Revenge of the Heart Read online

  “When you are kissing your fiancée, you will remember my kisses. When you touch her skin, it will not feel like mine. You will miss the beating of my heart and the sound of my voice telling you of my love!”

  Now the tone of her voice was hypnotic, mesmeric, but, as Warren listened, he knew it was a very skilful performance and that the audience to whom it was addressed was not himself as a person, but the Marquis of Buckwood.

  “Goodbye, Magnolia!” he said sharply and sat down at his desk.

  She lingered for a moment longer and then she was gone.

  Only when he was certain she would not return did he rise to walk across the room to the open window.

  He felt he needed fresh air.

  He felt too as if he had been fighting against something that threatened to envelop him against his will, that if he was not careful would destroy him.

  Then he told himself he was being as theatrical as Magnolia had been and the sooner he got back to sanity the better.

  At the same time he felt almost as if his collar was strangling him and it was hard to breathe.

  *

  Nadia came downstairs a little after eleven o’clock, feeling ashamed that she had slept so late.

  The butler met her in the hall to say,

  “Her Ladyship has asked me to apologise, my Lady, and to inform you that as she was very fatigued through being up so late last night she will not be down until luncheon time.”

  “I quite understand,” Nadia replied, “and I am late too.”

  “That was to be expected, my Lady,” the butler said. “It’s a very tiring journey from Paris, I understand.”

  “Yes, very,” Nadia agreed.

  He opened the door of the drawing room which had long French windows opening out into the garden. Outside Nadia could see there was a formal rose garden and because it was summer the roses were all in bloom – crimson, white, yellow, pink and gold, they made a lovely picture.

  Everything was very quiet, except for the humming of the bees buzzing over the blossoms and the birds singing in the bushes.

  It was like stepping into a fairyland after being condemned to the squalid bedroom which she and her mother had occupied on the Left Bank of the Seine.

  Even to think of it after her mother had grown so ill made Nadia shudder.

  A breakfast tray had been brought to her bedside after she woke and, as she had looked at the beautiful china, the silver cover that kept the eggs hot and the fine linen napkin embroidered with Lord John’s monogram, she wanted to cry.

  How could her mother have endured the cheap badly cooked food served on cracked plates in their dirty dilapidated attic?

  It was not surprising, Nadia thought, that she had died not only of her illness, but also of starvation because it was impossible to provide her with the right nourishment.

  ‘Oh, Mama, if only you were here now!’ she cried out in her heart.

  Then she knew it was no use grieving over the past and instead she had to think of the future.

  ‘I am so lucky, so very very lucky,’ she told herself, just as Warren had done.

  She was thinking that, if he had not saved her, she would by now be buried in a pauper’s grave and because she had committed suicide, without the prayers or the blessing of the Church.

  At least her mother had had that.

  Because she was aware how desperately tired she had felt last night and almost on the point of collapse, she forced herself to eat everything on the breakfast tray even though it was a great effort.

  ‘If I am to help him as he wishes me to do,’ she reasoned, ‘I have to be strong and, what is more, I must have my wits about me.’

  Last night when the maid had been helping her undress, the woman’s voice had kept fading away and she had felt as if she was moving in a fog.

  Now everything was clear, but it was inevitable that the weeks or was it months of misery and privation overshadowed with fear had taken their toll.

  Now she was in England, her fear had receded into the background, and with her new identity, even though it was just play-acting, she need think of nothing except getting herself well and trying to do what kind Mr. Wood asked of her.

  Then she remembered he was now a Marquis and wanted to laugh because it all seemed so incredible.

  How could she have imagined for one moment when she went down to the Seine to drown herself that so soon she would find herself living in the luxury of an English mansion, waited on by attentive servants, such as she remembered in the past?

  And knowing that hanging in the wardrobe were expensive, elegant gowns such as she had never expected to see again, let alone own?

  “It’s not true! I am dreaming!” Nadia exclaimed.

  But because it was so exciting, she wanted to get up and see everything and do everything in case she woke up.

  The sunshine in the garden, the roses, and the redbrick wall enclosing them that she knew was very old and mellowed with age all seemed again part of her dreams.

  Her mother had often described to her what an English garden was like.

  Although she had never seen one, she knew now that this was exactly what she had expected.

  It was all so beautiful and there was no need to look over her shoulder or fear that somebody was approaching her, or lower her voice in case what she was saying should be overheard.

  “I am in England and I am safe!” she said aloud.

  Because the sun was very hot, she turned and walked back through the French windows into the drawing room.

  This again was exactly as her mother had described to her – the comfortable sofas and armchairs, the tables on which there were innumerable and fascinating objets d’art, snuff-boxes, pieces of Dresden china, silver photograph frames with photographs of beautiful women which they had signed boldly and proudly.

  There were portraits on the walls too, which were, Nadia thought, what she might have expected.

  There was a beautiful painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds over the marble mantelpiece and a very attractive Greuze on one wall.

  There was a Conversation Piece of a family wearing the clothes of the previous century with a magnificent house in the background that she was sure was Buckwood.

  It had been too dark last night to see the big house and she hoped that Warren would show it to her today. She already knew how much it meant to him. His voice had softened when he spoke of it and she had the feeling that it was as dear to him as the woman he had loved.

  When she thought about him, seeing how handsome and attractive he was and, as she had found, kind and understanding, it seemed impossible that any woman should have thrown him over so cruelly that he now wished to have his revenge.

  Nadia was far too perceptive not to be aware that the woman who had jilted Warren had made him suffer in a manner he would never forget.

  At the same time she thought to herself, his bitterness was a flaw and seemed unworthy of him.

  It was, she thought, looking across the room, as if somebody had deliberately damaged the beautiful Conversation Piece that she realised now had been painted by Gainsborough.

  Then, as she was looking at it, thinking that one day Warren should be painted in the same way together with his family and the house he loved behind him, the door of the drawing room opened.

  Nadia turned her head, hoping it was Warren.

  Instead she saw a woman who was so beautiful and so different from anybody she had seen before that she could only stare at her.

  She was dressed in black, which seemed to reveal every curve of her breasts and hips, and somehow made her seem theatrical as if she was on a stage.

  There were two long strings of pearls round her neck and her hat was trimmed with black ostrich feathers. Beneath it her skin was dazzlingly white and had the same translucence as her pearls.

  Her eyes were dark, liquid and fringed with long lashes.

  She came gracefully across the room as Nadia watched, spellbound by her appearance.

&nbs
p; Then, as he reached her, the woman exclaimed,

  “I understand you are trying to marry Warren!”

  The rude way she spoke and her form of words was so surprising that for a moment Nadia could not find her voice to reply.

  Then because she thought to hesitate might seem weak she answered,

  “We are – engaged.”

  “Then let me tell you,” Magnolia said, “that you are not going to marry him! And if you try to do so, you will be sorry!”

  She spoke in a low voice that dripped venom and Nadia could now see the fury in her eyes and it made her afraid.

  “I-I don’t understand,” she answered and heard her voice stammering.

  “In case you do not know, my name is Magnolia Keane and Warren is mine, as he has always been. If he thinks he can escape me, he is very much mistaken. As for you – ”

  Magnolia looked her up and down in a way that was insulting before she finished,

  “ – go back to where you came from and find another man. You shall not have mine!”

  “I do not – know what you are – saying!” Nadia cried.

  But Magnolia, having almost spat the words at her, turned away.

  She walked back towards the door, moving slowly, sensuously, almost, Nadia thought, as if her body writhed like that of a snake.

  Then the door was closed behind her and Nadia was alone.

  For a moment she could not believe that what had happened was real.

  Then she thought she could understand why Warren had been so much in love with Magnolia that when they parted he had wished to kill himself.

  She could understand that with somebody like the woman she had just seen, love would not be a soft and contented happiness, but a burning, fiery rapture that would consume those who felt it.

  Then, when it was gone, it left them sucked dry of everything but a sense of despair.

  ‘Now I can understand,’ Nadia said beneath her breath. ‘But why, if she still wants him, does he need me?’

  It all seemed incomprehensible.

  She knew when Warren had told her in Paris how he had been disillusioned, she had thought he had lost the woman he loved for ever and had not expected to find her here, claiming him as obviously Magnolia Keane was doing.

  She sat down on a chair because her legs felt as if they could not carry her and tried to work it out in her own mind.

  Then, because she was very intelligent, she began to understand what had happened.

  Magnolia, as Warren had said, had refused to marry him because she had the chance of marrying a man with a title.

  That must have been his cousin who had died through an accident.

  Now the cousin was dead she wanted Warren back again, but he no longer wanted her.

  It all seemed somewhat complicated.

  At the same time Nadia could understand his pride would not allow him to be thrown down and picked up again by any woman, even one as beautiful as Magnolia Keane.

  “She is lovely, but dangerous!” Nadia murmured.

  Then, as she recalled the expression in Magnolia’s eyes, she felt the fear she thought she had left behind in Paris creeping over her again, the fear she had lived with for so long that it seemed cruel that it should be with her again, just when she believed she had escaped from it, and she felt herself shiver.

  The door opened and Warren came in.

  He looked so handsome, so elegant, in his riding clothes with polished boots and wearing a whipcord jacket and there was also something strong, comforting and safe about him.

  Without meaning to, Nadia gave a little cry of delight.

  “I was thinking of you.”

  Warren shut the door behind him and walked towards her.

  “What was that woman doing here?” he asked. “Has she upset you?”

  “How – how did you know she was – here?”

  “I saw her carriage driving away,” he said, “and I knew she must have called either to upset my mother or you.”

  “Your mother is not yet down.”

  “Then you, Nadia, what did she say to you?”

  Because he was still speaking sharply and his voice was hard, Nadia felt herself tremble and her face, as she looked at him, was very pale.

  As if Warren understood, in a very different tone he said,

  “You are upset, and that is the last thing I wanted. I am very sorry, Nadia. I might have expected this to happen.”

  “But – how could you?”

  “I told her to leave my house, and she was very angry. Then because she had been told we were engaged, she came here to vent her anger on you.”

  “She is – very beautiful!”

  “I thought so once.”

  “And now?”

  Nadia glanced at him and saw to her surprise that he was smiling.

  “She no longer has the power to upset me.”

  “I-I am so very glad!”

  “But she has upset you, and that is unforgivable!”

  “No, I am all right now. It was – just that she was – rather frightening – and she said you belonged to her.”

  “That is where she is mistaken.”

  He gave a sigh as he added,

  “I suppose I really should not talk to you like this, but, as you are helping me, you may as well know the truth. I was secretly afraid, although I would not have admitted it even to myself, that when I saw her again she would somehow get me back into her clutches.”

  “And you – did not feel like that?”

  Warren recalled how Magnolia’s lips had meant nothing to him and he said,

  “I am free, completely and absolutely free!”

  He walked across to the window as he spoke and looked out into the sunlit garden, thinking that the beauty of it was his, just as the house, the lake, the great oaks under which the deer were lying were his.

  Now he felt he could enjoy them without any shadow on his happiness.

  Then behind him a soft voice said,

  “P-perhaps you – no longer – need me – and I should – go away.”

  He turned and saw Nadia’s eyes looking at him beseechingly and knew that she was afraid he might wish her to leave at once.

  “Of course I want you,” he said reassuringly. “Nothing could be more disastrous than for Magnolia to guess for one moment that I had brought you here just to confront her and that as soon as she had left you had left too.”

  “You – want me to stay?”

  “I insist upon your staying! That was our agreement. If you remember, I said you would stay as long as I considered it necessary.”

  “And it is – really necessary? You are not just – saying that to help me?”

  “You are necessary to me,” he declared, “and I am being entirely selfish when I say I want you.”

  He thought the expression of relief currently sweeping over her face very touching and he added,

  “I learnt when I was in the Army that one should never underrate the enemy and I have the feeling, although I hope I am wrong, that Magnolia will not give up easily.”

  “That is what I thought – too,” Nadia said, “but – surely she cannot – hurt you now?”

  “No, of course not!” Warren replied. “The only way she could hurt me would have been through my heart, as she did before.”

  “And now?”

  “I shall enjoy myself without giving her another thought.”

  “At the same time,” Nadia said a little hesitatingly, “while I do not see quite what she can do, I think she might still be dangerous for you.”

  “Nonsense!” Warren exclaimed. “We are just frightening ourselves with ‘bogey-bogeys’, as I used to do when I was a child.”

  Nadia laughed.

  “I used to be frightened of them too.”

  He saw a shadow pass over her face and knew the fear had not only been when she was a child, but also when she was older.

  He wanted to ask her about it because he was curious, but knew it would be a mista
ke.

  Perhaps one day she would confide in him, but for the moment he would respect her desire for secrecy.

  Instead he said,

  “I am going to ask you to come to luncheon to meet my relatives. Quite a number are here already and you will meet the rest at dinner. Now, as we have plenty of time to spare, I thought perhaps you might like to drive a little way round the estate and of course admire my house.”

  Nadia clasped her hands together.

  “May I – really do that?”

  “I am inviting you to come with me.”

  She gave a little cry of joy.

  Then she said,

  “I will not keep you a minute while I fetch my hat.”

  “I am prepared to wait,” he replied, “but don’t be any longer than you can help.”

  She did not answer him, but ran from the room and he heard her footsteps crossing the hall.

  He smiled and thought that although their conversation had been serious, she was still at times spontaneous and impulsive, almost child-like.

  ‘It was clever of me to bring her here!’ he murmured to himself. ‘It has made it far easier to be rid of Magnolia than it would have been otherwise.’

  Then he wondered what his relatives would think of Nadia and was certain they would consider her far more suitable to be the Marchioness of Buckwood than Magnolia.

  He was well aware that women always eyed Magnolia with suspicion, if not an active dislike.

  She was far too sensational and beautiful in a way they would think somewhat immodest and theatrical.

  The Marchioness of Buckwood should by tradition be beautiful, but with an indefinable dignity that came from being exceedingly well bred, and what the servants would call ‘a proper lady’.

  Strangely enough, that was exactly how Nadia looked, and Warren found himself wondering who the Charringtons were, and how she and her mother could have been left to starve.

  ‘Charrington’ was not an uncommon name and yet he could not remember whether he had ever met one.

  ‘I will ask amongst my friends,’ he decided, ‘and when I go to London I will have a word with the Secretary of White’s.’

  He knew that the man, who had been there for years, had every member’s antecedents at his finger-tips.

  Then, as he realised that Nadia was running down the stairs, he told himself he must be careful to remember that she was the Comtesse Nadia Ferrais and she came from an old and very respected Hungarian family.