Her Secret Affair (22 page)

“Well, come inside,” Kern prompted. “You’ve nothing to fear from me.”

The dog advanced slowly, then stopped again, cocking its head. Kern comprehended the creature’s mistrust. In its short life, it had encountered many cruel humans on the city streets.

There were just as many cruelties within the finest houses in London, Kern knew. His fellow aristocrats might not torture an animal on a public roadway, yet some of them were bloodthirsty nonetheless. And one among them had committed murder.

He snapped his fingers. “Here, boy. I shan’t hurt you.”

The dog crept forward and halted a few feet away. Kern crouched down and waited patiently while the puppy worked up its courage and inched closer. When it was close enough, Kern gently scratched its ears. After a moment the dog rolled over so that Kern could rub its thin belly and see its prominent ribs.

“So where is your mistress this morning? Where is Isabel?”

The dog whined in reply, tail thumping the carpet as if it recognized the name.

“No doubt she is plotting to steal away from me.” Kern felt somewhat foolish, talking to a dog. But the disquiet inside him needed an outlet. “You must help me keep a close watch on her. Lest she embroil herself in more trouble.”

And she would do just that if he gave her half a chance. Isabel seemed determined to reject his assistance, determined to solve a mystery far beyond her capabilities. She didn’t understand the danger. The thought plagued him as it had for the better part of the night. She was headstrong, impetuous, and far too vulnerable.

Last night, she had refused to consider Apollo a suspect. But Kern had a feeling she knew more than she let on. Her protests had been a little too vehement. Yet why would she not want him to investigate Apollo? Of all the men who had once shared Aurora Darling’s bed, Apollo had the most at stake. The disclosure of a bastard daughter would rock society. He would no longer be welcome in the best homes or invited to
ton
events. Society might turn a blind eye to hidden improprieties, but it could be ruthlessly cruel to a man caught with the evidence of his indiscretion.

And Kern wanted to be the one to ruin the blackguard.

I have no father. Should you seek to prove otherwise, I shall never, ever forgive you.

When she had flung that warning at him, tears had glittered in her eyes.
Tears.
She had been furious, beyond rational behavior. She hadn’t wanted to hear that her father might have killed her mother. “I can’t fault her for not wanting to face him,” he muttered. “But by God, I’m going to find the knave and wrest the truth out of him.”

As if in agreement, the puppy licked Kern’s hand. Absently, Kern petted the animal.

Before last night, he had not known Isabel possessed any human vulnerability. He had viewed her as a common upstart without a moral to her false name. She had blackmailed her way into this household. She had lied and flirted and masqueraded until he thought she couldn’t possess a scrap of honesty in her beautiful body.

Please … kiss me … I need you so.

His throat tightened. He shouldn’t feel this indecent tenderness toward her. Isabel Darling contradicted his ideal of womanhood—she was neither modest nor virtuous. But when he got near her, all sense left him. He had sworn not to kiss her again—and look at what had happened. At the first opportunity, he had been all over her, drinking the sweetness of her mouth, memorizing the curves of her body, caressing her with the ardor of a lover …

“Why, Lord Kern,” spoke the object of his brooding thoughts. “It’s so refreshing to see you groveling on the floor.”

He looked up to see Isabel glide into the drawing room, arm in arm with Helen. Helen clapped her hands. “Oh, Justin, how famous! You’ve found Isabel’s puppy.”

Feeling awkward at being caught in conversation with a dog, Kern rose to his feet. “So it seems. Good morning.”

They made a compelling pair, the one pale and blond, the other dark and sultry. The dog raced to Isabel, and she scooped him up, cuddling him to her bosom. “Naughty boy,” she murmured affectionately. “I didn’t know where you’d gone.”

The sight mesmerized Kern. His gaze lingered on Isabel’s lips, soft and rosy and far too tempting. Even in the amber muslin gown of a lady, she brought to mind the pleasures of the bedchamber.

Illicit pleasures. Pleasures he should not contemplate with any woman but his fiancée.

Curbing his licentious thoughts, he strode straight to Helen. By damn, she was the woman he wanted to marry. Sweet and tractable, she would make him the perfect wife. Determined to prove it to himself, he did something he had done only once before, on the occasion of their betrothal. He bent and kissed her smooth cheek.

He experienced a mild sensation of pleasure at her fair beauty, but no flash of sexual heat, no mad desire to press her down to the carpet and give vent to his baser instincts. To his chagrin, she inspired the gentle affection of a brother for a younger sister.

Shame dug its claws into his chest. He had no right to lust after a whore when his hand was promised to an angel. Helen had a pleasing figure and an agreeable disposition. But she was a lady, and he would never permit himself to fantasize about
her.
Once they were married, however, he was certain to find satisfaction in her bed.

“I trust you’re feeling better?” he asked.

“A trifle. This wretched cold still has me sniffling.” She daintily dabbed a handkerchief to her reddened nose.

He glanced at Isabel. She was watching him, and he wondered if she was reliving their scorching kiss—until her dark gaze frowned a message to him. Had she, too, learned that Sir John Trimble had returned to town?

He returned his attention to Helen. “Are you feeling well enough to go on a drive to the park?”

She shook her head. “Tomorrow, perhaps. You and Isabel shall have to excuse me again. Forgive me for being a stick-in-the-mud.”

His heart gave a jolt suspiciously like exhilaration. No. It couldn’t be exhilaration. He wasn’t
glad
to leave his fiancée behind. He only welcomed this opportunity to solve the mystery.

“You could stay with her, m’lord,” Isabel suggested slyly. “After a week cooped up in the house, Helen would appreciate your company. I don’t mind going out with Miss Gilbert.”

Damn her for a trickster. She wanted to interview Sir John alone. “Or perhaps
you
could remain here,” he countered. “You could see to Helen’s comfort far better than I.”

Helen laughed. “Please, neither of you stay. I do believe I shall be content to spend the day curled up with a book in the library. If you wouldn’t mind, Justin, you can take me there right now.”

While Isabel went to fetch bonnet and pelisse, he escorted Helen to the library. He meant to take his leave of her and go out to wait in his carriage, but Lord Hathaway beckoned to him.

The marquess sat writing at the desk in the library. On seeing Kern and Helen, he set down his quill and greeted them.

“Papa,” Helen exclaimed. “I thought you’d gone out already. Will I disturb you if I read here awhile?”

He smiled as she leaned down to kiss him. “Of course not, my dear. But I must ask you to wait outside for a few minutes while I have a word with Justin.”

“Then I’ll have a cup of tea in the morning room. Perhaps you’ll join me when you’re through?”

Hathaway gave a distracted nod, watching while she glided out of the library and closed the door behind her. In the sunlight, lines of strain bracketed his mouth and eyes. He rose and went to the sideboard to lift a cut-glass decanter. “Brandy?”

Kern declined with a shake of his head. He was surprised to see Hathaway pour a tumbler for himself. Always austere, the marquess never imbibed spirits so early in the day.

Hathaway abruptly inquired, “Where is Isabel this morning?”

Kern hesitated. It was absurd to feel guilty. “She and I are going for a drive in the park.”

The older man sipped at his drink. “I want you to keep a close watch on her. As you well know from that interview with my brother, she has some ridiculous notion that Aurora Darling was murdered.”

Kern frowned. “Ridiculous? I’ve come to think she’s telling the truth.”

“Bah.” Pacing, Hathaway took another swallow. “There would have been a hue and cry over such a crime. We’re speaking of the wrongful death of a courtesan who serviced any number of gentlemen. By gad, the news sheets would have spewed the scandal all over London.”

“Not without proof.” Kern chose his words carefully. “I’ve taken the liberty of speaking to the other women at the brothel. One of them saw a man entering Aurora’s chamber on the night she took ill.”

Hathaway jerked around to stare. Brandy splashed over his hand, but he didn’t appear to notice. “A man? Who?”

“The woman—Minnie is her name—didn’t see his face. And I cannot shake the notion that something is wrong about the death. Apparently, Aurora wrote in her diary that she’d been poisoned.”

The marquess’s jaw looked set in granite. He drained his glass and slammed it onto the desk. “Truth or not, I won’t have a young woman from my house gadding about London, making wild accusations. If you care a jot for Helen’s reputation, you’ll see to it that Isabel Darling comports herself as a lady.”

*   *   *

“The mongrel stays outside,” Kern said.

Descending from the carriage, Isabel held onto M’lord and frowned at the earl. His manner had been testy ever since they’d left Hathaway House. While driving, he’d stared straight ahead and offered little conversation. “Does that order include me?” she asked tartly. “Seeing that you consider
me
a mongrel, too.”

The rebuke caught his attention. Looking remarkably handsome in a dark green coat that set off his eyes, he stopped on the pavement and scowled at her. “If I thought I could dissuade you from questioning Trimble, I certainly
would
make you wait outside. But you’d only sneak back here without me.”

“How astute of you, m’lord.” Hearing its name, the puppy wriggled and licked her chin. All the annoyance inside her melted away and she found herself speaking reassuringly to him. “Don’t let the nasty earl frighten you, love—you’re staying right with me. We can’t have you running away in this bad neighborhood, can we? Those awful bullies might come back and hurt you.”

As she cuddled the puppy to her bosom, Kern watched with an odd expression on his face. It was a hungry look, one that inspired a breathlessness inside her. He regarded her as if he wanted to haul her into the dubious privacy of the nearest alleyway, lift her skirts, and have his wicked way with her. And to her shame, she longed for him to do so. The mere thought of giving her virginity to him left her flushed and weak.

Blast him for making her feel like a trollop!

She slanted a look at Kern. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand my attachment to this dog. I daresay you had dozens of pets while you were growing up.”

“Only the hounds my father kept for hunting. There was one in particular I was fond of as a boy.” For a moment, there was a faraway look in his eyes; then he blinked. “And you? Surely out in the country you owned a dog or a cat.”

She shook her head. “My governess believed animals to be dirty, vile creatures. I wasn’t allowed to keep one.” Remembering how lonely she’d been, Isabel brushed her cheek against the puppy’s soft head. “But now I have you, don’t I, M’lord?”

Kern said nothing. She assured herself she didn’t care if he disapproved of her rescuing a dog of mixed breed. She would do as she bloody well pleased. Yet when his hand settled against the small of her back and he guided her up the stairs to the town house, she found his touch oddly comforting, as comforting as the small warm body nestled in her arms.

Not that she needed comforting. She felt calm and in control this morning. In the light of day, she didn’t understand why she had reacted with such melodrama the previous night. Her father meant nothing to her. She would conduct this interview as if Trimble were simply another suspect.

In answer to their knock, the housekeeper showed them into a small, spartanly furnished parlor. Isabel sat on a sagging chaise with M’lord perched in her lap. While they waited for their host, Kern paced in front of the darkened fireplace.

“From my preliminary investigation,” he said in a low tone, “I’ve found out Trimble is a widower with no children. He lost money in several business ventures, but he’s led a rather dull life otherwise.”

“Excepting for his attachment to my mother, you mean.”

Kern shrugged. “What did she write of Trimble? What manner of man is he?”

Denying the dull pain in her breast, Isabel busied herself with stroking the puppy. “Mama saw Sir John as more a gentleman than her other lovers. He treated her with respect and dignity. Or so she wrote.”

“He might resent the fact that she stole
his
respect by writing about him in her memoirs,” Kern said flatly. “If Trimble is our man, you are to let me handle him. And you are to comport yourself as a lady. Is that clear?”

Her fingers tightened around the dog. “I
have
behaved like a lady. And you may handle Trimble if and when I determine through
my
questioning that he is guilty. Is
that
clear?”

He gazed down his lordly nose at her. She thought he was going to spit out more commands at her, but after a moment, an odd little glint entered his eyes, and he extended his hand. “We can at least be civil. I’m willing to call a truce, if you are. Agreed?”

She stared at his hand, then slowly lifted her own. “Agreed.”

His strong fingers closed around hers, and despite the barrier of his thin riding gloves, she could feel his warmth spreading up her arm and through her body, heating her blood and quickening her heartbeat. Strange, how he could have this mesmerizing effect on her with one touch, one glance of his cool green eyes. She ought to feel disgust, Isabel told herself. He had nothing to recommend him, this spawn of Lynwood. He was heir to a duke so depraved he might have murdered her mother.

Yet could she taint Kern with the sins of his father? Wasn’t that as grossly unfair as deeming herself a whore because her mother had been one?