Page 69 of A Game of Scandal

At least the Archers’ chef was almost worth the trip, and the table heaved with dish after expensive dish, each elaborately prepared. There was cold poached salmon with ravigote sauce, mutton cutlets, fricandeau of veal, curried lobster, artichokes with mayonnaise, rabbit quenelles – it was an endless parade of beautifully presented food.

“Monsieur Henri is an angel in the kitchen,” Lady Archer simpered, rousing herself temporarily from her stupor.

At first I was confused by the evidence of an expensive French chef, but soon I realized that it was part of a wider pattern. The food, the wine, the clothes the Archers wore – everything was the finest available. I wondered if this was perhaps a clue as to where Perry had got his profligate tendencies from. Clearly what money they had was being spent on finery rather than tackling what needed to be done with the house or the estate.

I couldn’t see Ash sharing this attitude. I wasn’t sure how much money one made from a gambling den, but he certainly didn’t live in this kind of luxury, and I already knew that at least some of the profits must go to worthy causes like the Red Lion. I wondered what demands his parents were making.

At last, the butler was clearing dessert and about to serve coffee. I felt I had been pushed to the limits of polite conversation. It wasn’t exactly my strong suit at the best of times, and this evening would have taxed even the most gracious and tactful socialite. My head ached, my shoulders were so tight I was surprised they weren’t brushing my ear lobes. If Lord Archer made one more inappropriate comment, I feared I might simply snap and throw my dessert spoon at him. The image was so appealing that I felt my fingers tighten round the handle.

“I think Lady Felicity might need some fresh air,” Ash said suddenly, and all heads swung in my direction.

“Yes, yes,” Lord Archer said with barely suppressed glee. “Why don’t you show the young lady around the grounds. They are lovely by moonlight. Many a poet has found inspiration at Ely Hall!”

“I will chaperone, of course,” Laetitia said, pushing her chair back with such haste that the scrape echoed loudly around the enormous room. Lord Archer looked put out, and I couldn’t help thinking he’d be absolutely delighted to find I had been compromised by his son, followed by a hasty trip down the aisle.

“Thank you,” I said, getting to my feet. “I am feeling a bit warm.”

As the cavernous hall was draughty and heated by a single fireplace, this remark was patently false, but everyone seemed happy to pretend they believed it.

Ash escorted Laetitia and me through to the back of the house and into a dark and overgrown garden that could not possibly inspire poetry – unless it was of the deeply melancholic variety.

“Don’t mind me,” Laetitia said, pulling a cigarette from the pockets that were cleverly concealed in her skirt. “I’ve got no intention of trailing around in the dark after the two of you, but I had to get away from that pair.”

I felt a rush of affection for her: this spiky, independent woman who had taken me under her wing. I was certain that she had come along tonight only to be a supportive presence to Ash. And to me.

“Come on.” Ash held his hand out to me, and I slipped my fingers through his. “I hear this place is lovely in the moonlight.”

We walked around a winding path in silence, the darkness swallowing us up with thirsty haste.

“You once told me that moonlit gardens were the perfect scene for kissing,” I said, and half a heartbeat later I was in his arms.

“Kissing you sounds like the only possible way to salvage this evening,” he said, pulling me tightly against him. It was as though I could feel his heart beating through my whole body in perfect time with my own. “You are my hero, Felicity Vane.”

“I don’t think I did anything terribly heroic,” I said, trying to focus on forcing the words out in some sort of coherent order. His face was angled temptingly close above mine. With one small movement I could bring his mouth against my own.

Ash’s low laugh was without humour. “You navigated that dinner without crying or screaming or throwing things.”

“So did you.”

“Practice,” he murmured. “I used to regularly do all those things. It was quite enlivening.”

“I’m sorry that you have had to deal with them on your own.” I placed my palm on his chest, pressed my fingers lightly against the firm muscle.

“I didn’t have to tonight,” he said softly. “Tonight you were there.”

The words were the only encouragement I needed, and I surged up on my toes, pressing my lips to his.

This time the kiss was different. Instead of a crash, it was a long, slow, delirious fall. Ash’s mouth caressed mine as if this moment between us were something to be savoured. My fingers wound round the back of his head, pulling him closer, as they delved into the cool silk of his hair.

His nose brushed my own, his hands raised until they cradled my face, his thumbs tracing the line of my jaw in slow, sweeping strokes. My mouth opened, and the kiss deepened, a small, desperate sound that I didn’t recognize escaped from me as I pushed harder against him, wanting his body pressed against every inch of my own. I felt his smile against my lips and found the experience curiously arousing. Nipping my lip, he laughed and I wanted to drink the sound.

When we finally broke apart, he continued to hold me, velvet eyes looking down into my own with such open affection that I was struck by a sudden wave of panic.

Clearly sensing the change in my mood, Ash let his hands drop at once, putting several inches of air between us.

“Too much?” he asked, his voice rough. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” I shook my head, and my own voice sounded high, a little breathless. “It’s not that. Not at all.”