that the Marquis belonged to Beryl and things were complicated enough without her relying on him as she longed to do.

  The Marquis sensed her agitation and said quietly,

  “It is all right. I promise you it will be all right.”

  “If only I had – told Beryl that we had met when I first – arrived at The Hall,” Torilla said.

  “Why did you not do so?” the Marquis asked in his deep voice.

  Torilla found it impossible to answer him.

  How could she say that, while she knew she should be ashamed of behaving as she had with a stranger, it had been the most wonderful moment that had ever happened in her life?

  As if he knew the conflict in her mind and understood, the Marquis rose to his feet.

  “Go back to the ballroom and enjoy yourself, Torilla. Leave me to deal with everything.”

  “Supposing – Sir Jocelyn – ?”

  “He will do nothing to hurt either you or Beryl,” the Marquis answered. “I have asked you to trust me even though you think you cannot do so.”

  “I do – trust you,” Torilla answered.

  “Despite everything you think about me?”

  She raised her eyes to his face and now it was impossible to look away.

  She felt that, without his touching her, she was captive in his arms, held by a spell that made her feel as if they reached out to each other across Eternity.