your friend is a breaker of hearts, Mr Arncliffe.’
Sitting a few seats along from the Duke, General Dingwall gave a bark of laughter. ‘How could he not be? Handsome young dog, with a title and a fortune, ’tis no wonder that all the ladies are hot for him.’
‘But I was not always titled, or rich. A few years ago I was merely Major Colnebrooke of a Regiment of Foot.’ He leaned back, his long, lean fingers, playing with the stem of his wineglass. ‘Then ladies were more inclined to run away.’
There was uproar at this, hoots of laughter from the gentlemen while from the ladies came disclaimers that their sex would be so fickle. Only the Duke and Ellen appeared unmoved. She felt his eyes upon her as she concentrated on her supper, cutting the meat into precise little portions. Each mouthful tasted of ashes, but pride forced her to continue. How dared he chastise her? What had he expected her to do, once his deceit was discovered?
And your own deception?
She would not think of that. She had done what was necessary to survive.
The scrape of fiddles heralded the start of another dance and the supper party began to disperse. The Duke pushed back his chair.
‘May I escort you back to the ballroom, Mrs Furnell?’
‘Thank you, Your Grace, but that will not be necessary.’
‘What, madam, are you afraid of me?’
Slowly she came to her feet, saying with a laugh, ‘Of course not, Your Grace.’
But the look in his eyes told her she should be. Very afraid.
Ellen stood, waiting, while the Duke made his way around the table to join her. His step was firm, assured, and he had the lithe grace of a big cat. When they had first met she had likened him to a lion, with his shaggy mane of thick, wavy fair hair. It was shorter now, and darker than she remembered, but four years ago his locks had been bleached by the Egyptian sun. Now it had golden highlights that glinted in the candlelight.
All that glitters...
Mrs Ackroyd had called them a golden couple, but Ellen had quickly discovered that Max was not gold but dross. Foolishly she had allowed herself to be taken in by his charm, so blinded by love that she had ignored her friend’s advice to wait, and had entered into a hasty marriage, only to discover within weeks that it was all a pretence.
Now the man who had broken her heart and ruined her life was towering over her.
‘Well, madam, shall we go?’
With a smile she took his arm. She had vowed that no one would ever know how foolish she had been, how much she had suffered. Least of all Max Colnebrooke.
* * *
Max kept his pace slow, measured, as he escorted Ellen back to the ballroom. The shock of seeing her again after all these years had abated. Upon his return to England, four years ago, he had searched for her, hoping against all the evidence that she had come back to him and not forsaken him for the French Consul, but it had been in vain. She had left Egypt under her new lover’s protection, leaving him no word of explanation. Not even goodbye. His temper was under control now and it must stay that way. His anger against the woman beside him had cooled long ago, he would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that her betrayal had almost destroyed him. But there were questions he wanted to ask, things he needed to know.
‘We must talk,’ he said.
‘No, we must dance.’ She was smiling, but not at him. She lifted her hand to acknowledge those already on the dance floor who were inviting them to join in.
He could refuse, he could drag her away to some secluded spot, but how would that look? Everyone would say he was besotted with the golden widow and he had no intention of adding to her consequence in that way. Max took his place in the line. It was a country dance and would go on for some time, perhaps as much as an hour. He almost ground his teeth in frustration, but there was nothing he could do now. Talking would have to wait.
The fellow standing beside him, a Mr Rudby, Max recalled, looked at Ellen in surprise.
‘Dash it, I thought you was not going to dance again tonight, ma’am.’ He laughed and threw a sly glance at Max. ‘I am glad you persuaded her, Your Grace, for now I can reserve the next for myself. And I’ll take no denials, madam, it would be dashed uncivil of you to refuse!’
Max saw the look of distaste in Ellen’s eyes at this forthright speech. She could not reject Rudby without giving serious offence and Max knew he could not stand up with her again. He silently cursed these rigid ballroom conventions; he would be obliged to invite other ladies to join him on the dance floor if he wanted to avoid speculation, even though there was only one woman he wanted to dance with.
There had only ever been one woman and that annoyed him more than all the rest.
* * *
Unbidden, the picture of Ellen in the desert came into his mind. She had been untrammelled by convention then. When he had first seen her she was dressed like a man in a fine silk shirt, scarlet waistcoat and long, loose trousers tucked into her riding boots. Very practical attire for riding a camel, he had thought, and with the scarlet khafiya covering her luxuriant golden hair she might have passed as a boy, although Max had never had any doubts about her sex, even though at first all he could see of her were those laughing eyes, blue as sapphire.
She had wanted to visit Giza and he had escorted her there, despite the risks of being discovered so close to Cairo by soldiers loyal to Muhammed Ali. It was night by the time they reached the pyramids, but the full moon provided light enough, although the shadows were black and sharp. The night air was balmy, the warm breeze a refreshing change from the oven-like heat of the day. Ellen had laughed and exclaimed at how ragged the pyramids appeared when one was close, and Max had challenged her to climb with him. She had not hesitated. He remembered how nimbly she had scrambled over the large stone blocks, how they had rested together in companionable silence on their high perch. How he had stolen a kiss.
* * *
Ellen smiled and skipped her way through the dance and when the music stopped she accepted Mr Rudby’s hand to join the next set. She had never felt less like dancing, but it was almost obligatory and besides, the alternative was a tête-à-tête with Max, which she wanted to avoid at all costs. With mixed feelings she watched the Duke lead out Mr Rudby’s previous partner. She would much rather he had taken himself off, but she could not help feeling a little grateful that he had taken pity on poor Miss Glossop. His attentions would go a long way to make up for the offence Mr Rudby had offered the poor girl in discarding her so quickly for the golden widow.
* * *
Ellen was exhausted. Her face ached with the effort of smiling and she felt sure her dance shoes were worn through. She had danced continuously since supper, putting off the evil moment when she would have to face Max alone. It would come, she knew it, and it must be this evening. There was no help for it. Even as she skipped and laughed and twirled she was planning how quickly she could remove her household from Harrogate.
When the last dance ended Ellen looked about for the Duke, steeling herself for a confrontation. She was a
