Her Secret Affair (33 page)

“Oh, piffle, you have that faraway look in your eyes again,” Helen said, her expression rueful in the mirror. “Forgive me for babbling on too much. It’s a bothersome habit of mine.”

“Please, you needn’t apologize.” Isabel rose from the stool and hugged Helen’s slender form. “I happen to like your babble. You’re lively and happy and a joy to be around.”

Helen glowed. “Papa always says so, too. Speaking of Papa, he’s returning home for luncheon. I thought while we were waiting for him, we could go down to the library for a few moments. I’ve something to show you there.”

Linking their arms, Helen pulled Isabel out into the sumptuous corridor that led to the grand staircase. As they descended to the foyer, a flash of lightning illuminated the gray clouds. The long windows flanking the door showed a gloomy day. It was so dark that a footman was lighting candles in the wall sconces. Isabel fancied she could feel the tingle of sparks in the air, and the approaching storm only added to her sense of unease.

Helen drew her into the library. The stately room was vacant, scented by the leather of calf-bound books. “I was sitting here last night with Papa,” she confided, “addressing the wedding invitations. That’s when I noticed it.”

“It?”

“Come here.” With the eagerness of a conspirator, Helen led Isabel to one of the portraits lining the wall above a bookcase. She nodded up at the painting of a smiling, bewigged lady clad in a lavish green satin gown of a fashion fifty years outmoded. “That’s Papa’s mother—the dowager marchioness, my grandmama. Do you notice anything about her?”

Frowning, Isabel studied the lady’s fine bone structure, the cool patrician smile and the etching of dark brows over brown eyes. A spaniel lolled at the gentlewoman’s feet. “She’s very pretty.”

“Pretty, bah,” Helen bantered. “She’s
beautiful.
And she looks just like you.”

“Like me?” Isabel said dubiously. “She’s wearing a huge white wig.”

Helen laughed. “You have to imagine her without the wig. I never knew her, but Papa said she had brown hair with a hint of red, just like you. And look at her eyes. They’re the color of sherry, and tilted up ever so slightly, identical to yours. You have her love of dogs, too.”

“Along with thousands of other ladies,” Isabel scoffed lightly. She picked up M’lord and hugged him to her bosom as she stole another glance at the portrait. How refined the marchioness appeared. Yet benevolent and amiable, too. Isabel’s heart wrenched. Was that how Helen saw her, a kind and loving friend? Little did she know the truth. “What did your father say to your assessment?”

Helen looked a little sheepish. “He just harrumphed. But after I pointed out the resemblance, he did stare at the portrait for quite a long while. As if he were looking for similarities.”

“Or simply reminiscing about his mother,” Isabel said. She could imagine Hathaway’s chagrin at the suggestion that the marchioness was ancestor to a whore’s bastard. Yet Isabel could summon no worldly amusement today, only a wistful sadness. “Well, everyone back home says I take after
my
mother. So any resemblance is purely coincidental.”

“Perhaps so.” Helen pursed her lips. “But I still say—”

A light rapping sounded on the door, and a liveried footman stepped inside, bowing to them. “Beg pardon, m’lady. Lord Kern has come to see you.”

Helen clapped her hands. “Oh, famous. We shall ask Justin for his opinion on the matter. He has a sharp eye for detail, so no doubt he’ll agree with me.”

The rumble of thunder sounded closer. Isabel stood still, her heart racing with joy and trepidation. M’lord squirmed as she tightened her arms around the puppy.

Kern was here.
Here.

And he’d come to speak to Helen.

*   *   *

When Kern walked through the doorway of the library, he came face-to-face with Isabel on her way out. She stopped as if frozen, her beautiful dark eyes riveted to him.

He couldn’t halt the involuntary leap of his pulse. Nor could he discipline his thirst for Isabel. The sight of her poured like warm rain into the desert of his soul. She looked pale and fragile in a gown of deep wine silk. The faint lavender shadows beneath her eyes gave proof that she had slept as little as he. He fisted his fingers to keep from touching her. Had she suffered regrets about giving him the gift of her virginity?

“Hello, Justin,” Helen called gaily from the far end of the library. “Perhaps you can persuade Isabel to stay.”

Isabel gave him an intent, unreadable stare that didn’t waver, even when the puppy licked her chin. “I need to take M’lord to the kitchen,” she murmured. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Turning her gaze downward, she hastened past Kern and out the door, leaving a torturous trace of her feminine scent.

He released a long breath. Resolutely he closed the door and walked toward Helen. His temples throbbed from more than an excess of whiskey. He’d gone this morning to secure the memoirs in the vault of his bank; then he’d had no other excuse to delay this moment of reckoning.

“Oh, piffle,” Helen said, her brow wrinkling. “I fear I’ve embarrassed my cousin. She’s admirably modest, but I never thought she’d feel so shy about me pointing out the resemblance.”

“Resemblance?”

“To Grandmama,” Helen said, waving her hand at the old-fashioned portrait of a lady. “Don’t you agree they look alike? I noticed it last night, when I was sitting at the desk, addressing the invitations to our wedding.”

He barely glanced at the painting. His mind focused on his loathsome duty. If only he could be like other gentlemen, keeping a mistress hidden away and a wife for all the world to see. But he could not treat Helen—or Isabel—so shabbily.

He found himself hesitating and cursed his cowardice. Better to get this onerous task over with and done.

He took hold of Helen’s arm and led her to a chaise. He seated her, though he remained standing. With the bafflement of the innocent, she gazed up at him. “Is something wrong, Justin?”

He wanted to bellow out his aversion to hurting her. Instead, he said in a heavy tone, “Helen, I’m very sorry to have to say this. But there will be no wedding.”

Her lips parted. She blinked rapidly as if trying to assimilate his words. “No wedding? You can’t mean … ours?” She placed her small, white hand over her bosom.

“Yes, ours,” he said as gently as he could manage. “I am obliged to cry off the engagement.”

“But … why?”

He recited the speech he’d rehearsed through the long, dark hours of the night. “Please understand, it isn’t your fault whatsoever. A man could never ask for a more lovely and virtuous lady. But—” He paused, knowing the words would seal his fate. “But I’ve become involved with another woman. It was not something I’d intended to happen. Yet it did, and under the circumstances, it would be dishonorable of me to continue our betrothal.”

Helen’s wounded gaze tormented him. “Another woman? But only yesterday we were discussing our wedding breakfast. And our cake. You said nothing then … not a hint…” Her voice broke and tears glossed her blue eyes.

Fumbling in his pocket for a handkerchief, he sank to one knee before her. He pressed the neatly folded square into her palm. “I said nothing because I had not yet come to a decision.”
Because I’d not yet made love to Isabel. I’d not yet accepted how much she means to me.

Helen clutched the handkerchief, but made no attempt to check the slow spill of her tears. “Who is this other woman? Tell me her name.”

Kern shook his head. “I cannot. It’s best you forget about her.”

God forbid Helen should learn the truth and suffer that unspeakable pain. As soon as the murderer was found, Isabel would move quietly out of this house. She would sever all ties to Helen. Then, and only then, would he proceed with his plan for Isabel.

“How can I forget about her?” Helen asked in a shaky voice. “She stole your affections. What happened between yesterday and now? After you left me, you must have gone to her.”

He could not deny it. Nor could he bear to see Helen so distraught. “Don’t torture yourself, please don’t. Just realize that you are utterly blameless in the matter. I shall make certain people know that the wrongdoing lies with me.”

Helen gave a violent shake of her head. “No, Justin. Don’t speak as if it’s too late.” Her face damp, she reached out and grasped his hands. “You feel honor-bound to end our betrothal. But you had a flirtation, that’s all. Many men do so. I forgive you.”

Kern released a sharp breath. He felt pushed into a corner, forced to dash her last hopes. “My God. I despise causing you grief. But it was more than a flirtation. I’ve … been intimate with her.”

For a moment she stared at him with the guilelessness of a girl. Then comprehension widened her eyes and she drew her hands back, her fingers twisting in the folds of her skirt. Taking a quavering breath, she turned her head away as if the shock was too great to be borne. “You did with her … what a husband does with his wife.”

“Yes.”

Lightning flashed outside, followed by the scolding of thunder and the drumming of rain against the windows. Tears dripped soundlessly down Helen’s pale cheeks. “How could you?” she whispered.
“How could you?”

He could not explain any further without deepening her wound. That would require describing the incredible, loving attachment between himself and Isabel. “Helen … you’ve been as dear to me as a sister. I remember holding you in my arms not long after you were born. And thinking I would protect you forever.” Words of contrition choked his throat. “I loathe hurting you. And I’m sorry. Truly sorry.”

She sat stiff and still. Without returning her gaze to him, she said in a grating undertone, “Go away from here.
Go.
”

The coldness in her voice shook him. He knelt before her, reluctant to leave her in pain. If only he could hold her close and comfort her, stroke her hair. But by his contemptible act of betrayal, he had forfeited that privilege. Forever.

Kern slowly rose to his feet. Though Helen did not look at him, he bowed to her. Except for her tears, she might have been an alabaster statue. Had she really loved him so much?

The question only worsened his self-disgust. He wanted to extend his best wishes for her future happiness, but feared any attempt at good will would only make a mockery of her anguish. His chest tight, he pivoted on his heel and strode out of the library.

His footfalls rang out on the marble floor of the passageway. He felt as if he had kicked a kitten. In his black mood, he could think only of departing from this house which he had regarded as a second home. Henceforth, he would no longer be welcome here. And he had thrown it all away for a woman who did not fit into his world. A woman he wanted more than life itself.

As if his despairing thoughts had conjured her up, Isabel appeared before him. She waited by the gilded newel post of the staircase, the mongrel in her arms. On seeing Kern, she set down the dog and hastened forward, her skirt rustling against the patter of the rain. He told himself to walk past her, to stride out the door without looking back. Yet she brought to his dark spirit the forbidden light of hope.

“Justin?” she said in a breathless, questioning voice. Her fingers twined together, she sent a speaking glance toward the impassive footman stationed by the front door.

Kern addressed him. “Tell my groom to wait the carriage for me. I’ll be out shortly.” The groom already had been given his instructions, but the footman’s absence would buy them a moment alone.

“Yes, m’lord.” Picking up an umbrella, the liveried servant opened the door and disappeared out into the rainstorm.

Kern reached for Isabel’s hand and drew her just inside the drawing room. His thumb stroking over her delicate wrist, he spoke in a harsh, intimate whisper. “We can’t be seen together. Not now.”

“You told her.”

“Yes. But I took care not to identify you by name.”

“Dear God. She must be devastated.”

Isabel leaned back against the doorjamb, a sigh shuddering from her, lifting her smooth white bosom. All of his fiercely suppressed need broke free to taunt him. He wanted to lose himself in her soft, scented womanhood, to forget his sins in the sweet affirmation of her love. His untimely passion was reprehensible, making him a cad of the worst kind.

Yet an eternity would pass before he could make Isabel his own again, and his craving for her was too strong to bear. He could not leave her without a kiss of farewell. He bent closer, brushing his lips across hers, letting his mouth convey all the turbulent emotion in his heart. She too felt the poignancy of desperation, for she leaned up on tiptoe to return his kiss.

A small sound jarred the melody of the rain. Jolted, he drew back sharply.

Helen stood in the foyer.

The puppy trotted to her, tail wagging. She paid the animal no heed. Her hand to her throat, she stared at Kern and Isabel. His mouth went utterly dry. He could see awareness dawning in her eyes … the disbelief, then the starkness of shock as she realized the identity of his lover.

“You?” she whispered, her appalled gaze focusing on Isabel.
“You?”

A soft cry of anguish escaped Isabel, but she did not move or speak. The three of them stood frozen in a tableau like a tragedy on the stage of a theater.

He did not think the moment could be any worse. But then the front door opened and Hathaway walked inside, the footman holding an umbrella over him.

The marquess removed his rain-dampened greatcoat. “’Tis weather for ducks,” he said in a jovial tone. “If this storm keeps up, I daresay the streets shall be flooded.” As the footman bore away the wet coat, Hathaway looked at his daughter and frowned, as if noticing her distraught state for the first time. “Helen? You’re weeping. Has something happened?”

She ran to him. “Papa. Oh, Papa.”

He hugged her to his side. “My dear, what is troubling you?”

“Justin has cried off our engagement,” she said. “We aren’t getting married.”

Hathaway’s astonished gaze swung to Kern. “Is this true?”

“Yes.”

“Tell Papa the rest.” Helen dashed away her tears, then clenched her hands at her sides. In a voice raw with grief and anger, she went on, “Tell him the vile secret you tried to hide from me. That all those times when I was ill and sent the two of you off together, you were defiling her. Tell him that you took my cousin Isabel to your bed.”