‘Your words, not mine.’
‘You are unjust, Miss Jones,’ Valbourg retorted. ‘I often attend gatherings where I am the only titled gentleman present and suffer no feelings of guilt or superiority whatsoever.’
She struggled not to smile. ‘I stand corrected. I had no idea you were so liberal.’
‘How could you? We have not spent enough time in each other’s company for you to have formed an opinion about my character.’
And yet, she had, Catherine reflected, and she suspected it wasn’t all that far off the mark. He was a man committed to doing what was right for those he loved, and even for those he did not. How could one not admire such a man?
‘I’m glad you do not set yourself so high as to feel you must avoid gatherings like these,’ Catherine said, the smile on her lips there for the benefit of those around them. ‘They can be a lot of fun.’
‘Truth be told, I enjoy these occasions far more than the stuffy soirées where one is forced to partake of meagre refreshments while not being able to move without bumping into a duke or a marquess.’ He glanced across the room to where Count D’Abrezzi and Victor Trumphani were engaged in a spirited conversation in Italian. ‘Tandy can always be counted upon to invite the most interesting people to her dinners.’
‘You have attended gatherings here before?’ Catherine asked in surprise.
‘Indeed. I’ve known Theo and Tandy for years. He and I did business together in the past, and though I was in America for several years, we kept in touch. He is an exceedingly amiable and generous man.’
‘Yes, he is and I owe him everything,’ Catherine said softly. ‘He was very kind to me the first time we met.’
‘And where was that, exactly?’
She hesitated, fearful of giving away too much about her past. And yet in truth, where was the harm? It wasn’t as though Valbourg was interested in her. ‘Newport.’
‘Ah. That explains the Welsh lilt. Were you born there?’
‘No. I was born in a small village east of Monmouth. I was performing at a theatre in Newport the first time Mr Templeton saw me.’
‘Is that also where you took your formal training?’
Surprise bubbled up. ‘How did you know I was formally trained?’
‘The manner in which you sing. Most young ladies are able to perform quite adequately in the confines of a small drawing room, but to develop a voice like yours and be able to project it in a theatre the size of the Gryphon suggests the influence of a teacher trained in operatic performance.’
In spite of herself, Catherine was impressed. Most men were more interested in her appearance than in her talent. This man complimented her voice.
Of course, this man had also suggested she take a lover. If that didn’t tell her where she stood in his estimation, nothing would.
‘A friend I was staying with at the time arranged for me to have lessons,’ Catherine said. ‘She told me that while I had a good voice, it could be improved with training. And as she happened to be friends with a German lady who had performed on stage, she arranged for me to take lessons with her.’
‘She obviously recognised your potential. Still, Newport’s a long way from London,’ Valbourg commented. ‘How did you end up here?’
‘You ask a great many questions, my lord.’
‘I suffer from a terminal case of curiosity for which no known cure exists. My sister despairs of me for that reason.’
In spite of her wariness, Catherine laughed. ‘I fear your condition is wasted on me. I lead a very simple life, unlike many in this room who are far more interesting and about whom you should be curious.’
‘Yet, I am not.’ He gazed down at her, his eyes lingering on the creamy expanse of neck and shoulders left bare by the daring décolletage of the crimson gown. ‘As unwise as it may be, I have a burning desire to know a great deal more about you.’
Catherine snapped open her fan and waved it in front of her face. Madness! Engaging in a flirtation with Valbourg was inviting trouble. If she were smart, she would ask him to leave or simply turn and walk away.
And yet she stayed; drawn like a lemming to the precipice over which it must plunge.
‘Mr Templeton happened to be in Newport when I was performing at the local theatre,’ she said finally. ‘At the end of the evening, he came backstage to speak with me and said if I ever wanted to come to London, he would put me up in lodgings and guarantee me a place in his company.’
‘So you did and quickly became his shining star.’
‘Not at all,’ Catherine said, recalling the trials of her early days in London; the strangeness of living in a huge city and the feeling of being completely on her own, not to mention the professional jealousies she had encountered from those who suspected her of being Templeton’s mistress. It wasn’t until Theo had made her get up on stage and perform a difficult duet with Victor Trumphani without the benefit of a prior rehearsal that she had been accepted and welcomed by the rest of the troupe.
‘I had to prove my worth,’ Catherine said, ‘but I’ve no complaints about the way it all turned out. Mr Templeton demands a lot of his performers, but no more than we ask of ourselves.’
‘And you earn enough money to provide an adequate living for yourself?’
Catherine stiffened. Was this a subtle return to their previous conversation? An attempt, perhaps, to point out how much better off she would be if she placed herself under the protection of a wealthy man? ‘I earn enough to look after myself. And the private concerts I give augment my income.’
‘And that is enough for you?’
‘Why would it not be?’
‘Do you not desire the company of a gentleman? Perhaps occasionally wish to be taken out to dinner or an elegant soirée?’
‘Not at all. Men are complicated,’ Catherine said. ‘My life is not. And I intend to keep it that way.’
Once again, the conversation had strayed beyond the level of comfort; veering off in a direction Catherine had no intention of going. Thankfully, dinner was announced shortly thereafter, and the order of precedence, which even Tandy paid some mind to, did not put Catherine in close proximity to Valbourg at the table. She was glad to be spared the difficulty of trading barbs or witticisms with him. Sparring with Valbourg was like dancing with a tiger.
One never knew when the beast was going to strike.
Chapter Four
At length, the remnants of a most excellent meal were cleared away and the ladies rose and retired to the drawing room for coffee and conversation. Valbourg, whose culinary standards were exceedingly high, expressed himself well satisfied with the meal, as he was with the exceptionally fine port and cigars his host handed around afterwards. Conversation was stimulating, mainly because the gentlemen came from a wide variety of backgrounds and were able to discuss an assortment of subjects with very little considered off limits.
It served as a refreshing change from the guarded discussions that usually took place in the dining rooms of the aristocracy, and Valbourg was slightly disappointed when Theo said it was time to rejoin the ladies for the evening’s entertainments—until he remembered that Catherine would be one of the performers. Somehow that cast the rest of the evening in an entirely different light.
Not surprisingly, she was the first person he looked for upon entering the drawing room and he knew he was not alone in his admiration of her. Catherine drew men’s eyes like air drew flame, and in the crimson gown that wrapped so lovingly around every curve, she glowed like a column of fire. Rubies flashed at her ears and throat, dazzling red against the creaminess of her skin. If they were paste, they were truly exceptional.
Of course, they might well be genuine, Valbourg reminded himself. He knew of several gentlemen who routinely sent her jewellery, along with offers of various other kinds, and though the offer
s were summarily rejected, he had no idea if the gifts were likewise sent back.
Wisely, however, he did not make his way to her side. People had been watching them during their conversation before dinner, and, guessing at the nature of their thoughts, Valbourg decided to keep his distance. It would not be to his benefit to let anyone know how he really felt about her...especially since the more time he spent with her, the harder it was becoming to remain steadfast in his intent not to get involved.
The more he learned about Catherine, the more powerful her effect on him. He found her unusual combination of innocence and sensuality intensely intriguing, and more than once, he had to stop himself from smiling in her direction. Too many people were watching, eyes alert for the first sign of scandal. And the Marquess of Alderbury’s heir taking up with an actress would definitely qualify as scandal.
At length, the post-dinner entertainments began. Young Tommy the Conjurer led off, dazzling his audience with inexplicable feats of magic. The boy made silver balls vanish and bunches of flowers appear out of thin air, pulled rabbits from hats and amazed them all with displays of sleight of hand and card wizardry. The lad clearly had a promising future ahead of him.
Next came Victor Trumphani, taking the makeshift stage for a moving recital of one of Shakespeare’s most famous soliloquies. Trumphani was a consummate performer, his finely cultivated baritone rising and falling with emotion, his expression alternately joyous or mournful as called for by the part. Valbourg noticed Lady Susan wipe a tear from her eye and applaud most enthusiastically at the end of the performance.
Finally, Catherine got up and walked towards the piano while the barrister’s fiancée sat down at the harp. To Valbourg’s surprise, they both began to play their respective instruments while Catherine sang along, resulting in a most enchanting duet.
‘I had no idea Miss Jones could play the piano,’ Lady Castingrote commented. She was seated to his right on the chesterfield. ‘I have only ever heard her sing before.’
‘Which she does sublimely,’ Lady Susan said, leaning in front of her mother to add, ‘Do you not think so, Lord Valbourg?’
‘Indeed, the lady has many talents.’
‘And Valbourg would know,’ Tantemon murmured, collapsing into the vacant chair to Valbourg’s right. ‘From what I hear, he doesn’t miss many of her performances.’
‘I enjoy going to the theatre,’ Valbourg remarked, ‘whether it be the Gryphon, the Theatre Royal or any other.’
‘True, but you have shown a marked preference for the Gryphon,’ Tantemon said. ‘If one didn’t know better, one might think you were contemplating giving the Angel a slip on her quite heavenly shoulder.’
Valbourg shot the peer a withering glance. He’d never cared much for Tantemon, and after having seen him form part of the pack that had circled Catherine like hyenas, he liked him even less. ‘I don’t partake of the pretty muslin company, Tantemon. I thought you knew that.’
‘A man has to spend his nights somewhere.’
‘I prefer to spend mine at home. The hells and brothels hold no attraction for me any more.’
‘Of course not, because you are a respectable family man,’ Tantemon drawled. ‘Still, I couldn’t help but notice how protective you were of Miss Jones at your sister’s engagement ball. Or the cosy way the two of you were chatting before dinner this evening. Such conduct would lead one to believe you were...interested in her.’
‘Then one would be mistaken,’ Valbourg said, returning his attention to the two ladies at the front of the room. ‘Miss Jones has a rare talent and I enjoy listening to her sing. Nothing more.’
‘Probably just as well. Now that you have your nephew living with you, you can’t afford to put your reputation at risk,’ Tantemon said. ‘Wouldn’t do for the lad to venture into your room and see a naked woman lying in your bed. Or a fully clothed one dashing out of it in the morning. Difficult to explain, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘You tell me.’ Valbourg pinned the other man with a steely gaze. ‘I understand you often invited Miss Moyen to stay at your house when your wife and children were at home. Is that why she is no longer in your employ?’
Tantemon offered up a thin smile. ‘Miss Moyen was cataloguing my library, which turned out to be a lengthy and time-consuming affair. She found it easier to be...close at hand. Now that the cataloguing is done, her services are no longer required.’
‘Of course.’ Valbourg flicked a piece of dust from his cuff. It was amusing the lies some men told themselves.
‘After she left, I briefly toyed with the idea of making Miss Jones my mistress,’ Tantemon went on, ‘but in the end I decided against it. It’s not an angel a man wants in his bed, but a woman who makes his blood boil. I seriously doubt that a lady some have dubbed the Ice Queen would be capable of doing that. Still, the next few weeks should be interesting. Have you seen the latest wager on the book at White’s?’
Valbourg didn’t bother looking over. ‘No. Should I?’
‘You might find it amusing. Lord Hornston has wagered Mr Tattingbone one hundred pounds that the Angel won’t be quite so angelic by Christmas, if you take my meaning.’
Somewhere close by, a chair creaked. Across the room, a gentleman coughed, and next to Valbourg, Lady Castingrote laughed, the shrill sound echoing in his ears. All he heard, however, was the underlying message in Tantemon’s words. ‘And is Hornston intending to...clip the angel’s wings?’ he asked coldly.
‘I suspect he will be one of those making the attempt,’ Tantemon said, adding with an unpleasant smile, ‘Miss Jones may find herself wishing she had accepted one of the offers put to her. At least then she would have had the choice of going to the gentleman’s bed on her terms.’
With that parting remark, Tantemon left, claiming he needed a drink.
Valbourg needed one, too, but for an entirely different reason. So, his concerns about Catherine were not misplaced. The wager on the betting book indicated that someone was planning to seduce her, and if no one was around to prevent it, she might well find herself in a very unpleasant situation. It wouldn’t matter that she had a rare talent, or that taking her by force might break her spirit. Men like that saw only a beautiful and desirable woman who was unencumbered by good birth or doting parents. She would be taken against her will, after which she would be cast aside or settled in a house, kept a virtual prisoner by a man whose only interest was in controlling and subduing her.
Valbourg couldn’t let that happen. He’d never forgive himself if he found out Catherine had been so abused, and he’d likely throttle the man who’d done it. The only solution was to convince Catherine to take a lover. It didn’t matter that he wanted her for himself or that he would have already made her an offer if Sebastian hadn’t been in his life. Sebastian was in his life and nothing could come before that. But neither could he sit back and knowingly allow harm to come to her.
There had to be a way of protecting Catherine without jeopardising his own reputation. And for everyone’s sake, he had to come up with one fast.
* * *
When, at last, the evening’s entertainment came to an end, Catherine took her bows along with the rest of the performers and rejoined the guests. She was glad Lord Tantemon had left, surprised he had been invited in the first place, and was determined to avoid Valbourg for the rest of the evening. As such, she sat down with Tandy and Miss Bilodeau, the barrister’s fiancée, only to find out too late that the young lady was talking about the very man she wished to avoid.
‘Lord Valbourg is so dashing, is ’e not?’ the girl said in her delightful French accent. ‘And ’e seems to be a great admirer of yours, Mees Jones. I noticed ’im watching you during your performance.’
‘You mistake enjoyment for interest, Miss Bilodeau,’ Catherine said, again calling on her skills as an actress to feign indifference. ‘Lord Valbourg is a pat
ron of the arts. He appreciates good music, and his enjoyment of my performance was simply that.’
‘Ah, non, mademoiselle. I am French. I recognise zat look in a man’s eyes!’
The telltale rush of heat to Catherine’s cheeks was extremely unwelcome, especially given the way Tandy was looking at her. ‘I can assure you, Miss Bilodeau, that Lord Valbourg is not in the least interested in me,’ Catherine said. ‘I am an actress. He is a marquess’s son and a thoroughly respectable man.’
‘But ’e is still a man and will always be’ave like one. Alors, ’ere he is,’ Miss Bilodeau said, green eyes bright with interest as Valbourg strolled towards them. ‘Mon Dieu, ’e is ’andsome, is ’e not?’
He was, Catherine thought, but aware that he was close enough to hear anything she said, she merely tilted her head and smiled. ‘Still here, my lord?’
‘Yes, but I will be leaving shortly. I wonder, Miss Jones, if you would allow me the pleasure of seeing you home?’
‘Thank you, but I prefer to make my own way.’
‘But why would you wish to?’ Miss Bilodeau asked. ‘I am sure Lord Valbourg ’as a very nice carriage. And surely it is safer to travel with ’im than on your own.’
‘Actually—’
‘Miss Bilodeau is right, Catherine,’ Tandy said. ‘It’s late and I would prefer to see someone escort you. I could ask Theo—’
‘No! I wouldn’t dream of taking him away from his guests,’ Catherine objected. ‘Nor is it necessary. I am perfectly capable of hiring a hackney.’
‘But why do zat when Lord Valbourg ’as made such a kind offer?’ Miss Bilodeau persisted with a wide-eyed innocence Catherine knew better than to believe.
‘Because it is not proper for a single man to offer a single lady a ride in his carriage,’ she said. ‘At least, not in England.’
‘Then perhaps you would allow me to walk you home,’ Valbourg said. ‘I can have my carriage follow at a discreet distance, close enough that my coachman is able to see us at all times. Because there is something very important I must speak to you about.’
No Place for an Angel Page 7