Her Secret Affair (16 page)

She drew a shuddery breath; her bosom rose and fell beneath the silk spencer. “You wouldn’t dare. I would publish the memoirs.”

“Would you? Or is your true purpose to unmask a murderer? A man you believe is a member of the
ton.
”

Isabel set her mouth in an obstinate line. “I am under no obligation to tell you my business. So why don’t you stop the carriage and let me off here? I’d sooner walk to church than endure your company.”

“Oh no,” he said through gritted teeth. “You are staying with me. Until you give me the entire truth.”

She stuck her nose in the air. “Prepare yourself for a dull afternoon then, m’lord.”

He wanted to shake her. Instead, he snapped the reins, setting the bay to trotting smartly, the harness jingling as they headed out of Mayfair. She
would
tell him everything. And Kern knew just the way to extract the information from her.

Isabel sat up straighter as the refined neighborhood gave way to common shops and smaller houses. “This isn’t the way to St. George’s Church.”

“No.”

“You’re heading toward the Strand. Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.”

Within minutes they passed the Covent Garden Theatre. Kern drew the horse to a halt in front of a plain, paltry brick building. People went in and out of the front door: an official in a white wig and black suit, a weeping woman with a handkerchief pressed to her nose, a disreputable knave hauled up the steps by a runner in his distinctive scarlet waistcoat.

Isabel blinked. “The Bow Street Office,” she murmured. “Why have you brought me here?”

“Since you won’t be honest with me, you can tell your story to the magistrate instead.” He leaned toward her, determined to have his way. “And be forewarned, Miss Darling. The gossip will spread and all of society will find out where you hail from.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. She heaved a frustrated sigh, stopping him with a hand on his arm when he would have stepped down from the carriage. “All right, then,” she said, her voice vibrating with emotion. “You want the truth? Leave here and I’ll tell you.”

Kern snapped the reins, and the horse went trotting down the street. “Go on.”

“One of your kind poisoned my mother. One of your kind killed her so that she could not complete her memoirs. And no matter how you threaten me, I will find the culprit and see justice done.”

The conviction in her tone shook him. He despised himself for wanting to draw her close, to ease her anguish. “Where is your proof?”

“A few days before she died”—Isabel paused to stare down at her clenched hands—“my mother recorded her fears in her memoirs. And her symptoms corroborate with poisoning.”

“If you’re saying she accused my father, that’s utter nonsense,” Kern said flatly. “Lynwood may be guilty of many sins, but he isn’t a murderer.”

“She didn’t specify him by name. But the duke is one of several … former lovers who learned she was penning her memoirs. One by one, they came to call on Mama, to order her to stop.” She spoke slowly, as if the admission were painful. “And Minnie saw a gentleman entering my mother’s bedchamber late on the night before she took ill.”

“Why did you not present your suspicions to the magistrate?”

“Do you think anyone back there”—she gestured at the building now half a block behind them—“would believe me? Or even care to investigate the death of a courtesan?” She gave a brusque shake of her head. “The law would rejoice at one less whore plaguing the city.”

At her bitter tone, Kern felt a flash of compassion. She sat upright and proud, her fine eyebrows drawn in worry. For the first time, it was clear to him that she had loved her mother—and suffered from her loss. Yet he could not allow himself to soften toward her. “So you decided to investigate on your own. You blackmailed your way into Hathaway’s house. And now you’re sneaking out to see the Reverend Lord Raymond. You intend to badger him with your questions, too.”

She laced her gloved fingers in her lap. “If I am, it is no concern of yours.”

“I beg to differ. He happens to be the uncle of my betrothed. He is a fine, God-fearing gentleman devoted to the church.”

“Strange, my mother described him as a cunning lecher who harbors dirty secrets.”

On a few occasions, Kern had caught Lord Raymond eyeing the women in his congregation with something less than reverence. But Kern would not give Isabel any ammunition for her little war. Besides, Lord Raymond was not a murderer. Long ago, he had tutored Kern in his studies and offered a friendly ear whenever Hathaway had been unavailable. Lord Raymond was a decent, warmhearted man, a man who had tenderly set the broken wing of a sparrow Kern had found as a boy.

“Dirty secrets?” Kern scoffed. “If you’re referring to the duel that caused his limp, that is an old scandal. And it exonerates him from having the capability to murder. He fired into the air rather than pull the trigger on his opponent.”

“I’m not alluding to
that
incident.”

“Then what possible secret could he hide?”

She pursed her lips and stared straight ahead, her spinsterly primness at odds with her sensual beauty. “It is not for me to divulge.”

Her aura of mystery maddened Kern. He wanted to kiss the truth out of her, to caress her beautiful body until her defenses came down and she bared herself to him, body and soul. He wanted to find the nearest lodging house and finish what they had started yesterday.

God help him, he deserved to be horsewhipped. Despite his betrothal to Helen, he still lusted after Isabel.

Turning his attention to the street, he clenched the reins. The wheels of the carriage clattered over the cobblestones. “We shall question Lord Raymond together, then.”

“No!” she objected. “I do not want your interference.”

“I’m involved whether you like it or not,” he said. “Now tell me, what other gentlemen are named in your mother’s diary?”

“I’ve told you quite enough.”

“You’ve told me too little. I wish to read the whole of these infamous memoirs. Where the devil are they?”

She jumped as if he had pricked her with a pin. “The book is hidden away in a safe place—where no lordly snob like you might be tempted to dispose of it.”

“So I am to take your word on this allegation of foul play. You must think me a colossal fool.”

Isabel subjected him to a scathing once-over. “On the contrary, my lord, I don’t think of you at all.”

Damn her audacity.
He
had lain awake half the night thinking of
her.

For all her prickly defiance, he remembered her ardent response to his caresses. He remembered how she had met his kisses halfway, how she had helped him draw down her bodice so that he could stroke her soft breasts.

Holding the reins in one hand, he placed his fingers over hers in her lap. The warmth of her flesh penetrated his thin driving glove. A warmth he desired beyond all reason and prudence. “Liar,” he said silkily. “You tempt me to disprove your claim of indifference. Admit it. You want to engage in a tryst as much as I do.”

His challenge rendered Isabel breathless. Though sunshine washed Lord Kern in brilliance, highlighting his perfect white cravat and haughty cheekbones, he exuded a wild aura. He drove the carriage with idle ease while taunting her with words as a pugilist would wield his fists. And to her utter mortification, her body responded to his aggressive male allure. A pulse beat low in her loins. Even here, in plain view of all the world, she wanted him to shift his fingers to her leg. She wanted him to slide them higher … higher …

She wanted to be his whore.

Isabel thrust his hand away. “Heed your driving. Lest you kill the both of us.”

He chuckled darkly. “My driving is not what will bring you to harm. It’s your audacity in making criminal accusations against powerful men.”

She seized the change of subject. “Then you admit that one of these aristocrats killed my mother.”

“I concur that certain depraved villains are capable of murder. But neither my father nor the Reverend Lord Raymond are among them.” He directed the horse and carriage to the curbstone. “Be forewarned, I intend to prove that to you.”

Curse him for prying. How could she coax reliable answers from Lord Raymond with Kern glowering at her, defending the very man she was interrogating? She must try, though she was shackled to Kern as surely as a prisoner to her gáoler.

They had arrived at St. George’s Church with its lofty Corinthian portico and fine steeple. Kern leapt down and secured the horse, then came around to Isabel’s side. She didn’t want to accept his aid, and he knew it; she could tell by the mocking gleam in his eyes. Arrogant clodpole. But she had trouble descending gracefully from the high perch. Clasping her waist with his big hands, he swung her down to the pavement. His touch burned and she moved quickly down the footpath, disdaining the ladylike affectation of leaning on the gentleman’s arm.

The church smelled of beeswax and damp stone. Their steps echoed in the nave. The pews were empty, the chandeliers unlit, though sunlight streamed through the window over the altar.

They found the pastor writing in his small, tidy office, a leather-bound copy of the Bible opened before him. His ivory-topped cane stood propped against the desk.

Spying them, the Reverend Lord Raymond Jeffries gave a bleat of surprise. The scratching of his quill pen ended abruptly. His curly brown hair and startled expression lent an incongruous boyishness to his hawk-nosed face.

He pushed back his leather wing chair and rose, gripping the edge of the desk for support. The wariness thinning his lips altered to a pleasant smile, as if he were donning a domino. “Justin. And Miss … Darcy. This is most unexpected.”

“I trust we’re not disturbing you,” Kern said.

“Of course not. I was merely taking notes for Sunday’s sermon.” Lord Raymond gestured at two hard chairs. “Please, sit down. Tell me, to what do I owe this visit?”

Seating herself, Isabel suffered the force of his stare. She banished any intimidation by picturing him draped in a pink feather boa and a silk shift and pretending to be a fallen angel. “Lady Helen asked me to come here,” she said sweetly. “It seems you’ve refused a number of her dinner invitations. She was concerned about you.”

He resumed his seat. “Parish duties have kept me busy,” he said stiffly. “Do convey my regrets to my niece. And assure her, there will come a time when I am again able to visit Hathaway House.”

“I see.” Stung, Isabel caught his meaning. He would not darken their doorway so long as she was in residence. The self-righteous pansy. “Helen also asked me to go over the particulars of the marriage ceremony with you. But since you are so
busy
these days, perhaps that can wait for another time. For now, I should like to ask you a few questions in regard to my mother.”

Disapproval pinched the smile from the clergyman’s face. He leaned forward in his chair. “Questions? I ended my regrettable association with that female many years ago. There is nothing more to say.”

“On the contrary,” Kern said from his stance by a bookcase, his arms folded negligently across his burgundy coat. “Miss Darling believes her mother was murdered … by means of poison. She wishes to know whether
you
did the deed.”

“
I?
Murder?” Sputtering, the Reverend Lord Raymond fell back in his chair. Sunshine through a small leaded window cast his middle-aged features into sharp relief. “This is madness … an outrage!”

Blast Kern. Isabel had meant to be subtle, to judge the cleric’s reactions by degrees. “It is the truth,” she said, flashing Kern a furious warning to keep silent. “Lord Raymond, I should like to know your whereabouts on the night of May tenth last year.”

“How would I recall my activities of a year ago? I was probably at home with my wife.” He shook his head, his face twisted with horror. “I … I thought Aurora died of natural causes later in the month, God rest her sinful soul.”

He had gall, to judge her mother more a sinner than himself. Isabel thought of Mama’s bright laughter, her generous nature. But this man had never bothered to know the goodness in her. “That was the night she took ill,” Isabel prompted. “And that was also the night one of the other ladybirds saw a man visit her very late. Just as
you
used to do. For reasons we both know.”

His face went as pale as the parchment on the desk. He glanced at Kern, then looked at her in a rage. “It wasn’t me. And may I remind you, in exchange for my brother taking you in, you promised not to mention my visits to her ever again.”

“I won’t. So long as you answer my questions today.”

For a moment the only sound was the harshness of his breathing. “I never went near Aurora, nor any other whore, these past fifteen years. I swear it.” He pressed his ink-stained hand to the Bible. “As God is my witness, my life has been devoted to the church.”

“But you did go to her, at least once more,” Isabel said. “Just like Lynwood and the others, you warned her not to publish her memoirs.”

“That was no assignation,” he insisted. “I called on her for all of five minutes. In April, not May.”

She scrutinized him, detecting resentment and something more—something dark and tortured. Desperation? Fear? “A murderer would feel no qualms about lying. Therefore, I must have evidence that you are telling the truth—”

“Enough,” Kern said, pushing away from the bookcase and stalking toward her. “Lord Raymond has told you all he knows. You will not badger him any further.”

“His answers are vague. I need proof of where he was on the night of May tenth.”

Kern took firm hold of her arm. “You have his word as a gentleman. Good day, sir.”

The clergyman got to his feet, leaning on the ivory knob of his cane. “I trust she’ll say nothing more about this outrage. Should even the breath of scandal taint me, not even Hathaway will have the power to procure the bishopric of London for me.”

“She’ll hold her tongue. I’ll see to that.” Without further ado, Kern propelled her out of the church and into the sunshine.

His arrogant assumption of control infuriated Isabel. She shook off his grip and stopped in the dappled shade of an oak tree. “You far exceed your authority,” she snapped. “You should not have interfered in there.”