Secrets of the Heart (13 page)

The man goggled at her for a moment in silence. “Secrets?” he asked after a long moment. “Rachel, my dear, what are you talking about?”

“I just wondered, you know, if you knew anything about something he might have done or—”

Overhill was staring at her now in alarm. “Michael has no secrets. Who has been telling you any differently?” He glanced at Sylvia.

She held up her hands in an expression of innocence, saying, “It was not I. Don't look so fiercely at me.”

“But, well, it's absurd to speak of Michael having secrets, especially from you, my dear. Everyone knows of his high regard for you. Who told you this?”

“No one,” Rachel admitted. She had been watching Perry's face closely as he answered her, and it seemed to her that there was a slight relaxation of his face when she said that no one had told her anything. And had there been something just a trifle nervous in his eyes as he denied Michael's secrets?

Quietly, she told him about the visit she had received from the highwayman, and he listened with rapt attention.

“Danger?” he said when she had finished. “Really, my dear, it's nonsense. How could Michael be in danger? I am sure the fellow just wanted money.”

“But how did he know who Michael was?” Rachel pressed him.

Overhill blinked. “Well, ah…”

“You see?”

“I see that you have some unanswered questions,” Perry began carefully. “But I don't think that they necessarily lead to the conclusion that Michael has kept secrets from you.”

“Secrets?” a woman's voice drawled behind them. “The saintly Lord Westhampton? I am appalled.”

Perry grimaced at the sound of the voice. “Lady Vesey.”

Rachel turned around to look at the woman who stood behind her. She was a small woman with a voluptuous figure, which was tonight rather scantily clad in a gown of green voile. Her ample bosom swelled above the low neckline of the gown, and it was clear from the way the garment clung that Lady Vesey was wearing few, if any, petticoats beneath the evening dress. It was a style of dress adopted by the faster set of the
Ton;
some women even went so far as to dampen their gowns to make them cling even more provocatively, a practice Rachel viewed as unhealthy, as well as immodest. Few women, however, were able to fill their gowns out as well as Lady Leona Vesey did.

Lady Vesey's wild ways had earned her the censure of most of the leading ladies of London Society. She was not received at many houses, and Rachel felt sure that Lady Tarleton would receive a blistering scolding from several of the more prominent women for inviting her to the party tonight. But, despite the disapprobation of the
Ton,
there were few who would deny that she was one of the great Beauties of the last two decades. Though she was nearing forty, age and dissipation had not yet scored their lines into her face—at least not in here in the glow of the candlelight. Her strawberries-and-cream complexion was soft, her lips full and pouting, her golden eyes large and dark lashed, and though Rachel suspected that her face owed much to the skillful application of cosmetics, the result was admittedly stunning.

Rachel thoroughly disliked the woman for her years of wicked influence over Dev, and it was clear that Leona Vesey returned the feeling in full measure. Rachel had been present last summer during a scene at Darkwater where Miranda successfully demonstrated to Lady Vesey that she had lost control over Dev, and since then, Leona had seemed to regard Rachel with even more venom than she had before.

“Rachel…” she purred now in a falsely sympathetic voice. “You should know better than to ask someone like Perry for your husband's secrets. You should have come to me. I would have been happy to have told you all about his indiscretions.”

Rachel gave Leona a level look. “Had I thought you had any knowledge or any capacity for telling the truth, perhaps I would have.”

She turned back to Perry and Sylvia, regretting the fact that she had said anything to the woman. Her mother would have given Leona the cut direct, sending an icy glance right through her, then turning away as if Leona were not there. Rachel, however, had never been able to deliver such a cutting gesture, even to Lady Vesey.

But Leona was not to be denied. She plowed ahead, saying, “Oh, I know your husband's secrets, Lady Westhampton. A great deal of London does. Perhaps you should ask Lord Westhampton about his visits to Mrs. Neeley. I am sure you would find his answers quite informative.”

Rachel was startled by Leona's words. She had assumed that Leona was simply being annoying; she had not really considered that Leona actually had a tale about Michael to tell her. Even so, she would not have been alarmed had it not been for the fact that Perry stiffened, his eyes suddenly looking as if they were about to pop out of his head.

A chill rippled through Rachel. Obviously the name Leona had just used meant something to Perry. She turned back to Leona.

A smile curved Leona's mouth, and there was a smug set to her face that irritated Rachel beyond measure. “Ah, I see I have your attention now.”

“I don't know who you are talking about, but I am sure it is all nonsense. Vicious nonsense.”

“Really?” Leona gave a throaty little laugh. “If you were so certain as all that, I suspect you would not be standing there, waiting for me to tell you more.
Mrs.
Neeley—I give her the title, you see, but I am sure it is one purely of courtesy—is the owner of a rather popular gaming establishment. She has been for some years now—about the same amount of time that she has been granting Lord Westhampton her favors.”

Rachel sucked in her breath sharply, as if Lady Vesey had landed her a blow to the stomach.

Beside her, Sylvia said hotly, “How dare you say something like that!”

“I dare because it is the truth. Lilith Neeley has been Lord Westhampton's mistress for years. He has been seen any number of times going in and out of her house—at all hours of the day and night. His comings and goings bespeak a great deal of famliarity with the woman.”

Perry moved between Lady Vesey and Rachel, saying, “Lady Vesey, I think it is time that you were going.”

“Oh, yes,” Leona's voice dripped scorn. “We must not say anything to sully Lady Westhampton's ears. What does it matter if all London knows about her husband's dalliance with Lilith Neeley as long as Rachel can retain her naive ignorance?” She stepped neatly around Perry's bulk to look directly at Rachel and say, “Perhaps if you were not so ignorant, my dear, your husband would not have strayed.”

Leona turned and sauntered off, smugness in every line of her voluptuous body. Rachel watched her go, feeling numb. There was a roaring in her ears, and she could not move, could scarcely think. She was afraid that she might faint.

“Perry…” She murmured, reaching out a hand, and Perry quickly took it and tucked it into his arm, shooting a significant look at Lady Montgomery.

Sylvia immediately moved closer to Rachel to grab her other arm if need be, and Perry led them through the throng of people to a bench. Rachel sank down upon it, with Perry and Sylvia flanking her. Sylvia took her hand and squeezed it.

“Don't worry about what she said,” Sylvia said stoutly. “Leona Vesey has always been a liar. You know she would say anything to hurt you.”

“But she said everyone knew!” Rachel looked at her friend.

“I didn't,” Sylvia replied. “And that means Sir Ian's mother didn't, either, which is most unlikely.”

Rachel turned to Perry. “Perry?”

“Rachel! 'Pon my honor,” Perry said. “How can you even ask me? Of course it's not true.”

“But I saw you when she said that name,” Rachel pressed.

Perry blinked. “Oh, well…” His face reddened. “Of course I had heard the name. But I promise you she is not Michael's, well, his, you know, light-of-love.”

“Michael would not be unfaithful to you. How can you think that?” Sylvia added. “Come, now, you cannot let Leona Vesey make you doubt your husband. That would give her exactly what she wants. It doesn't matter to her whether she's telling the truth—or even whether you find out later that it isn't true. She will have disturbed you, made you worry and question Michael. That will be enough for her.”

“You are right, of course,” Rachel replied, summoning up a small smile for the other two. “I cannot let her see that she has upset me. It would please her no end.” She drew a breath. “I think we should promenade around the room and enjoy ourselves.” And let everyone see us do so, she added mentally.

Rachel was determined not to give Leona the satisfaction of seeing that she had hurt her, and she managed to keep up a good front through the rest of the party. But what she felt inside was a different matter entirely. Sylvia might be certain that Michael would not be unfaithful to Rachel, but Rachel was less so. Sylvia did not know the true state of Rachel and Michael's marriage. Michael's honor was deep and important to him, so much so that Rachel had never even considered the possibility that he might break his marriage vows. But now that Leona had inserted the worm of doubt into her mind, she could not help but think how very likely it might be. Yes, Michael was honorable, but he was a man, after all, with a man's needs. He had been married for seven years to a woman who did not share a bed with him—a woman who had so offended him with her own lack of honor that he would not even touch her.

Many men kept mistresses, even those who said they loved their wives. How much more likely would it be for a man who did not love his wife, whose affection for her had been trampled into nothingness by her betrayal? It should not surprise her, she told herself. If she were not naive, as Leona said, she would not have been surprised. She would have expected it.

But she had not expected it, and it hurt. She was not sure why—wounded pride, perhaps—but it did indeed hurt, as if someone had stabbed her through the heart. She wanted to run home and crawl into bed and cry.

Rachel told herself that there was the possibility that Leona had been lying. As Sylvia had said, Leona was given to lying, and she would seize any opportunity to hurt her. But how had she come up so quickly with a story to tell? It was absurd to think that she had planned it out beforehand; she had not known that she would overhear Rachel asking about Michael's secrets. Indeed, she would have had no reason to think that Rachel would even be at the party; she had only got back into town the day before.

She believed that Sylvia had not heard the story, which lent some weight to its unbelievability, but on the other hand, men did not usually talk to the women of their family about the other world in which they moved, the world of gambling and drinking and mistresses. It was not considered a suitable topic for a lady to hear. A woman like Leona might easily learn of it; she dabbled in that environment herself. But Sir Ian would never have spoken to his mother or Sylvia about a woman who ran a gambling den or the fact that she was the mistress of Sylvia's best friend's husband.

However, she was certain that Perry knew a great deal more about Mrs. Neeley than he would tell her. No matter how much he insisted that Michael and Lilith Neeley were not having an affair, Rachel had seen his face when Leona first threw out the name at Rachel. He had looked as if he had just swallowed his tongue. His claim that he had simply recognized the name as belonging to the owner of a well-known gambling den was, in Rachel's opinion, completely without merit. Had the name had no more meaning to him than that, he might have looked surprised, even a little shocked, at Leona's bad taste in bringing it up in front of two ladies of the
Ton.
But the look in his eyes had not been merely surprise or social shock; it had been something closer to horror. And, even more significant, he had not looked outraged that she would couple Michael's name with such a woman. Indeed, he had not immediately denied the claim; he had just moved to protect Rachel from Leona. He had not denied it until some time later, when Rachel asked him directly.

She tried to remember exactly what he had said. Had he actually denied it, or had he merely skirted the issue? She could not remember now the exact words either of them had used. It didn't really matter, she supposed; she could not rely on his being truthful. Perry was fond of her, but he had been Michael's friend for far longer, and there was, besides, that male bond that excluded women from all sorts of knowledge. She could not really rely on what he told her.

Rachel was not sure why it bothered her so. It was not as if she and Michael loved each other; theirs had always been an arranged marriage, a matter of practicality. Though Michael had once loved her, in the end they had married only to avoid scandal. She supposed that a woman could not expect a husband to remain faithful when he and his wife shared no intimacy. Michael had, after all, been very discreet. She had never heard a breath of rumor about the affair until tonight.

If, of course, there really was an affair. She could not quite shut down the voice of hope inside her.

The thing was, she decided, that she was beginning to feel as though she did not know Michael at all. First there had been the highwayman's strange warning that Michael was somehow skirting close to danger. Then tonight she had heard that he had a mistress—had had one for a number of years. And she had known nothing about either thing! She felt strangely lost. At sea.