Her Secret Affair (28 page)

Isabel saw Kern glance at those long, slim legs. In the midst of her anguish, another fierce emotion invaded. She wanted to leap up and cover Aunt Di. The urge burned so shockingly strong, Isabel found herself gripping the seat of her chair. Especially when he walked closer to Diana.

“I understand,” he said, looking down at her, “that you were asleep when Minnie was attacked last night.”

“Yes.”

“Before she screamed, did you hear any noises? Footsteps, perhaps? Someone moving about?”

“Nothing. I slept unusually well last night—at least until then.” She spoke defiantly, with the suspicion .she reserved for all gentlemen.

“When you came out of your room, did you see the intruder?”

Diana shook her head. “In the few minutes it took for me to light a candle, he got away. The front door was standing wide open. And Minnie was lying on the floor. Bleeding.”

“Did you find the weapon?”

“’Twas left on the stairs,” Minnie offered. “Isabel, show it to his lordship.”

Reluctantly, Isabel opened the drawer of the bedside table. She detested touching the blade, knowing it had been wielded in violence. She shuddered to think of the damage it might have inflicted.

Kern came closer, picking up the knife by the wooden handle and examining it. “An ordinary kitchen knife. No distinguishing marks.”

“Aye, and I’ll keep it right here,” Minnie said, indicating he should return the knife to the drawer. “If the bugger ever comes back, I’ll geld him, you can be sure of that.”

Kern made no reply. He turned to Persy, who watched with bright, birdlike eyes. “Ma’am, did you hear anything unusual?”

“Not a peep.” She shivered as if the incident haunted her. “I’m sorry, my nightly tonic makes me ever so weary. I heard Minerva cry out, but nothing at all before that.”

Kern returned to Diana. “Did you entertain anyone last night?”

“No. Don’t you think I would have said so?” She made a moue of disgust. “I told you the last time you were here, I’ve little use for swine. Especially not in my bed.”

Callie smiled slyly. “That’s your own fault for never learning the difference between a pig and a cock.”

“And you never cared what breed of animal shared your bed,” Diana retorted. “So long as he had two balls and a limp stick for you to diddle.”

“My customers always had harder cocks than yours,” Callie said with a sniff. “If you want my advice, men might treat you better if you didn’t lie there like a cold fish—”

“That’s enough,” Minnie snapped. “I’m sure his lordship doesn’t care to listen to your squabbles.”

Isabel bit her lip. Leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his elegant coat of forest green, Kern wore a look of pensive aloofness. What must he be thinking? Isabel didn’t want him to form ill opinions of her aunts. She ached for him to see that in spite of their lack of virtue, they were loving guardians. As far back as she could remember, whenever she came to visit they had shunned men. Granted, Callie had had a lapse or two along the way, but they had kept to that pact of celibacy this past year, even when it meant doing without luxuries like wine and new gowns and jewelry.

Would their sacrifices matter to a nobleman like Kern? Not judging by the arrogance of his frown. She saw the tawdry scene through his eyes: Callie leaning forward to give him a look at her bosom, Minnie lolling in her red nightgown, Diana taunting him with a flash of naked legs, Persy looking frail from her battle against an unmentionable disease.

Never had Isabel been more keenly aware of the chasm between his life and hers. Yet these women were her family, the people she loved. She didn’t have to suffer his disdain.

Isabel sprang to her feet. “Aunt Minnie’s right. His lordship has heard quite enough. I’m sure he has better things to do with his time.”

“On the contrary,” he said, studying her with narrowed eyes, “I’ve another question.”

“You want to know what the intruder was after,” Minnie guessed. “Well, I can tell you it wasn’t money or any other valuables. He was out to steal Aurora’s memoirs.”

Isabel couldn’t move, though her heart pounded in painful strokes. Kern had warned her all along about the dangers of inciting the murderer. Now he would know that by her reckless disregard, she had risked the lives of her dear aunts.

“The blighter ransacked Aurora’s bedchamber,” Callie added. “You ought to see the mess. He ruined some perfectly fine dresses, too.”

“And the memoirs?” Kern asked. “Were they stolen?”

“Ask Isabel,” Diana said. “She has them hidden away somewhere. She won’t tell even us where they are.”

Little did they know, the small volume lay tucked inside its secret pocket. For once, Isabel wasn’t proud of her cleverness, only sick at heart. “Mama’s book is quite safe. That’s all you need to know.” She leaned down and hugged Minnie, careful not to jostle the bandaged arm. “I’m so sorry you were hurt.”

“There now, my dear.” Minnie gave her a quick squeeze. “Don’t trouble yourself over me.”

“With your permission,” Kern said, “I would like to examine Aurora’s bedchamber. Perhaps the intruder dropped something, or left a clue as to his identity.”

“An excellent notion,” Minnie said slowly. Her hazel eyes narrowed first on Kern, then Isabel. “My dear, you run along now and show Lord Kern to your mama’s bedchamber. Stay with him while he looks around.”

Isabel’s spine went stiff. Was Aunt Minnie matchmaking? “I intended to tidy the room myself,” she protested. “He won’t know if there’s something out of the ordinary, so there’s no use bothering him.”

“I’ll go with him if you don’t want to,” Callie said, leaping up from the stool. “It would be my pleasure to keep his lordship company.”

“But how much searching would he accomplish?” Diana asked, stretching languorously. “He’d be too busy fending you off.”

Even as Callie let out a huff, Minnie said firmly, “This duty belongs to our Venus. It is her mother’s things that were disturbed.”

“Venus?” Kern asked. He turned and stared at Isabel.

A hot wave of mortification seared her cheeks. What a moment for Minnie to forget the preference Isabel had made clear years ago, when she had found out the erotic reputation of the goddess.

“It’s the name Aurora gave her,” Diana said. “Venus Isabel Darling.”

“I think it’s a lovely name,” Persy piped up. “But we should honor Isabel’s wishes, don’t you think?”

Minnie cringed, a grimace on her plump face. “Forgive a tired old woman, my dear girl. ’Twas a stupid slip of the tongue. Perhaps I shall nap for a while, while you go on and help his lordship.” She lifted her weary gaze to Kern. “I trust Lord Kern has no objection to your assistance.”

His gaze burned into Isabel. The scorching heat descended to her belly. She knew she ought to protest, but no words came to her lips. She could only think about how badly she wanted to be alone with him.

Still watching her, he said in a low voice, “I have no objection.”

Chapter 15

The odor of spilled perfume struck Kern at the doorway. The air smelled heavy and sensual as if he were entering a dark den of pleasure.

Yet the rose velvet draperies were drawn back, and the room was bright with sunshine. Unlike the decadent nest he recalled from his first meeting with Isabel, the boudoir showed a scene of reckless destruction.

Drawers had been pulled out of the highboy, and the contents lay strewn on the carpet. On the chaise, the pink pillows bled their stuffing. Even the cushion on the dressing-table stool had been slashed. Pots of overturned cosmetics littered the table and floor. Nothing had been smashed—the intruder had been careful to make no noise—yet the viciousness of the damage disturbed Kern.

“My God,” he muttered. He picked a path through the chaos and walked into the bedroom, where more vandalism awaited him. A wardrobe had been emptied of its gowns. Crushed bonnets scattered the floor. High-heeled shoes and satin slippers lay everywhere.

He gravitated toward a dainty writing desk which was covered with papers. This must be where Aurora had written the reminiscences of her life as a courtesan. In his haste to find the memoirs, the intruder had dumped the quill pens and tipped over an inkpot, the black liquid staining the blank sheets of stationery.

Where had Isabel hidden the book? At Hathaway’s? Or was it secreted somewhere else in this house? Tucked into a discreet cubbyhole known only to her?

She advanced slowly into the bedroom. The deep blue of her gown accentuated the paleness of her skin. Her brown eyes held a dazed disbelief as she surveyed the clutter. Yet when she turned to him, he could see the defenses going up in the squaring of her shoulders and the lifting of her chin. “Go on,” she said. “Say it and be done. Tell me I asked for this to happen. Tell me it’s my fault.”

He should do just that. He should take her to task for provoking the murderer. But when he saw the faint quivering of her lower lip, he felt a treacherous softening in his chest. “Pointing the finger of blame would serve no purpose. I’d sooner spend my energy finding the culprit.”

“And you think he conveniently left us his calling card?” Hugging herself, Isabel shook her head. “There’s nothing here. Nothing but a colossal mess. He destroyed everything that belonged to my mother.”

Kern resisted the urge to banish the sadness he sensed in her. “Then let’s get to work tidying up. There’s a chance we might find something to identify him.” He cleared a place in the corner of the bedroom and tossed the ink-stained papers there. “Whatever is ruined beyond repair, put in this pile. Show me anything you find that’s out of the ordinary.”

Collecting a quill that had fallen to the carpet, he noticed that Isabel stood unmoving, her arms folded over her bosom. Her woebegone expression caught him. Her eyes held a suspicious sheen as she looked around the room, and he wondered suddenly what memories this vulgar room held for her. Even though she’d grown up in the country, she had visited her mother from time to time. Perhaps here, they’d chatted while Aurora applied her cosmetics or dressed for an evening of entertainment. Perhaps here, Aurora had given her daughter advice on how to please men.

Venus, the goddess of love.

Anger hit Kern like a fist to his gut. Aurora must have planned from the start to lure her daughter into her profession. Yet even as he cursed Aurora for corrupting an innocent girl, he burned to test the extent of Isabel’s knowledge.

They were alone, unchaperoned. The door was firmly closed. Only a few steps away loomed the big canopied bed with its mirrored headboard and gaudy cherubs. He could lay her down and lift her skirts and sink into her softness …

“Well?” he snapped, more harshly than he’d intended. “Don’t just stand there. Or do you want the murderer to get away with what he’s done?”

Isabel blinked at him as if she’d forgotten his presence. “Of course not,” she murmured.

Bending, she picked up a broken fan and dropped it onto the pile of papers in the corner. Then she began gathering the articles of clothing that were strewn over the floor. Her graceful movements fascinated him. He could spend hours watching her, glimpsing the shadow between her breasts as she leaned down, the curve of her derriere as she walked, the delicacy of her ankles whenever her hem shifted.

His eyes surreptitiously on her, he fumbled to put the pens back in their holder and stuck a sharp quill into his palm. His teeth clamped around a curse. So much for his powers of observation.

Yanking his attention from her, he focused on the task of sorting things out in the hopes of finding something significant—a man’s cuff link, perhaps. Or a lost glove—anything to identify him. Had Dickenson come here last night? Or Lord Raymond?

Kern roved through the bedroom, collecting things which had belonged to Aurora, shoes and shawls, silver brushes and lace garters. With these he started another pile by the wall for someone to sort through later. He kept alert for anything unusual—not that silk stockings and flimsy feminine undergarments constituted the ordinary for him.

Then he saw it.

The small crimson object lay beneath the bed, near the bedpost. He scooped it up and rolled it in his fingers. “Look at this.”

Isabel hastened to him. She leaned over his hand, so close he could smell the rainwater scent of her hair. “It’s a button,” she said, sounding disappointed.

“Yes, and it could have fallen off a man’s waistcoat.”

She plucked the button out of his palm and gave it a closer scrutiny. “No, it’s from one of Minnie’s gowns, I think. She comes in here from time to time to dust the place. I’ll return it to her.”

With a natural sway of her hips, Isabel walked away to put the button on the bedside table. She sank to her knees beside the bed and began to gather up an assortment of candles and books and papers that had been dumped out of the drawer.

“Where was your father last night?” she asked over her shoulder.

“At Lynwood House,” he said absently, picking up a black chemise so sheer he could see his hand through it. His imagination draped the provocative garment over Isabel. She would be revealed to him in all her glory … full breasts … curvaceous hips … shadowy mound of Venus …

“Can you be sure of that?” Isabel asked. “Was someone with him?”

“With who?”

“Lynwood,” she said, sounding exasperated. “I know he’s been ill, but has he recovered sufficiently that he might have come here last night?”

“No, in fact, he suffered a relapse late in the evening. He was sedated. The doctor stayed with him all night.” With the suddenness of a tidal wave, relief poured over Kern. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? “You must realize what this means. My father couldn’t possibly have done this.”

“He might have sent someone else to do his dirty work. He could have hired a lackey to search for the memoirs. The arrangements could have been made before he took ill.”

“No, the servants are loyal to me, and no one else has been to visit him.” Buoyed by a satisfaction beyond belief, Kern dropped the skimpy chemise on the pile. It floated downward like the raiment of a wicked fairy. “And if Lynwood did not do this, then he also did not poison your mother.”