Her Secret Affair (11 page)

Another sigh fluttered from Helen. “Dear Isabel, always so practical. You mustn’t think I’m displeased with Justin. We’ve been promised to each other since we were children. He is so fine and handsome, and very dear to me.” They turned at the far end of the drawing room and strolled back toward the gathering, passing the opened doors to the entrance hall. “Hsst. Do you see that?”

“What?” Isabel glanced toward the fashionably dressed aristocrats, who were idling away the afternoon.

“There in the corner. Mr. Charles Mobrey is staring at you again.”

At the other end of the room, the stout man sat alone and aloof, his stiff cravat bracing his weak chin and his fair hair curling around his brooding features. Mobrey had been the first to arrive today. He had pressed a posy of violets into her hand, along with a syrupy poem extolling her beauty.

“Ah,” Isabel said. “It’s the man who compared my lips to ripe cherries and my eyes to chocolate bonbons.”

Helen giggled. “It only goes to prove how violently he’s in love with you. No doubt he’ll be offering for you soon.”

“Offering what?” spoke a low-pitched voice from behind them.

Isabel whirled around. A flush surged through her body when she saw Lord Kern looming over them. He exuded perfection from his polished leather Hessians to his groomed black hair. His burgundy coat outlined the breadth of his shoulders and showed off the elegance of his white neckcloth. One would never guess that only hours ago, he had swept her up on horseback and held her as close as a lover.

“Justin,” Helen squealed, lifting her hand for his kiss. “What a delightful surprise. Why are you not at Parliament?”

He made a formal bow. “I couldn’t stay away from you.” His lip curled slightly as he turned to Isabel. “Besides, I thought Miss Darcy might need looking after.”

Rest assured, I don’t intend to let you out of my sight.

Her heart tripped over a beat. Did he know she felt a wretched tug of attraction to him? His eyes were the cool green of a woodland pool. Not even a shaft of sunlight from a nearby window could penetrate his thoughts. One fact was certain.
He
felt no attraction to
her.

“How thoughtful you are,” Helen said with a smile. “But we’ve a roomful of men anxious to fill the role of champion to my cousin.”

“So I see.” He scanned the throng. “Now who, pray, is offering for whom?”

“No one,” Isabel said quickly. “It is only idle gossip and not worth repeating.”

“And premature as well.” Giving Isabel a secret wink, Helen looped her arm through his. “Oh, Justin, I’m glad you’re here. I did so want your opinion on a matter of grave importance.”

He cast a suspicious glance at Isabel, then returned his attention to Helen. “Is something wrong?”

“It is a most vexing dilemma. Perhaps you can solve it for me. Do you prefer lilies or roses to decorate the church at our wedding?” Helen frowned earnestly at him. “Cousin Isabel suggests I might use a variety of flowers—and that is a very fine compromise—but I wanted to discuss it with you first, in case you have a preference.”

“Whatever you decide is perfectly agreeable with me,” he said, patting the back of her hand. “I defer to your excellent taste.”

He smiled down at her with a fondness that defied his cold, forbidding nature. Gazing at them, the darkly handsome prince with his dainty blond princess, Isabel felt like an outsider. They were born to this privileged world while she only masqueraded as a lady, infiltrating the inner circle of society, yet never truly belonging. Eventually, whether she liked it or not, she must go back to her old life.

You are who you are, a trollop’s daughter …

She denied a pang of regret. It wouldn’t do to covet fashionable clothes and fancy balls. Or to wish she might truly belong in this sheltered world as Helen did. At all costs, Isabel must remember her purpose in being here—to find the nobleman who had murdered her mother. And Kern’s father ranked high on the list of suspects.

With iron determination, she addressed Kern. “How does His Grace of Lynwood fare?”

The warmth left the earl’s features, chased away by chilly arrogance. “Well enough. And are you having a fine time, entertaining your admirers?”

“My cousin has more suitors than the daughter of a duchess,” Helen murmured proudly. “Is it not wonderful, Justin? She’s a dazzling success. We’ve received
piles
of invitations to balls and soirees and dinner parties.”

He gave Isabel a hard stare. “It is a wonder, indeed.”

“Perhaps I may ask,” Isabel persisted, “why we are never invited to dine with
you,
my lord? If your father is improved, then it seems ill-mannered for us to stay away. And now that I think on it, I do believe my mother once knew him. I should like to renew the acquaintance.”

“You never mentioned that before,” Helen said in delight. “Fancy, what a small world this is—”

“My dearest, we’re keeping you from your duties as hostess,” Kern broke in, his tone pleasant but firm. “You mustn’t let us monopolize you. I’ll occupy your cousin.”

“As you say, my lord.” Helen squeezed Isabel’s hand. “I do so want the two of you to be friends.” Smiling, she hastened toward their visitors.

Ignoring the curious glances from the throng, Kern took Isabel’s arm, directing her to a quiet niche near the pianoforte. He despised himself for noticing the silkiness of her skin. Anger seethed inside him, though he maintained a bland expression. Releasing her, he kept his voice low and said, “I’m onto your game, Miss Darling.”

“I do not play games, my lord.” She rubbed her arm where he had touched her. “Games are for idle people prone to silly amusements.”

“You want to badger my father about the memoirs. You still hope to blackmail him. I will not permit it.”

She lifted her chin and asked the question that had been nagging at her. “I wish to speak to Lynwood’s doctor. Did you send him to Aunt Persy?”

“Yes.”

“And?” A hint of anxiety laced her voice. “What did the doctor report? How is she faring?”

“As well as can be expected under the circumstances. Dr. Sadler professed to be puzzled by the sudden severity of her symptoms. He could only surmise she isn’t a very strong woman.”

“She was healthy at one time,” Isabel said with a trace of bitterness. “Did he prescribe any medication or tonic?”

“He gave her a dose of morphine to ease her pain. He’ll return to her on the morrow. I’m afraid there’s nothing else to be done but wait for improvement.”

No matter how little respect he had for Isabel Darling, Kern hated being the bearer of bad tidings. Slim and lovely in a willow-green gown, she leaned against the satinwood pianoforte as if unable to stand without support. A small pucker marred her brow, and she worried her lower lip with her white teeth. He felt a dangerous softening inside himself, the urge to draw her close and offer comfort. He didn’t like knowing she could care for someone other than herself. It was easier to condemn the crafty female who dared to blackmail her betters.

“Smile, Miss Darling,” he said in a silky undertone. “Lest people say we’re quarreling.”

That did the trick. Her spine went rigid, her shoulders squared. She curved her lips into the parody of a smile. “Pardon me if I embarrass you by showing concern for my aunt. Now, if you’ll provide me an address for Dr. Sadler, I’ll send him his fee.”

His brief tenderness vanished. “The matter has already been settled.”

“I don’t want your charity.”

“Then consider it a gift to my future
cousin-in-law.
”

The keenness of her stare made his skin prickle. “You don’t wish me to contact Dr. Sadler, do you?” she said slowly. “You think I’m planning to ask him questions about Lynwood.”

“Leave my father out of this.”

“Tell me, then, what ailment does he suffer from? The pox, same as Aunt Persy? Is that why you suggested
his
doctor examine her?”

“No.”
Taking several deep breaths, Kern willed away the pressure in his chest. Only he and a few trusted servants knew his father experienced spells of madness. He bent closer, speaking for her ears alone, “Heed me, Miss Darling, and heed me well—”

A shrill voice interrupted him. “Whatever are you two whispering about there in the corner?” called a fleshy woman squashed into a gilt chair halfway across the long drawing room. “I vow, my lord, you and Miss Darcy have been behaving like conspirators.”

Lady Woodbane, damn the cow. Behind her hovered her son, staring with lovesick eyes at Isabel. “Ah, you’ve spoiled my surprise,” Kern said easily. “Miss Darcy has been advising me on a bride gift for Lady Helen.”

Even from across the room, he could see Helen blush with pleasure. She clasped her hands to her small bosom. How sweet she was, as excited as a child. And how undeserving he felt for lying. He vowed to make it up to her by purchasing the finest bride gift money could buy.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the baroness. “I merely wished to ask if perhaps Miss Darcy would play a song for us on the pianoforte.”

He stepped back to allow Isabel space to walk to the bench, but she stood unmoving. Her face had gone pale. “I’m afraid I don’t play,” she told the baroness.

“Not play?” The older woman arched an eyebrow. “Come now, you are being modest. Every lady plays and sings.”

“No, ma’am. I never studied music. It was not considered important by my parents.”

“Well! That is a strange upbringing.” The dowager cast a veiled, I-told-you-so glance at her son. “Very strange, indeed.”

“Not so strange an upbringing as that of those who never learned manners,” Kern said. “Helen, will you play for us?”

Lady Woodbane sat blinking, her lorgnette dangling from her pudgy hand as if she were unsure whether or not she’d been delivered a setdown. Isabel Darling stood with her chin held high and defiance sparking in her fine dark eyes.

Helen glided forward, seating herself at the pianoforte. Kern didn’t understand the impulse that had prompted him to rescue Isabel. He felt damnably drawn to her again, drawn to this upstart who put him in the ignominious position of defending her character. She would as soon lay waste to his honor as thank him.

As the tinkling strains of the pianoforte brightened the air and all eyes turned to Helen, Kern bent closer to Isabel, speaking for her alone. “As I was saying, I forbid you to contact Lynwood.”

“Forbid?” she whispered, edging a coquettish glance up at him. “Fie, sir, you speak strongly for a man who has no jurisdiction over me.”

He gritted his teeth. “Nevertheless, you’ll listen well. Should I find you anywhere near Lynwood, there’ll be hell to pay.”

The lustiest of my lovers was Zeus.

Unlike more circumspect gentlemen, the Duke of L—— was not one to take his indulgence in my chamber and then depart under cover of darkness; ofttimes he liked for us to venture into the very fringes of polite Society, and as for myself, I enjoyed the secret jest we played on those who would shun a lady of my vocation.

On one such memorable occasion we attended the Opera, situating ourselves most comfortably in the Duke’s private box. There, while seated in the shadows cast by lamplight from the stage below, Zeus reached beneath my skirts and pleasured me to the accompaniment of a robust tenor and a pretty soprano. I then took liberties with his manly person, and thus we passed a delightful hour. No one could guess at our naughty occupation, for Zeus and I pretended a respectful interest in the opera even while our busy hands worshipped those regions sacred to Cupid.

In time we knew each other in such diverse places as beside the lake in St. James’s Park on a moonlit night and in the dressing room of a snobbish modiste on Bond Street in the middle of the afternoon. Once he even bribed a watchman at Westminster Abbey, and this story would not be complete without a narration of how we took our joy by the tomb of the Virgin Queen …

—The True Confessions of a Ladybird

Chapter 6

“Are you certain Justin will approve?” Helen said as the Hathaway coach turned a busy corner in Mayfair.

Bracing her gloved hands on the leather seat, Isabel fabricated a smile. “He’s always pleased to see you,” she said. “Wouldn’t you like it if he came to call on
you
unexpectedly?”

“Yes. Oh yes, indeed.” Helen’s brow furrowed beneath the wide-brimmed bonnet with its pink satin trim. “Still, he likes surprises very little. He’s a stickler for arranging events in advance—he set our wedding date nearly a year ago.”

“Then it would do him well to learn the joys of spontaneity.”

“Perhaps so.” Helen’s face took on a glow of determination. “Yes, you’re right. I must teach him to avoid schedules and to relish the moment.”

“His lordship despises impulsiveness in a female,” Miss Gilbert ventured in her tiny, high-pitched voice. “A lady comports herself with decorum. She does not go where she is not invited.”

The governess sat opposite them, a shy mole of a woman wrapped in a plain brown cloak. Her dark eyes darted back and forth between the girls, and she dabbed a handkerchief to her bloodless lips.

“Oh Gillie, don’t fret,” Helen said, leaning across the carriage to pat the older woman’s hand. “My cousin has a point—Justin
will
be happy to receive us. It’s the perfect occasion to go over the guest list for our wedding. You and I must soon begin the task of addressing the envelopes to ensure the invitations go out on time…”

As the women launched into a discussion of the wedding plans, Isabel turned her mind to a more pressing matter. For the past two days, Kern had hovered close by, escorting them to soirees and dinners and musicales. He had a way of glowering that made her intensely aware of his dislike for her, though in front of Helen he was all gentility and politeness. Isabel recalled the odd pleasure in her breast when he had defended her. But of course, he had done so only because they were in public. What he said to her in private was another matter entirely.

Rest assured, Miss Darling, I don’t intend to let you out of my sight.