Her Secret Affair (40 page)

*   *   *

Built of the same pale stone as its neighbors, the town house loomed through the dimness of dusk. Tall fluted columns flanked the front porch. Three granite steps led up to a discreet white door. The windows were dark except for the glimmering of candlelight in one upstairs room.

Aurora’s old bedchamber.

Who was in there?

Kern lifted his hand to the brass knocker, thought better of it, then tried the knob. Locked.

“We’ll go to the back door,” he said.

Hathaway gave a grim nod, falling into step beside Kern as they rounded the corner. He, too, must have felt the prick of foreboding on seeing that light. Was Minnie in there again?

Minnie must have done that vicious destruction. She had mutilated Aurora’s possessions and then pretended a prowler had attacked her. Why? There was nothing in the memoirs to implicate her.

Unless she hadn’t been looking for the memoirs. Unless her knife wound was self-inflicted, designed to lure Isabel back home.

Despite the mildness of the evening, a chill shook Kern. He should never have let Isabel stay here. He was a damned fool for allowing her out of his sight. He would not rest until he had her safely in his arms again.

Gloom lay thickly in the mews. A horse snuffled in one of the small stables. The dampness from the previous day’s rain sharpened the stench of rubbish. Their footsteps tapped an urgent tattoo on the cobblestones.

Reaching the servants’ entrance, Kern opened the door. Hathaway followed him inside. Their eyes needed a moment to adjust to the unlit passageway. Strange, he could smell no sign of dinner preparations, only a trace of musk, the scent of this house.

Had everyone gone out?

Kern started up the narrow back staircase. They slowly felt their way through the darkness. He would find Isabel safely in her bedroom. She would be napping perhaps. That would explain why no light shone in her window.

Or perhaps she and her aunts were congregated in Aurora’s bedchamber. God knew, they could be chatting over old times. Or consoling Isabel in her heartache.

Yet he couldn’t shake the urgency that gripped him. Henceforth, he would keep her close to him always. He would marry her. And let her dare to defy her vow to honor and obey him.

Shadows shrouded the upstairs passageway. Hathaway pointed to the closed door of Aurora’s boudoir. Kern walked down the corridor and put his ear to the white-painted panel. He could discern the murmur of voices inside. He quietly tried the knob, but it did not turn.

Locked.

*   *   *

Isabel spat out the potion. Right in Minnie’s face.

Cursing, the old whore jumped back. She lifted a corner of her apron to wipe her eyes. “Ungrateful girl. I’m doing what’s best for you. That’s what I’ve always done.”

Isabel curled up in a ball on the floor. Despite her act of defiance, a small amount of the drug trickled down her throat. She knew that when it took effect her fate would be sealed.

Dickenson could use her however he liked. Aunt Minnie would encourage him. And Isabel would be defenseless to stop them.

A weapon. She had to find a weapon.

Her senses swam as she scanned the room. But except for the furniture, the place was virtually barren. Aunt Minnie had seen to that.

The realization wormed its way into Isabel’s mind. Aunt Minnie had destroyed Mama’s things. She had ripped gowns, spilled perfume, overturned the inkwell onto the desk. She had hated Mama.

She had killed Mama.

The horrid thought hammered at Isabel. Aunt Minnie wanted Isabel to stay here. She had said so again and again. And according to the memoirs, Aurora had intended to move away to the country, to live with Isabel, leaving the ladybirds behind.

God willing, the proceeds from my book will permit me to leave this house of assignation forever and join my dear daughter in Oxfordshire. There at last we shall live together, she and I …

Mama had feared that one of her ex-lovers had poisoned her, to stop her from completing the memoirs. But the murder had had little to do with
The Confessions of a Ladybird.

It had everything to do with Aunt Minnie’s determination to keep Isabel here at the brothel.

A fog drifted over Isabel’s consciousness. The opium. She struggled to think, to hold on to her reason, but a warm mist clouded her mind until only a vague sense of danger lingered. More than anything, she wanted to snuggle up and close her eyes. Her limbs seemed to weigh a hundred pounds apiece. She grew hazily aware of a heat glowing in her belly, a soft and languorous desire.
Justin.
How she wanted him to hold her. She moved restlessly, the carpet chafing her tender skin.

Minnie’s voice came from a long way off. “There, my child. I can see that you swallowed enough of the medicine to put you in a happier humor. ’Tis for the best, you’ll soon realize.”

“Move aside. She’s ready for me to have a go at her.”

Dickenson.

He towered over her. Isabel tried to focus her bleary eyes, but his lofty image split in two. She mustn’t let him touch her …

“Pick her up and carry her to the bed,” Aunt Minnie told him.

“What do you take me for, your servant?”

“Do it. I won’t have my girl humped on the floor like a bitch dog.”

Grumbling, Dickenson approached Isabel with care, as if he expected her to erupt into violence again. She had little strength left. The soporific effects of the opium flowed through her veins, rendering her weak and torpid.

He crouched down, shoved his arms beneath her body. His cold, sweaty hands jolted her out of her daze. She flinched from him, and a low cry of terror burst from her lungs.

“Noooo!”

*   *   *

Kern and Hathaway had just had a whispered debate on whether or not to knock when they heard the muffled scream.

Like a sliver of ice, the sound pierced Kern.
Isabel.

“Stand back,” he ordered.

Hathaway barely leapt clear when Kern thrust his shoulder at the door. The wooden panel groaned. He came at it again and this time the latch gave way and the door flew back on its hinges.

He pounded into the boudoir, Hathaway on his heels. The room was dark. Vacant. A meager light trickled from the bedchamber.

He ran there, fear squeezing his chest. In one quick sweep his gaze took in the candlelit scene.

Naked to the waist, Terrence Dickenson stood beside the canopied bed. Minnie squatted near the headboard. She pillowed Isabel’s head and stroked her hair, crooning to her.

Like a virginal offering, Isabel lay unmoving, her eyes closed, her slender form draped in a sheer white negligee.

“Good God!” Hathaway exploded.

A red mist of rage descended on Kern. Uttering a savage growl, he launched himself at Dickenson. The older man retreated swiftly, stumbled over a stool and sprawled onto the carpet.

He cowered in terror and held up a hand to forestall Kern. “I-I can explain. Minnie put me up to this. B-but nothing happened. It-it was all a m-mistake.”

“Bloody right it was a mistake.”

Kern yanked Dickenson up from the floor and landed a fist to his jaw. With a satisfying crack of bone, Dickenson’s head jerked back. He hit the wall and slid down, landing in a heap, a crumpled marionette. His eyes were shut, his body limp.

Kern strode to the bed. Minnie tried to throw herself over Isabel, but the marquess wrested her away, pulling her arms behind her back. “Ow!” she protested. “Watch how you treat my poor arm.”

“You’ll get the treatment you deserve. In Newgate Prison.”

“Newgate! On what charge?”

Hathaway wore a look of merciless severity. “The murder of Aurora Darling.”

Kern sat down on the bed. Muttering incoherently, Isabel moved her head back and forth on the pillow. The dusky points of her breasts pressed against the gown, and the gossamer fabric skimmed her feminine curves. God, Minnie had invited Dickenson here. To rape Isabel.

Fury flooded Kern anew, along with a fierce tenderness. He touched her cheek. Blessedly warm, smooth as swansdown. “Isabel.”

Her eyelids fluttered. She squirmed restively, her hands clutching at him. “Jusssstin?”

“I’m here, dearest.” His throat tight, he brushed aside a lock of hair and kissed her brow. “I’m here.”

She opened her eyes. Dark and sultry, her gaze drifted over him, and her lips curved into a slow, sweet smile. “I’mmm not … dreaming?”

Her words sounded slurred. Jolted by panic, he jerked toward Minnie. “What the devil did you give her? Poison?”

“Of course not,” she said huffily. “’Twas only a wee spot of opium. I love her more than you ever could.”

“Love? You know only selfishness and spite.” He gathered Isabel up into his arms. Lifting her from the bed, he held her close, rejoicing in her nearness. “It’s not a dream,” he murmured in her ear. “I’m really here. And I’ll never leave you again.”

“No!” Minnie shouted. “You can’t have her.”

“He can, indeed, madam,” Hathaway said grimly. “And if I have my way, you will never see Isabel again.”

He pulled Minnie toward the door. She dug in her heels, yanking ineffectually at his hold. “How dare you! You’ve no right to take me from her! You of all men.”

“I’ve every right. And well you know it.”

“Hah. Tossing the dear girl a few coins now and then, that’s all. I made sure she didn’t get your paltry offerings. So that she wouldn’t mistake money for love.”

Pinning her arms behind her back, Hathaway hissed in her ear, “Thievery. There’s another crime to put before the magistrate.”

“You won’t dare. You’d have to tell the world about your tryst with Aurora. You’d have to admit you’re Isabel’s father.”

Isabel blinked in confusion. “Faaather?”

Hathaway’s gaze locked on hers. Though Minnie tugged at his grip, he kept his eyes fixed on his daughter. The starkness of vulnerability softened his stony features. “Yes, it’s true,” he said, the words sounding wrenched from a place deep inside him. “I am your father.”

Isabel slowly shook her head, her unbound hair swirling against Kern. “Yoooou … and Mama…?”

“I loved her. With all my heart. If I’d had half your Justin’s courage—” Hathaway’s voice broke off. His eyes glittered, and he turned his head to the side.

In a sudden flurry, Minnie wrenched herself from him. She ran for the door, but Hathaway grappled her and brought her down. This time, he snatched up a scarf and secured her hands behind her back. A foul stream of curses erupted from the whore.

Isabel shuddered, and Kern pressed her face into the crook of his shoulder, sheltering her from sight and sound. Her hands clung tightly to the back of his neck. He could think of nothing he wanted more than to take her away from here, to help her forget the betrayal she had suffered this night.

Hathaway hauled Minnie to her feet. “I’ll send the coachman back to fetch that one.” He nodded toward Dickenson, still out cold on the floor of the bedroom.

“I should take them to the Bow Street Office,” Kern said. “You’ll want to stay clear of this mess.”

“No. It’s high time I did what was right.” Hathaway lifted a bemused eyebrow at Isabel, his face softening. “Besides, it would seem you are otherwise occupied.”

Isabel moved sinuously in Kern’s arms. With maddening sensuality, she pressed her breasts to him, making him more keenly aware of her feminine shape. Clearly, the drug had caused her to lose all inhibitions. Her soft lips drifted over his throat, and he felt the teasing dampness of her tongue. And his own swift, untimely reaction.

Hathaway aimed a flinty look at Kern. “Young man, I would suggest you act immediately to legitimize your relationship with my daughter.”

Kern couldn’t stop a broad smile. “As you say, my lord.”

*   *   *

Two hours later, the Lynwood coach set forth on the Great North Road.

Snug within the plush interior, Kern cradled Isabel close to his side. She lay curled sweetly against him, her slender body wrapped in a warm mantle that covered her from neck to toes. Beneath, she wore the nightdress; he had lacked the heart to disturb her when she’d fallen asleep during his hasty preparations.

The servants at Lynwood House had scurried to do his bidding, the valet packing a valise, the cook loading a hamper with delicacies, the grooms hitching the team of horses. Despite their questioning glances, no one had dared to ask why the master was setting forth on a long journey at night—and in the company of an unchaperoned young lady. He had offered them no explanation. They would find out why within a few days’ time.

The
ton
would find out, too. And the small-minded gossips. Kern smiled into the darkness. Devil take them all. He had everything he wanted right here beside him.

Isabel stirred, stretching herself and releasing a luxurious sigh. Her eyelids lifted, and in the faintness of starlight, she blinked at him. Her hand crept up his coat as if to reassure herself of his presence. “Justin?”

He kissed her brow. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better … not so dizzy.” She glanced around as if just realizing they occupied a coach. “Are you taking me to Lynwood House?”

“No, sweetheart. I’m abducting you.”

She frowned. “Abducting? But … I’ll gladly go with you anywhere. I was getting ready to come and tell you so, but then Aunt Minnie—” Isabel paused, her white teeth sinking into her lower lip. “I can scarcely believe what’s happened. All those years … she was like a second mother to me…”

Sensing her anguish, Kern threaded his hand into her silken curls. “Don’t torture yourself, my love. You didn’t know her true character. None of us knew.”

Isabel drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Remember when Aunt Persy became ill? Aunt Minnie must have poisoned her. To try to convince me to leave Hathaway’s house and return home.” Suddenly she stiffened. “My other aunts—”

“Are all sleeping soundly,” he finished. “I checked on them myself. And I left instructions for Dr. Sadler to stop by at first light, to ensure none of them suffer any ill effects. He’ll see to Trimble, too.”

“And Sir John … isn’t my father after all.”