Lady Unveiled - The Cuckold's Conspiracy (Daughters of Sin Book 5)

by Beverley Oakley

  Not that that mattered when she only wanted Silverton. Oh Lord, how she wanted him.

  Four minutes.

  She heard the call as if through a curtain of despair. In a moment, she’d have to plaster a smile on her face and dazzle the crowds like she did every night. The only times she felt respite from the perpetual ache in her heart was when she was performing.

  “Come!” she called out in response to a rap on her door, expecting to see Mr. Lazarus.

  To her horror, it was Nash. Nash, the man she’d nearly married only a few months ago. She didn’t have time to order her thoughts before he was standing before her, clutching her hands having deposited a dozen long-stemmed red roses on her dressing table.

  “Now that Silverton is to be married, and you are no longer his mistress, will you come back to me?” He looked grim, rather than loving. “I am prepared to take you back, even after everything you’ve done.”

  “As your mistress?” she clarified.

  He looked surprised. Then he gripped her hands even tighter. “I could hardly make you my wife after you declared before the world you’d rather be mistress to my adversary than wife to me. Even if I wanted it.”

  “And would you?”

  “What?”

  “Want me for your wife?”

  “I want you, Kitty!” He dropped her hands to put them to his face; his tone anguished as he muttered, “It’s irrelevant if I want you for my wife, because that can never be after your appalling behavior. But I’m prepared to forgive. I hear you’ll be giving up the lease on your house now that Silverton has given you his congé. Well, I’ll set you up in finer lodgings than that, and we can be as we were before.”

  “As we were before, Nash?” She felt dead inside. “How could that ever be? When I fell in love with you, it was like a thunderclap. I came to London expecting to meet the man of my dreams, and you materialized in front of me like the dashing prince I’d been searching for my whole life.”

  Clearly, he did not see where she was going with this. His voice became fond. “Was I not good to you, Kitty?” He drew her into his embrace, resting his chin on her head. “Did I not get you everything your heart desired? A fine house, beautiful clothes, your own carriage. Jewelry to cement our union. I even asked you to marry me, for God’s sake, despite knowing how opposed the pater and rest of my family would be. Silverton wasn’t prepared to do that, was he?”

  “But he didn’t cheat on me,” Kitty whispered. “He didn’t go from my bed to find his pleasure at Mrs. Montgomery’s, or take the woman I called my friend into his bed the moment I was unavailable.”

  Nash drew himself up. “Am I never to be forgiven? One lapse—”

  “Two…that I know of.”

  “Every fellow has the occasional lapse! Will you not forgive me, even when you know that you alone are the woman I yearn to love and cherish?”

  Kitty closed her eyes and clenched her hands at her sides as the sounds of the theatre pulsed around the two of them, alone in her dressing room. She ought to think about her future. In a few years, her looks would have faded and with it, her fame and acclaim. A clever woman would amass now what she’d need in retirement, not look a gift horse in the mouth, as the saying went. And Lord Nash was any woman’s dream with his brooding dark looks and his fine, athletic physique. He was an exciting and considerate lover. Generous, too. And he was offering her everything he’d given so freely before.

  Except marriage.

  “I can’t go back to you when I’m still in love with Silverton,” she said softly. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

  “I’d make you forget Silverton. Kitty, please.” His tone was beseeching. As if he truly didn’t care that she’d not be wholly his? How could he? Kitty would rather die than be with someone whose heart she knew belonged to another. It was the knowledge that Silverton would inevitably drift closer to the worthy Miss Mandelton as their babies were born that fueled her need to withdraw from him while she still had the strength.

  There was a rap on the door. “Miss Bijou. Thirty seconds.”

  Kitty glanced back to Nash and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Nash. Your offer is very generous, and you’re a good man. But I just can’t turn back the clock.”

  Rejecting him didn’t make her feel any better or any more powerful. She performed her role with all the usual finesse, judging by the rapturous applause. And then she wondered how she did it as she stepped forward for a final encore, her arms full of bouquets.

  “You were marvelous, as usual,” Mr. Lazarus congratulated her afterward. Actors and chorus girls milled around her, excitedly chattering about how first rate the night had been. Kitty felt in a daze. Had she really been so rash as to sacrifice what might be her only chance at finding at least some kind of mutual love? She had loved Nash, hadn’t she? Why, only two months ago she’d been prepared to be his wife.

  And then, as she returned to her dressing room where she could thankfully be alone, another rap sounded on the door and she turned, her heart thundering more painfully than it ever had in her life when Silverton walked into the room.

  He was alone. But he would not be for long. She knew that, just as she knew in the intense, pained look they exchanged that she could never feel the kind of love for anyone that she felt for Silverton.

  “Oh God, Kitty, I’ve missed you!” he murmured, closing his eyes and not advancing farther after he’d closed the door behind him.

  The frenzied buzzing of actors nearby, the strong smell of lead paint and powder and dust made her head swim. Or was it that her senses were so overloaded she wasn’t sure how much more she could take?

  It was too much. Kitty dropped the flowers she was holding and ran across the room and into his embrace. His arms went around her tightly, and as his lips came down upon hers, she felt the most incredible rush of euphoric joy. This was what she was made for. Love.

  But only Silverton could do this to her.

  The urgency of knowing how short their time was together only escalated their passion. As his tongue breached the seam of her lips, and his hands skimmed her breasts, half exposed by her low bodice, the ache between her legs was like a cruel reminder of what she could never have. Never again could she run her hands up his toned chest, or twine her fingers in the light hair that dusted his muscled torso. Nor would she feel his hot mouth closing about her nipple or pleasuring her most intimate parts, before he took her in a final climax of urgent want and need, thrusting into her and filling her with joyful satisfaction.

  For he belonged to another now.

  With a soft moan, she pulled out of his arms. He didn’t try to reclaim her. His hands were at his sides now and his expression one of the greatest sorrow.

  “You will not come back to me, will you, Kitty?” He said it like he understood the terrible dilemma that had torn them apart.

  “It’s not only me. You couldn’t do that to Miss Mandelton, I know, Silverton,” she whispered. “Even if I said yes, you know you couldn’t live with yourself.”

  “Kitty, I wish to God I—”

  She turned, pressing the palm of her hands to her eyes. “Don’t say it,” she rasped. It hurt just to breathe. “You can’t marry me. An actress, another man’s acknowledged mistress. I am forever out of your reach because of who you are and what you owe your family. And for the path I’ve chosen.”

  The truth echoed around her head. And for the path her father chose. A bastard could never amount to anything. She’d heard it so many times.

  She managed a teary smile as she put out her hands. “Forever friends, Silverton?”

  Gravely, he took them.

  “Forever friends, Kitty. And if you should ever need my help in any way, you have only to ask.”

  Kitty blinked back her tears. “You’re a kind man. That’s why I loved you.” She had to put it in the past tense. “And have you brought Miss Mandelton to the theater? I think you would not have come otherwise, perhaps?”

  He nodded. “It was her great desire
to bring me along, even though she’s seen the play before. We are the guests of…Lady Partington. I was there when she invited Octavia.”

  Kitty had to grip the edge of the dressing table as her knees buckled. She swallowed. “Lord Partington did not come?”

  Silverton looked pained. “He did not.”

  “But of course not,” Kitty whispered. “He’s made it very clear I am not a daughter who has made him proud. Something of an irony that Lady Partington, who has been so very kind to me, is here. I doubt she would have been had she known who I was.”

  Silverton shrugged. “You might be surprised.”

  Kitty gave a small laugh. “I think I’d prefer not to put it to the test. Now, give me a moment to gather myself, and then I shall greet Miss Mandelton with all the aplomb you could desire. And with not a single pained or reproachful glance in your direction.” Like the true actress she was, she plastered on her most carefree smile and shooed him to the door. “Begone, dear, kindest of men. I shall rejoin you downstairs as soon as I’ve changed.”

  Chapter 14

  Hetty had never believed it was possible to be so happy. She’d been married more than a year, and yet frequently she awoke to find her darling Aubrey gazing at her as if he’d married her only yesterday.

  Another wonderful thing was that Aubrey was only too happy to indulge her with her desire to visit her darling mama so frequently. He and her parents got along famously these days, so trips to The Grange were always happy affairs with much fussing over the babies. How lovely there were only a few months between baby Celia and her little Lysander so that they could grow up the best of friends.

  Right now, the adults were in the drawing room discussing their plans for the day. Aubrey and Lord Partington were of a mind to go shooting on the neighboring estate, while Hetty and her mother wanted to attend the market in town.

  “Can’t we take the babies?” Hetty asked, but her mother shook her head. “It’s too chilly today, and Celia is only just getting over a cough. Let’s leave them snug and warm and in Mabel’s good care, and then you and I can stop for a bun and tea at Sally Forrester’s afterward.”

  By the time they’d put on walking dresses and pelisses the weather had worsened, but Hetty was feeling ebullient. She and Aubrey had enjoyed the most delicious lovemaking, and just before they’d parted ways as they’d meandered along the path at the back of the house, he’d snatched her hand and pulled her into the bushes for a deeply passionate kiss that only underscored the fact she was the luckiest girl in the whole country, if not the world.

  John Coachman drove them the short distance to the village and helped them out. The usually quiet square was crammed with people from all over the district here to sell their wares, and Hetty was keen to buy some ribbons for a new bonnet she was making for Lysander.

  She wished she had her baby with her to show him off, but her mother had been right; the chill was too much if one had the choice, though there were plenty of infants accompanying their parents who were selling everything from gilt gingerbread to oysters. Despite the gray skies it was a festive atmosphere, and Hetty was enjoying the contrast with her usual quiet days at The Grange or the London revelry Aubrey often cajoled her into enjoying with him. Yes, she’d finally agreed, there was a time for babies and a time for her husband, and if her husband wanted her company to Lady This’s ball or to the opera or ballet, she was only too happy to be seen with the dashing and gallant Sir Aubrey. It wasn’t just the unusual streak of white that cut through her husband’s inky black locks that turned people’s heads, but the magnetism of his hazel eyes and his feline grace. Hetty was sure every woman under thirty was madly jealous of her.

  Of course, Araminta was jealous, and the thought was both disquieting but also gratifying. Who would ever have thought Hetty would have won Sir Aubrey when Araminta had gone to such lengths to have him?

  But Sir Aubrey had chosen Hetty. And what a happy, loving marriage it was. Of course, Hetty shouldn’t give Araminta a second thought, but knowing that Araminta was so unhappy with Lord Debenham was worrying. Who knew what her sister might get up to if she were dissatisfied with her lot?

  Several rods containing a variety of brightly-colored ribbons blew in the breeze, attracting Hetty’s attention, though really it was the cherubic child in the crib in the corner that most engaged her. Hetty loved comparing babies, especially when they were around the same age as her own. It was an endless fascination to learn whether they were crawling or taking their first steps or at what age they’d first smiled.

  “What a darling little boy,” she remarked to the woman who came to assist her. “What’s his name?”

  The woman beamed. She looked like a well-satisfied farmer’s wife with her ample bosom and rosy cheeks as she laid out the ribbons, beckoning to a girl she referred to as Rosie, who looked about twenty, to come and help.

  “My little one is not quite as old as yours,” Hetty said to Rosie. “What’s his name?”

  “Hamish,” replied the girl with an embarrassed glance at the older woman. “‘N I ain’t ‘is mam.”

  The portly, pleasant-faced older woman bustled around the back of a collection of boxes and scooped the baby out of its crib, obviously eager to show off her pride and joy. Hetty was delighted, and even more so when the child gripped the finger she offered it, gurgling with delight.

  “I’m sure one never gets tired of cuddling them, no matter how many there are,” said Hetty. “I have a little boy called Lysander. He’s my first, so I’m still getting used to it all.”

  “Hamish is my first, too,” the farmer’s wife told her, putting her cheek to the child’s. “Blessed, we were, my Jacob and me, to be granted a babe this late in life.”

  Hetty could see by the rapturous look in the woman’s eyes how much this child meant to her, for surely the woman must have been over forty. Suddenly, she felt a pang for her own child back in the nursery at home. It was rare for more than a couple of hours to go by without Hetty sidling off to give her son a cuddle.

  “May I hold him?” she asked, stretching out her arms. The little boy was well rugged up in swaddling clothes with a white knitted bonnet tied beneath his chin, so she wasn’t concerned that the cold would harm him.

  “’Twould be an honor, ma’am.” Smiling broadly, the woman held out the baby who immediately began to squirm and protest.

  ‘Hush now, Hamish,” she crooned, trying to settle him and attempting to retie the ribbons that held his cap on. But the baby was not about to cooperate. With an impatient sweep of its hand against its head, it dislodged the cap which went sailing through the air to land on the counter.

  “Now, now, Hamish, the lady just wants to get you a cuddle,” said the farmer’s wife in mild remonstrance as she took back the child, glancing at Hetty. “Isn’t that right, ma’am?”

  But Hetty couldn’t answer. She was too occupied with the sight of the child’s hair—a healthy crown of inky black locks throwing into sharp relief the swathe of white hair at its left temple.

  Hamish’s mother seemed not to notice Hetty’s shock as she replaced the boy’s cap then turned to put him back into the cradle.

  “Now, ma’am, any of these ribbons take your fancy? We have every color in the rainbow, plus more, and if you’ve a mind for some fancy lacework, there’ll be some of that to show you next market day after me Jacob has done his rounds.”

  Distracted, Hetty pointed to a midnight-blue ribbon. “I’ll take two yards, please.” What else could she say? The child was back sleeping in the corner, yet Hetty’s mind was crammed with questions, all of them far too probing and impertinent to ask.

  She paid, put her purchase into her reticule, and then went to the tea shop to meet her mother who also remarked upon her distraction.

  “I’m…missing Lysander because I saw a baby that reminded me so much of him,” she said, frowning. No, she wasn’t going to mention the hair. She just couldn’t.

  “Oh darling, you’re just like I was with my f
irst.” Her mother smiled and reached across the table to pat her hand. “It’s so hard to be without them, and I will admit that it is a darling age. Celia’s a little more of a handful now that she’s walking, but every age is delightful. Now wipe that worried frown off your face. I’ll be finished my tea soon, and then we can meet John Coachman.”

  Hetty rose. “I think I’ll dash back and get another length of ribbon,” she blurted. “No need to hurry on my account. I’ll be back shortly.”

  She tried to keep her pace measured and sedate as she returned to the stall, deciding that, yes, she would ask at least some of the probing questions that might help her ascertain the lineage of the ribbon seller’s child.

  But as she rounded the corner and started walking toward the stall she was surprised to see, from a distance, the young woman Rosie sitting upon a stool in a dim corner holding the child, and astonished when she got closer to see that the child was suckling at her breast.

  The young woman rose and reordered her clothing just as Hetty reached the counter, and her shock must have been apparent for Rosie immediately explained, “Mrs. ‘Ancock got the babe when I still ‘ad me milk from me second.” She glanced over her shoulder, perhaps to ensure her mistress was out of earshot, before adding, “She can’t abide goin’ nowhere wivout the little ‘un, even though it ain’t ’er own. That’s why she takes me along fer when it needs feedin’.”

  “The child’s adopted?”

  Rosie nodded. “Everyone knows it, so I ain’t tellin’ secrets. Mr. ‘n Mrs. ‘Ancock bin married twenty-two years ‘n ‘spected ter go ter their graves childless, ‘cept it seems their wishes fer a babe was granted when Mrs. ‘Ancock were gived one by a respectable young lady wot weren’t in a position ter keep it.”

  Hetty stared at the baby. “He’s…a very nice-looking child,” she said lamely, but the questions were swirling around her head. “How old is he?”