Her Secret Affair (23 page)

A noise out in the corridor caught her attention. At the same instant, Kern withdrew his hand and stepped back. In spite of her resolve to remain calm, she felt her muscles tense. In her lap, M’lord growled and alertly watched the doorway.

“Sshh.” She petted the dog’s spotted head and wished she could so easily soothe herself.

Assisted by a footman, Sir John Trimble limped his way into the room. He leaned heavily on the servant and settled into a wing chair, propping his foot on a stool. Pain tightened a face that could only be described as homely with its bulbous nose, the white scar that divided his cheek, and the dark eyes sunken in a terrain of wrinkles.

What had her mother seen in him?
Those who think him ugly have not looked deeply into his soul; they do not see how perfectly he understands a woman’s heart.

“Blasted gout,” he grumbled, rubbing his left leg. “Forgive me, Miss Darcy, Lord Kern. ’Tis the effects of the long coach ride back to London yesterday, and ’twill ease in a day or so.” He straightened in the chair. “But this is no way to greet my guests. May I offer you refreshment?”

“You needn’t bother,” Isabel said. “We won’t keep you for long.”

“You could never be a bother,” he said, smiling gallantly. “Well. Has this visit to do with teaching you the finer points of whist? When last we met, at the Winfreys’ ball, you said you wished to improve your game. I would be most happy to comply with my offer to help you.”

He looked so hopeful that Isabel had a sudden glimpse into his life, living alone in reduced circumstances, having no wife or children to brighten his days. And so eager for a visitor that he would come downstairs even while feeling less than chipper.

Her compassion warred with resentment. If he was alone, it was his own fault. He could have wed her mother instead of marrying for money—he had ended up poor anyway. The thought intrigued Isabel. How different her own life might have been. She would have been born legitimate, treated as a lady, received by many respectable, genteel families. In time, people might have forgotten her mother’s shady past. Isabel might even have aspired to wed a high-ranking nobleman like Lord Kern …

Banishing the childish fantasy, she said, “Thank you for your offer to tutor me, sir. But that’s not why we’re here. I’d hoped you would answer some questions.”

His face sobered, and he glanced from her to Kern, who stood silently by the mantelpiece. “Ask away,” Trimble said. “I confess, you have me curious.”

She took a deep, steadying breath. “I am not who I claim to be, Sir John. You see, once upon a time, before I was even born, you knew my mother.” Isabel paused, gathering her courage. The confession never grew easier, no matter how many times she said it, and this one was the worst of all. “I am—”

“Aurora’s daughter,” Trimble finished, his tone gruff.

Isabel sat unmoving, observing him even when M’lord nudged his cold, wet nose against her hand.
Aurora’s daughter.
He had not laid claim to her, not even now. Trimble was studying her as well, an indecipherable shadow in his hooded eyes. She longed for his approval and hated herself for wanting it. Why should his opinion matter any more than the other men who had used her mother?

For all she knew, she could be looking into the face of a murderer. His face would be far less repulsive than the corruption of his soul.

Trimble’s scarred features held a guarded interest. “I thought you looked familiar when first we met. You resemble Aurora, and your names are similar. But you were staying with Lord Hathaway, and I simply couldn’t believe…” His words trailed off, though his shrewd gaze remained on her.

“I’m posing as Lord Hathaway’s niece,” she explained. “I knew about his brother’s association with my mother and thus persuaded Hathaway to give me a place in society. Not for my own gain,” she hastened to add, with a defiant glance at Kern. “But to have the chance to meet the men who once knew my mother.”

Kern said nothing. At least he seemed willing to let her handle the questioning.

“I believe,” said Trimble, “you had better tell me why you wish to meet these men.” A soft, searching interest illuminated his gaze. “Though I must warn you, my dear, that if you’re hoping to find your father—”

“No,” she said quickly. He must not say anything revealing, not in front of Kern. “I’m not.”

“Yes, she is,” Kern countered. He pushed away from the mantelpiece and walked to Trimble. “Aurora called him Apollo. Do you know his real name?”

Damn Kern! Holding M’lord in her trembling arms, Isabel jumped to her feet. “You are not obliged to answer him, sir.
I
am conducting the interview here.”

Her gaze locked with Kern’s. His clenched jaw showed his intense irritation. She doubted he was accustomed to being challenged by a mere woman. Well then, she would be the first to dare. She certainly had nothing to lose by it.

“What is going on?” Trimble asked, looking utterly confused. “I would never answer such a question, in any case. To do so would mean betraying a vow to Aurora.”

“I see,” Kern said. “What if the matter involved life-or-death consequences?”

“Life or death?” Trimble shook his head. “I
am
perplexed now. I assume you’re involved in this … whatever it is … because of Lynwood?”

“In a manner of speaking. In due time, you’ll understand.” Kern bowed to Isabel. “Though I will defer to Miss Darling.”

She couldn’t believe it. He was actually backing off. Again. She had an inkling of what retreat must have cost him in pride.

Pleasantly surprised, she resumed her seat on the chaise and focused on Trimble. She looked into his face—were those dark eyes like hers? Ruthlessly, she stopped her foolish speculations. “Forgive me for being intrusive, Sir John, but when was the last time you saw my mother?”

“That would be a year ago.” He gazed at a point above her head, and she sensed that he was lost in memory. “Not more than a month before her death.”

“Was she ill then?”

“No. She was in the pink of health, though distressed in spirit.”

When he hesitated, Isabel prompted, “Why? Please, this is very, very important.”

“It seems several men had ordered her to stop writing her memoirs. That’s why she sent for me, to tell me her troubles.”

“She
sent for you?” Kern broke in. “Hadn’t you already heard about the memoirs?”

Trimble shrugged. “I’d heard, but they didn’t matter to me. What have I to lose by the publication of her reminiscences?”

“Your reputation,” Kern said, as if that were obvious. “Your honor. The ability to hold up your head in society.”

Trimble laughed rather harshly. “Given my beastly face, I doubt anyone could say anything nasty that hasn’t already been said a hundred times already. And at my age, I don’t judge a man’s honor by society’s sanctimonious rules.”

Kern cocked an eyebrow, but made no response. Clearly he disagreed, though he recognized that now was not the time to debate ethics.

A thought struck Isabel. “Who told you my mother was writing her memoirs?”

“’Twas a sop named Terrence Dickenson. He proposed that we gentlemen who were described in such indelicate detail should band together to intimidate Aurora.” Trimble worked his meaty fingers into a fist. “Needless to say, I threw the blackguard out on his ear.”

A dizzying chill seeped through Isabel. To go to such lengths, Terrence Dickenson must have been desperate to stop her mother. She looked at Kern and saw the same grim realization in his eyes. Yet they could not be certain. Not yet. Trimble could be lying to throw suspicion off himself.

“Did you see my mother after that? Did you perhaps take her a gift?”

He shook his head. “I saw her only that once. She wanted comfort and reassurances, and then she wanted me to go away, to leave her in peace to finish her memoirs. I didn’t even know she’d fallen ill until … afterward.” He vented a strange, shuddering sigh. “Such a beautiful woman she was, Aurora Darling. Ever dreamy and hopeful, but strong and determined underneath all the feminine trappings. If you’ll permit me to say so, you remind me of her.”

Stunned, Isabel rested her fingers on M’lord’s warm head. Trimble’s observation touched her with an unexpected pleasure—and an answering surge of panic. She couldn’t feel pleasure. She did not want to be like her mother.
She did not.

At one time, long ago, she had hungered to grow up to be like the pretty, perfumed mama who summoned her to London at irregular intervals, who showered her with wildly lavish presents and took her out for ices and to Astley’s Circus. But then Isabel had found out the ugly truth. She had discovered the source of the money that paid for the fancy dolls and frilly dresses and sugary pastries. And at that moment, she resolved to starve before she sold her body to any man.

Yet now she found her gaze lifting to Kern and her mind imagining his kiss, his caress, his lovemaking. If she didn’t wish to be like her mother, then why did she want to lie naked in bed with this man? Why did she want to touch his hard male form? Why did she feel an ache in her breasts and a throbbing in her belly and a dampness between her legs?

Why did the pain of yearning tear at her heart?

She saw him glance at her, and prayed he could not read her thoughts. But his attention turned to Sir John. “I would hope you are more astute than others in seeing this resemblance,” Kern said in a no-nonsense tone. “It’s time you knew the truth. We’ve reason to believe Aurora Darling was murdered. By poison.”

All color fled Trimble’s face. His cheeks turned as pale as the scar that disfigured his features. Hunching forward as if in pain, he gripped the arms of his chair. “No,” he muttered.
“No.”

Kern went on, “Minnie saw a man going into Aurora’s chamber late on the night of May the tenth last year. Can you account for your whereabouts that evening?”

Trimble sat staring at the floor. Then he rubbed his hand over his eyes before looking back at Kern. “I cannot think. You are certain about this, my lord?”

“Unhappily so.”

“My mother recorded her fears in the final entry of her memoirs,” Isabel added. She watched Trimble closely. Was his shock real? Or was he just an accomplished actor? “Unfortunately, she didn’t specify any man in particular.”

“My God.
My God.
I should have gone to each of them who’d troubled her, as I’d wanted to do. I should not have let her dissuade me from that course of action.” Trimble slammed his fist onto the arm of his chair. “’Twas foolish of me. Bloody foolish!”

“Give me the names of these men,” Kern said, “so that I may question them.”

“Nay.” Resolve firmed Trimble’s expression. With a grunt, he levered himself out of the chair and leaned against it. “With all due respect, my lord, I’ll take care of the matter myself. As I should have done long ago.”

“With all due respect,” Kern said, “I should like to accompany you. You’re in no condition to be chasing after criminals.”

“I will manage. Whatever Aurora said to me was spoken in confidence. I will not betray her now. Or ever.”

The men exchanged a hard stare. Kern said, “Then I will expect you to report to me whatever you find out. And I want you to consider Apollo a suspect, too.”

Trimble thinned his lips and looked away, before giving a curt nod. “Agreed.”

Isabel could tell little from his expression. He had to be only pretending he would approach Apollo.
He had to be.

She watched, aghast, as the two men shook hands. Clutching M’lord, she sprang up and stepped toward them. “Wait a minute. I am investigating the murder of
my
mother. You cannot shut me out of this. I want to confront these men. I want to be there to hear what excuses they have to offer.”

Kern took her by the arm. “I’m sorry, but that is quite impossible.”

“No, it isn’t.” Trembling with a sudden rage, she spun toward Trimble. Knowing he had lain with her mother and shared confidences cut Isabel to the quick. Knowing he had abandoned his only child robbed her of caution. “How do we know we can believe you? If you truly cared for my mother—and heaven knows we only have your word on that—then you’d realize she wouldn’t wish you to harbor secrets from me.”

“My dear, you cannot be allowed to endanger yourself. Please, consider what befell Aurora. Above all else, she would want you to be safe.” With a paternal smile, Trimble reached out and brushed his fingertips over her cheek. “She did love you so. She told me the last time I saw her. She said she intended to move to the country and live with you at long last.”

His gentle touch quenched the fire of her fury. Isabel felt abruptly drained and confused, at a loss for words.
She did love you so.

Isabel had always known Aurora enjoyed playing the role of mama when it suited her. Aurora had made many declarations of love, effusive declarations befitting her extravagance in everything. Yet as she grew up, Isabel had come to doubt her.

She did love you so.

Buffeted by the conflicting emotions of confusion and yearning and frustration, Isabel made no objection when Kern guided her out of the town house. She clung tightly to the puppy, and M’lord seemed to sense her distress, for he nuzzled her cheek. Only as the carriage started down the street did she regain a bit of spunk. “Pull off on the side street there,” she said, pointing to a narrow byway. “We’ll wait and follow Trimble.”

Snapping the reins, Kern sent her a black look. “I gave him my word of honor not to interfere. He’ll contact the men and then report back to me. We’ll have to be satisfied with that.”

“Satisfied! How can you be so certain we can trust him?”

“Nothing is certain. But we’ve no other choice. If we’d badgered him until Christmastide, he’d not have betrayed your mother’s confidence. That much was obvious.”

Isabel turned to glance back at Trimble’s brick residence. Of course, he wouldn’t go anywhere. He did not need to seek out Apollo. And yet if he did leave the house … “We can’t simply let him go. We can’t!”

“Why are you reacting so strongly?” Kern gazed keenly at her. “It’s the business about Apollo, isn’t it?”