The Storms Of Love Read online

  The Duke looked at her and thought that she was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

  Yet at the moment he could view her dispassionately and actually he had no particular desire to touch her.

  Then, as she sensed his hesitation, she flung her arms round his neck, pulling his head down to hers.

  He could feel the softness of her body against his and the exotic scent she used was in his nostrils.

  Still there was no response within him until her lips were on his, passionate, insistent, pleading and demanding all at the same time.

  She held him closer and at last he was aware that she had excited him and he wanted her as a man wants a woman.

  Then, as he kissed her as she wanted him to do and he felt her pulsating in his arms, it flashed through the Duke’s mind that perhaps Aldora was aware of what was happening and was condemning him for it with hatred in her eyes.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The second day’s racing followed much the same course as the first with the coaches taking the party to the course and the horses being, if anything, more spectacular than on the previous day.

  That also applied to the ladies’ clothes, for their bustles seemed to grow in size, their bonnets and hats to be more profusely trimmed and their faces seemed even lovelier.

  The Duke naturally was interested in the horses and, because this kept him away from the box for so long, Fenella was pouting when he returned.

  When he sat down beside her, she touched him with her hands and looked at him in a manner that he thought was indiscreet.

  If the Duke was careful of the reputation of the ladies with whom he amused himself, he was just as careful of his own.

  He could not help people talking about him, but he had no desire to furnish fresh grounds for gossip or to feed their imaginations, which he was well aware were very fertile.

  He therefore went to talk to a number of men who were standing at the back of the box.

  While he was there, he saw that at the very last moment, just before the race started, Aldora had slipped in at the back and positioned herself beside the chair on she intended to stand on to watch it.

  Almost as though he could not help himself he said to her,

  “I hope your ‘Eye’ had told you that Foxhunter will win the Queen’s Plate.”

  Foxhunter was his own horse and, having been heavily backed, it was now odds on.

  To his annoyance he found himself waiting almost apprehensively for her reply. Finally, as if the words came from her lips reluctantly, Aldora replied,

  “I have backed Terrier!”

  The Duke stared at her in astonishment.

  He had gone through the race card very carefully and the only horse that was a complete and absolute outsider and belonged to an owner whose name he did not recognise was Terrier.

  All the others were known to him for their breeding, for their owners and for their form on a great many other Racecourses.

  It was then he decided that he was taking her pretensions at tipping the winner far too seriously and he felt that she was just playing about in what should be a man’s pastime, not a woman’s.

  She was well aware that his lips curled cynically before he said in a voice that was very eloquent of his thoughts,

  “I can only wish you luck!”

  He walked back to his seat beside Fenella and realised as he did so that the horses were ‘off’ and that everybody was leaning forward excitedly.

  His only real interest in the race was whether his horse would beat the Duke of Richmond’s, who was extremely proud of an animal that had already brought him a considerable sum in prize money during the year.

  It was not the money that counted on this occasion.

  It was, as far as the Duke of Richmond was concerned, the joy of winning with his own horse on his own Racecourse and beating his own friends.

  The Duke could appreciate such feelings in an owner. At the same time he was very anxious to prove that Foxhunter was as superb as he believed him to be.

  He knew that everybody in his stable was backing him, as were all the guests at Berkhampton House.

  “You must not disappoint us tomorrow, Ingram!” they had said to him last night. “We are relying on you to make us our expenses for the whole Meeting!”

  The Duke knew that this meant that they expected him to win the Queen’s Plate as well as the Goodwood Cup.

  He did not think of Aldora’s choice again until the horses reached the straight the second time round.

  He was then aware that, riding close beside his colours and those of the Duke of Richmond, there was a jockey wearing an unfamiliar combination of green and yellow spots with a green cap and cross-belts.

  He put his binoculars to his eyes and told himself that this must be Terrier.

  The horse was on the small side but going well, and he had a kind of wiry look about him, which accounted for his name.

  Then, as the Duke realised that his own jockey was straining every nerve to get ahead of the Duke of Richmond’s horse, Terrier unobtrusively slipped past them both.

  To the astonishment of the crowd who watched almost in silence he swept past the Winning Post a length ahead of the two favourites.

  There was an audible gasp from the box and, as everybody began to commiserate with the Duke in a very half-hearted manner because they had themselves lost money, he looked around to see whether Aldora was gloating over him.

  The chair, however, which she had been standing on was empty and he guessed that she had gone down to see the horse she had tipped led in.

  He knew that there was no hurry for him and moved towards the Marchioness who said in her soft, sympathetic voice,

  “I am so sorry, Ingram, but I am sure you will make up for it tomorrow by winning the Goodwood Cup!”

  “I am only sorry for those who followed me,” the Duke replied somewhat stiffly.

  He then joined the other gentlemen who were proceeding down to the course.

  There was no sign of Aldora and, as he walked towards the Weighing-In Room, he saw the boards go up to show that his own horse and the Duke of Richmond’s had dead-heated for second place.

  It was a poor consolation and he was not surprised a moment later to see Aldora talking animatedly to a middle-aged man who had just led in the winner of the race.

  Because the Duke was always courteous he went up to him and said,

  “I believe you must be Mr. Barnard and may I congratulate you on a magnificent win, which was certainly a great surprise!”

  “I thank Your Grace! I was as surprised as everybody else!” Mr. Barnard replied, “except of course, Lady Aldora.”

  The Duke looked at Aldora and thought that her smile and her dimples were mocking at him.

  Then, as Mr. Barnard was surrounded by people congratulating him, he asked Aldora as if he could not prevent himself from doing so,

  “How could you have known that Terrier, which is not a very spectacular horse, would win?”

  She did not answer and he said with what was undoubtedly a sneer in his voice,

  “You may tell me it is your ‘Eye’, but I shall still think you must have other ways of ascertaining matters that the ordinary race-goers are ignorant about.”

  She did not reply and, as his horse came riding in from the track with the Duke of Richmond’s, both jockeys looking somewhat crestfallen, she said almost as if the Duke was condemning them,

  “They did their best!”

  “I am aware of that,” he said sharply.

  Almost as if she spurred him to do so, he said to his jockey,

  “Bad luck, Davis, but one can never account for the unknown and the unexpected.”

  The jockey grinned ruefully.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I did me best, but I knowed you’d be ever so disappointed.”

  “There is always tomorrow,” the Duke replied.

  He patted his horse and turned away to find himself thinking that perhaps tomorrow
would be another disappointment. Aldora might have something up her sleeve that against all expectations would win the Goodwood Cup.

  Although he tried to put her out of his mind, the Duke found himself thinking of her during the evening.

  He found it incredible that in two days of racing she had tipped complete and absolute outsiders with an expertise that any member of the Jockey Club would envy.

  He decided to talk to her again and try to find out more about how she did it. Was it really some gypsy magic or, if she preferred, clairvoyant perception that he had never met before?

  He told himself that she was in any case an abominable young woman and, although he did not believe a word of what she had warned him was her mother’s intention, it would certainly be a mistake for him to show any interest in her.

  All the same what he could not help noticing was that she looked very attractive in a different way from any other of the lovely ladies present.

  What was more, the other members of the house party who danced with her, seemed to be fascinated by what she had to say.

  Later in the evening, when he walked into the drawing room in search of a glass of champagne, he saw Aldora sitting beside an elderly Ambassador who had been asked, he thought, because he was one of the Marchioness’s special friends.

  They were talking very earnestly and, as he passed them, he heard the Ambassador say,

  “The Russian intention is quite clear to the India Office and the Prime Minister is extremely worried, especially as Lord Northbrook has made such a mess over our relationship with Sher Ali.”

  The Duke thought it was a most extraordinary conversation for the Ambassador to be having with a young girl and he deliberately slowed his pace to hear what Aldora would reply.

  “I hear,” she said in her soft clear voice, “that Lord Northbrook is retiring for domestic reasons.”

  “If that is true,” the Ambassador answered, “it’s the best thing that could possibly happen.”

  “It is true,” Aldora said, “as you will learn in a day or so.”

  The Duke thought that it would be a mistake to eavesdrop any further, but he could hardly believe what he had just heard.

  How could Aldora, who must be only just eighteen, be talking in such a manner to the Ambassador, whom he had known for some years and for whom he had a great respect?

  He felt as he filled his glass that, if the conversation had been repeated to him, he would not have believed it and would have thought that somebody was pulling his leg.

  Then, as he returned with the drink in his hand to the card room, he was aware that Aldora had risen from the sofa where she had been sitting beside the Ambassador and was crossing the drawing room obviously on her way to bed.

  Because he could not help being curious the Duke stopped beside the Ambassador to say,

  “Can I bring you a drink, Your Excellency?”

  “No, thank you,” the Ambassador replied. “I am going to find my hostess and hope that she will forgive me for being tired after a long day’s racing.”

  “I heard you talking very seriously to our hostess’s youngest daughter,” the Duke remarked.

  “A brilliant girl,” the Ambassador murmured, “absolutely brilliant! It’s a terrible pity she was not a boy!”

  He walked away as he spoke, leaving the Duke staring after him in astonishment.

  Then he told himself that his impression of Aldora was a very different one and that the Ambassador must have been fooled, as older men often were, by a pretty face.

  *

  The next morning the Duke went riding at his usual time.

  He half-expected to find Aldora either schooling her horses over the jumps or somewhere in the stables.

  But to his surprise and with what he recognised as a slight irritation there was no sign of her.

  He would not demean himself to ask where she was, but instead rode off into the Park, over the flat fields and on towards the rolling downs.

  Although he rode for over two hours, there was still no sign of Aldora.

  Only when he came back into the stable yard did he see her horse, who looked as if he had taken some extremely strenuous exercise, being led into the stables.

  The Duke decided that Aldora must be deliberately avoiding him.

  Then he told himself that was what he wanted.

  He was aware at the same time that he would have liked to question her more closely about the races.

  It was very hot, even for the end of July, and because of the temperature everybody seemed a little more on edge than they had been the previous day.

  As the horses paraded round the paddock, the Duke thought that he had never seen Meteor whom he had entered for the Queen’s Plate, look better.

  He felt confident that he would win and sensed that his jockey felt the same.

  Then, as the horses began to go down to the start, he came upon Aldora walking away from a group of her strange friends.

  She did not see him because she was looking down at her race card, a little frown between her eyes.

  The Duke stopped deliberately in her path.

  “Am I to expect bad news or good?” he asked in a tone of somebody patronising a young child.

  She looked up at him and there was just a faint smile on her lips as she replied,

  “I am sure, Your Grace, that it would spoil your enjoyment during the race if you knew what would be the conclusion.”

  “What you are really saying,” the Duke replied almost aggressively, “is that you don’t know and therefore will not speculate.”

  She looked at him in a manner that told him she was amused by what he was saying and understood that what had happened the previous day had made him slightly apprehensive.

  Then without saying anything she walked away, leaving him staring after her.

  ‘I find the girl abominably rude, unpredictable and extremely tiresome,’ he thought.

  Once again, although he tried not to think about it, he knew that when he had been with Fenella last night he had the uncomfortable feeling that Aldora was aware of it and was shocked by his behaviour.

  ‘I made a mistake in coming to Berkhampton House,’ he thought as he walked back to the stand. ‘Another year I shall go to the Richmonds, as I always have!’

  He reached the box, sat down beside Fenella, and as her gloved hand went out to touch his arm, she said,

  “I am sure, dearest, that Meteor will win and I do hope you have backed it for me!”

  “Yes, of course,” the Duke replied.

  He had actually forgotten to do anything of the sort and, as he seldom bet on his own horses, had not gone near the bookies.

  “Thank you,” Fenella said, “and I hope you will buy a special present for me so that we shall never forget how very very happy we have been at Berkhampton House.”

  It was the sort of thing, because the Duke was so rich, that women always said to him and it never failed to irritate him.

  In fact he was extremely generous and never forgot to reward them for their favours with a very handsome piece of jewellery, just as he rewarded his current mistress in cash.

  He always felt that women showed lack of tact and finesse if their greed was too obvious and he thought that, beautiful though she was, if he spent too much time with Fenella, she would begin to pall on him.

  Then he had the uncomfortable feeling that Aldora at the back of the box would be aware of what he was thinking and know that yet another orange was nearly sucked dry!

  When they returned to Berkhampton House, there as a telegram for Fenella and instantly there was consternation and, where she was concerned, almost a scene.

  Lord Newbury had telegraphed his wife that his mother had suffered a heart attack and was at death’s door.

  He ordered Fenella to return to London immediately and, as the quickest way to travel was by train, the Marchioness offered that she would have her driven to Chichester where she could catch an Express.

  “I will see you
off,” the Duke said, feeling that there was nothing else he could do.

  He saw the tears in Fenella’s eyes as she had thanked him.

  Amazingly, she was ready in an hour, although some of her heavier luggage would have to follow her later.

  They set off in one of the Marchioness’s comfortable carriages and the whole four miles to Chichester was spent by Fenella in reiterating over and over again to the Duke how much she loved him.

  She was obviously devastated at having to leave him when they might have had two more nights together and there was little he could say to comfort her.

  He kissed her goodbye in the carriage and on the platform he raised her hand to his lips.

  *

  Comfortably ensconced in a reserved carriage, Fenella was borne away from him with the traditional waving of the red flag, clouds of steam and the noise of porters slamming the carriage doors as the train began to move.

  He had a last glimpse of her lovely face as she leaned out of the window to smile at him.

  Replacing his hat on his head he walked briskly back to where the carriage was waiting.

  Putting his feet up on the seat opposite him, he knew if he was truthful, that he had no regrets that Fenella had gone and that he would enjoy the racing more without her.

  He did not think it extraordinary that he should feel this way. The fact was, making love to Fenella was almost like eating too much pâté de foie gras and enough was enough.

  His journey to Chichester and back meant that he had to hurry to dress for dinner and, when he came downstairs, it was to find that all the rest of the party had already assembled in the drawing room.

  He therefore had no chance to talk to his hostess alone or to wonder if Fenella’s unexpected departure had upset the seating arrangement at the dinner table.

  He saw, however, that there were a number of people dining who had not been there the night before.

  While he waited to be told whom he was taking in to dinner, he heard the Marchioness’s voice beside him saying,

  “I am sorry, Ingram, that Fenella has had to leave us and for this evening I suggest that Aldora should take her place. I know that you will have a great bond in common with your love of horses, so you will have plenty to talk about.”