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

by Beverley Oakley

  “‘E were a newborn when ‘e came ter Mr. ‘n Mrs. ‘Ancock ‘bout three months ago.”

  That made him about six weeks older than Lysander. Hetty smiled weakly. No, she couldn’t ask them, for what would this young woman know of the child’s parentage?

  So she asked for a red ribbon, only realizing she had no use for such a color as she traipsed back to rejoin her mama, hoping not to be quizzed on her disordered wits.

  All she could think was that if Sir Aubrey had no brothers in the country who might have sired a child with such distinctive white and black hair, then who else other than Sir Aubrey could be the child’s father?

  Her husband had certainly made no secret of his rakish reputation when he first got together with Hetty, and though he might be a reformed man now, there was no telling what he might have got up to in the weeks preceding his unexpected and impulsive marriage to Hetty.

  She felt ill. In all the fourteen months they’d been married, there’d been no secrets between her and Sir Aubrey. Or so she thought.

  And then another thought occurred. Perhaps Sir Aubrey had no idea he’d fathered a child on a respectable young lady, who’d had no choice but to give it away. Indeed, Hetty had been in the very position where that might have happened to her had fate not dealt so kindly with her.

  The thought was too distressing. Imagine having to give up one’s own child because of the shame? Hetty thought she’d die if that had been thrust upon her.

  No, there was only one solution. She could not confront Aubrey, but she must also put out of her mind any angst or recrimination toward him. No doubt he was oblivious to the fact he had a son growing up on a farm to the north in far more straightened circumstances than their own beloved Lysander. But if Hetty were to keep enjoying her loving family unit, she would have to do what she could to ease her conscience.

  She had no idea exactly what she would do; but she had to do something.

  Chapter 15

  Stephen was glad to be back at The Grange and to note that Sybil was her usual serene self. Clearly, she had not been rattled as he had by suggestions that someone knew something about their affair.

  This evening, Lord Partington was dining with them as Hetty was still in residence. Even when he was with his mistress, and it was just the two of them— Sybil and Stephen—they took infinite care in front of the servants never to disclose the nature of their relationship. In fact, Stephen was almost certain, and proud of the fact, that none of them could have discovered their secret. Dinner was conducted with the usual decorum. Hetty chattered the most. She seemed happy these days, he was pleased to note. Sir Aubrey was clearly a better match than he’d have believed. In fact, the couple appeared as smitten a year after their nuptials than they’d been when they’d wed so hastily.

  He wished he could have married Sybil.

  The syllabub was delicious, Sybil declared, smiling down the table as Stephen gazed at her. She was so easy to please. He smiled back, quickly transferring his look to Hetty, though not before he caught the flare in Sybil’s eye. She wanted him to come to her tonight, even though she sat at her husband’s right hand. He could tell. Much as Stephen wished he could legally sleep with her every night, there was something enormously erotic about the veiled glances they shared, her sudden flush of consciousness as he fixed her with a smoldering look.

  Suddenly, he was in a fever of impatience to get dinner finished. His Lordship might request his company for coffee and port though Stephen doubted it. The old man looked out of sorts tonight. Perhaps he might go straight to his own apartments. Stephen doubted he’d head off to the little house by the bridge to see Miss Hazlett with Hetty visiting. He thought of Lord Partington’s daughters by his mistress—Lissa and Kitty. They were both beauties—clever and enterprising, too—who could have married well under different circumstances. Lord Partington was a harsh father to his bastard offspring, he thought. Just as he was a harsh husband to Sybil. Stephen knew if the slightest whisper got about regarding his affair with Sybil, they could consider it finished.

  It was why he was prepared to pay any amount to keep it secret.

  At last. The ladies were rising. Stephen and Lord Partington rose too, nodded to each other and with relief, Stephen saw that his Lordship had no desire for anyone’s company tonight. In fact, his leg seemed to be troubling him, particularly as he limped from the room with the aid of Puddles the butler on one side and Sybil on the other.

  “I’m ready for my bed, too,” Hetty said on a weary sigh. “Lysander was up three times in the night. He’s cutting another tooth, and I fear tonight won’t be any better.”

  Stephen murmured the required sympathy and prepared to follow her when one of the footmen handed him a note. Discreetly.

  He made sure he was alone when he opened it.

  Meet me at the boathouse after dinner if you can manage it. The writing appeared to have been scrawled in haste. It certainly wasn’t Sybil’s usual hand, but perhaps she’d tried to disguise it. After all, it wouldn’t do to fall into the wrong clutches. It was obviously also the reason she hadn’t signed it.

  He crumpled it, then tossed it on the fire on his way from the room, his groin suddenly aching with need.

  The night was dark, and he had to take a lantern to light his way. He took the back route through the kitchen garden—and a rug for them to lie on—and hurried to make it there though he knew he’d be first. Sybil had left the dining room only seconds before him, but she’d probably see Lord Partington to his apartments since her husband was so obviously in pain. He hoped she’d not offer to rub his legs, but then, of course, she wouldn’t otherwise she’d not have written the note to Stephen. It had been a week since Lord Partington had been under the same roof as them, due perhaps to the fact Hetty and Sir Aubrey were staying so he wanted to keep up appearances. No wonder Sybil was on fire to be with Stephen for it was rare they were apart so long.

  The note filled him with ridiculous excitement. He’d not expected this of Sybil, but she was always one to surprise him. It was just one of the many things he loved about her.

  The quickest route was across the lawn, but as he might have been observed from a window with his lantern, he took the meandering path that skirted the great expanse of lawn, dipped into the forest, and arrived via the northern side of the lake. Perhaps Sybil would suggest they take a boat and row across to the island. It was a mild night, and there’d be even greater privacy for them in the little rotunda there.

  It didn’t matter. His mind was too busy conjuring up delicious scenarios just to give it something with which to occupy itself, for the main object was that soon he’d hold Sybil in his arms, and feel her soft golden hair beneath his chin as he embraced her and breathed in all that was good about her…then took his fill of her wondrous sexual allure with as much eagerness as she.

  He stopped at the threshold of the boathouse and glanced back at The Grange. The light was on in Sybil’s bedchamber where Mabel her dresser would be preparing for her mistress’s return, just as Sybil would be preparing for Stephen’s arrival.

  He was hard with anticipation as he trod lightly over the threshold and into the darkened boathouse. A candle guttered in the base of one of the rowing boats at the far end, and he could make out the shadowed form of his dear heart. She appeared to be staring in the opposite direction but turned as she heard him, rising and putting out her arms.

  “Stephen.”

  Her voice arrested his progress. Shocked, he halted. “Who is that?”

  “You do not know me?” She sounded disappointed. She rasped in a breath, and her voice broke. “I know it’s been a while and that you weren’t expecting me, but I thought you might have known my voice. Might even have been a little…pleased?”

  There was a hopeful note to her voice.

  There was only horror in his. “Lady Julia! What are you doing here?” What could she want at this time of night? Certainly not something he was prepared to give. She’d been flirtatious at Ara
minta’s ball the previous week, and he’d been polite but distant. It was not possible she could have misinterpreted any of his responses for encouragement.

  “I need your help, Stephen.” Her voice caught. “You do not sound pleased to see me, and perhaps that’s only to be expected, but I do need your help since it’s because of you that I’m in such dreadful difficulties.”

  “Me?!” Incredulity, even more horror, and just a little shard of terrified guilt sliced through him. “I don’t understand you.” She couldn’t be alluding to what—dear God—he never wanted to think about if he could help it. Besides, too long had passed.

  “You are the father of my son, Stephen, and Sir Archie knows it, and now Lord Debenham is threatening to reveal the truth to the world.” She heaved in a sob, and her face looked haggard in the candlelight. “You must help me for I don’t know what to do.”

  “I am the father of your son?” He leaned against the prow of the boat and stared at her. “You cannot know that.” Shock made his voice faint. “Nor could Sir Archie could ever prove that.”

  Lady Julia ran a hand across her brow. “Indeed he could.” She straightened, then stepped over the center bench seat and sat down, smoothing the skirts of her cobalt-blue traveling dress over her knees. Her figure was as neat as he remembered it, and her bright golden hair as carefully coiffed, but she’d obviously dressed for a journey rather than an attempt at seduction. He hoped so anyway.

  “Lady Julia, there’s nothing I can do for you. You come here claiming I’m responsible.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “Edgar?”

  “Lord, we never went so far and no one has ever suggested impropriety to that extent. There is no doubt that you are the father of my third son. The son that will in all likelihood inherit from Archie.”

  “How can that be?” He said it more to himself but she replied, “That night I detained you in the storeroom, and you took your pleasure—”

  “No! You took your pleasure.” He was starting to shake now. This was his worst nightmare. She couldn’t prove this. Nor could Sir Archie and, good God, nor could Lord Debenham.

  Her voice hardened. “You certainly didn’t object when I went down on my knees and took you in my mouth.”

  The words sounded so coarse, but she spoke the truth. He had thrown his head back, astonished that after so many years living a rough soldier’s life a woman found him attractive. A woman wanted to pleasure him. One he hadn’t even had to pay.

  And what happened afterward? He shook his head to clear it of what he simply could not think of just then.

  But that a child had resulted from such a grubby two-minute encounter seemed inconceivable.

  She sniffed. “You were handsome and amenable, and after Sir Archie’s little troubles, I was needing release in the same way as you, Stephen. Do not imagine it’s only men who take pleasure from the act.”

  Oh, he knew that. He thought of Sybil and the many and varied times they’d found ways of pleasuring one another. After a week of abstinence due to Sir Partington’s continued presence at The Grange, Stephen knew how much both he and Sybil were looking forward to finding release in one another’s arms and bodies.

  “Sir Archie was…?” He had to clarify what she seemed to be implying.

  “Not was. Is. Sir Archie has been impotent since a terrible fever that plagued him about six months after our twins were born. Of course, that causes its own problems. Anger. Frustration. Well, you can imagine what he was like when I fell pregnant. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, but then the doctor was called after I’d fainted, and he confirmed the happy news.” She said this in tones of mild sarcasm.

  “What did Sir Archie do?” Stephen felt sick.

  “What could he do? Was it more manly to admit to being cuckolded, or to have another child in the nursery that proclaimed his manly prowess when we both knew he would never be the man he once was?”

  He was at an impasse. “Why are you here? To force me to tell the world what could never otherwise be proved?”

  “God, no! I want you to prevent Lord Debenham from telling the world. He’s got to be stopped. He wants money for his silence, but it won’t end there.”

  Stephen frowned. “You came here with Lord Beecham last week, did you not? He and Debenham know one another. Can’t Lord Beecham ensure his silence? After all, I presume you and Lord Beecham are on more than passing friendly terms.” He spoke wryly, but she responded with acidic dignity.

  “Lord Beecham has nothing to do with this, nor does he know about you and me. I am Lucinda Martindale’s godmother, and it is only right and proper that I help launch her since she’s become Lord Beecham’s ward. It’s true he accommodates me on occasion, but with my husband’s consent.”

  “So you have fallen out of favor with both your husband and Lord Beecham, and so you’ve come to me. Are you saying you have nowhere to go? Are you blackmailing me into giving you the refuge both your husband and paramour have withdrawn?” He couldn’t help but speak so slightingly when he was so enraged at what had occurred. Yet, he had to accept culpability. He realized that, though acceptance would not come quite yet.

  She raised her head and sent him an icy glare. “Since you are clearly so opposed to such an idea, I shall relieve you of that possibility on one condition—that you find a means of silencing Lord Debenham.”

  “Silencing him.”

  “That’s right. After all, it’s in your interests as much as mine.”

  “And how do you propose I do that? Invite him to my club for a cozy heart to heart and tell him that I’d appreciate it if he didn’t proclaim to the world—” He stopped suddenly as the reality hit him like a force. He had fathered a son. A boy just a couple of months older than his precious Celia. A boy who, from what he’d heard, was likely to inherit Sir Archie’s name and estate.

  A red haze hung behind his eyes. “I wonder that your husband hasn’t threatened to silence me forever, knowing what I’ve done.”

  She shrugged. “He isn’t happy with you, but he doesn’t have the courage to kill you, if that’s what you’re afraid of. He’d rather Debenham said nothing, and has made it clear that it’s in my interests—as regards the comforts I’ve enjoyed as his wife—that Debenham is silenced. I’ve assured him that I will do whatever I can to see to that.”

  “So he sent you here tonight to speak to me?”

  “Of course not. I’ve been staying with Lord Beecham, who has been angry with me ever since I danced with you at Lady Debenham’s ball. He accuses me of trying to make him jealous. He’s obsessed with me. I don’t know what he’d do if he discovered you’d fathered Horatio.”

  Dully, he said, “So that’s his name.”

  “Of your son? Yes. He looks a great deal like you, too. So will you agree? To silence Lord Debenham, so Archie and I can rest in peace knowing that Horatio will grow up with no slur attached to his name?”

  “I have no idea how I might manage that.” Stephen felt the energy drain from his shoulders. Now he realized the blackmail note he’d received from Debenham did not refer to his affair with Sybil, as he’d assumed. Well, it was some consolation, but he didn’t think Sybil would think too highly of what had occurred between Stephen and Lady Julia the night before he’d met Sybil.

  He wondered if Barston had whispered in Debenham’s ear. Of course, nothing could be proved, but that didn’t seem to be enough for Lady Julia. “I will endeavor to ensure his silence as it is in my interests as much as yours.” He felt stiff and much older than his years as he stepped backward. “I presume you have a carriage waiting for you nearby. Do you wish me to escort you to the road?”

  “I would appreciate that, Mr. Cranborne,” she said, holding out her hand so he could help her step out of the boat. “You always were the gentleman.”

  Chapter 16

  Kitty returned from the theater to her little house feeling a great deal less magnanimous than she’d left. She’d farewelled Silverton for the last time
. She was proud of the manner in which she’d conducted herself, but it didn’t make her feel happier. In fact, she’d never felt more forlorn in her life.

  The hackney put her down in front of the sweet little house that she’d vacate in a few days, as soon as she found suitable alternate lodgings. It would have to be far less luxurious, but she was no man’s paid plaything now. She had gifts from Silverton that would ensure she got by in comfort for the next few months. He’d insisted upon that, and of course, an actress’s wage was barely enough to feed and house her though Kitty was luckier than most.

  A light was on her room she saw as she crossed the road though the rest of the house was in darkness. The servants must have gone to bed. She hoped Dorcas might have waited up for her. She could do with someone to talk to. Someone who understood her heart.

  “Miss Kitty?”

  Kitty startled as she let herself in and heard the voice from her drawing room, for it was not like Dorcas to sit in semi-darkness and wait for her. She entered the room and saw that the Argand lamp was low and placed on a table beneath the window illuminating two figures. Only when she strained her eyes did she see that they sat close together. For a moment, she thought they’d been holding hands, except that it wouldn’t have been like Dorcas, for her companion was a young man and Dorcas had sworn off men since her terrible experience at Mrs. Montgomery’s.

  “Miss Kitty, this is Mr. Prism,” Dorcas said as she stood up this time. The young man beside her was already standing, and in the gloom, Kitty could see he was tall and reed-thin, with an earnest look enhanced by wire-framed spectacles. Anything else was impossible to make out.

  “ My apologies for calling so late, Miss Bijou,” the young man said. “I came by earlier on account of something important to tell Miss Dorcas, only she insisted I stay until you returned.”