“Since our meeting, your face and voice have intruded upon my thoughts during quiet times of the day. If we had been introduced properly, I would have asked your family—”
“I have no family, my lord.” None who would be willing to claim her, and she returned their sentiments tenfold.
Her statement gave him pause. “None at all?”
“You speak as if I were some odd curiosity,” Catherine said, realizing she sounded defensive. “The streets of London are riddled with orphans, Lord Sainthill.”
“And you try to save them,” he said, his eyes shining with pleasure as if he had answered an unspoken question.
“I offer assistance when I can, just like anyone else would,” she said demurely, uncomfortable with discussing this part of her life with him. Her charitable deeds were private, since she used her profits from the Golden Pearl to improve the lives of the unfortunate.
The marquess regarded her as if he could not quite decide whether her angelic nature was feigned or genuine. “I must disagree, but we can save that debate for another visit.”
Catherine shook her head as she questioned the wisdom of seeing him again. “There will be another visit?”
“Suffice to say, you interest me, Miss Deverall. I thought we might be friends.”
Was it possible for Sainthill to be friends with a woman? In her experience, all he desired was to flirt with them and tumble them into the nearest bed.
He scowled. “Forgive me, perhaps what I ask of you is inappropriate,” he muttered, looking as if he wished he could take back his admission. “I never thought to ask. Are you promised to another gentleman? It was arrogant of me to assume that just because you are unmarried, you haven’t committed yourself to another gent.”
His expression was so fierce, he seemed to be bracing himself for her rejection. This was her chance to turn him away before he complicated her life further.
Do it, her mind whispered. Tell him that another gentleman claims your affections.
Catherine could not fathom why she was hesitating. If Madame Venna could not have him, neither could she. The wiser course of action was to politely reject his advances.
But she was so weary of being wise.
If she had been raised by decent people, her life might have been different. Her first trip to London would have circled around new dresses and bonnets, and instruction on how to behave at her first ball. She would have been taught to coyly flirt with her admirers with just a glance or how to hold her fan. Ah, the innocence. It was lost to her long before she understood its value. Instead, her cousin showed her the darker side of a man’s lustful nature, and Mrs. Sweete took Catherine’s beauty and anger and transformed her into a woman who could ruthlessly use a man’s weaknesses to her advantage.
As Madame Venna, she had gentlemen like Sainthill bowing at her feet and filling her purse with gold and jewels. Catherine became a shadow of the innocence that she had lost. She made amends for Madame V’s sins and greed. She lived a life a nun might view as stark. However, it was necessary. Catherine had a secret to keep, and the fear of it being exposed kept her from living her life fully. Although there were casual friends to ease her loneliness, and a few gentlemen callers, she feared one of them might recognize her as Madame Venna. In the end, she was alone. Unlike her mother’s legitimate children, she enjoyed no fetes, nights at the theater, monthly balls, or summer visits to the country. Catherine furtively resented her half brother, Lord Chandler, Lord and Lady Eyre’s precious heir, and the half sisters she had never met. She could only speculate what kind of privileged and cosseted life her half siblings led, or the one she might have shared with them if she had been acknowledged by her parents. If given the chance, she might take her revenge on all of them. It was infuriating to mourn the loss of something that was so foreign to her, she could not even dream about it.
At weaker moments, it was just one more thing she credited Lady Eyre and Lord Greenshield with ruining in her life.
Madame Venna, however, thought little of such things. She relished the power she wielded with the Golden Pearl. The bastard daughter of Lord Greenshield would at best have made some gentleman a respectable mistress.
Catherine pushed the ugly thoughts aside. “No,” she confessed shyly. “I am not being courted by a gentleman.”
Lord Sainthill reacted with exaggerated surprise. “I do not believe it!”
Her chin snapped up as her amused gaze met his. “It is true.”
“A beautiful lady should be surrounded by a score of gentlemen all vying for her hand.” Before she could respond, he offered his arm. “Come. We will start with something simple. Permit me the honor of buying you an ice at Gunter’s.”
She was tempted to accept his invitation.
It was an opportunity to explore the life she might have had as Lord Greenshield’s daughter. A glimpse of the genteel civility that was denied her by her parents, the Royleses, and the choices she had made as she built a life for herself in London.
“I ask for nothing more than your company, Miss Deverall. What say you?”
Logic told her that she was risking everything by spending time with Sainthill as Catherine. A few hours of flirtation with him was not worth it.
Catherine moistened her lips as she contemplated a plausible reason why she could not accept. It was for the best. Madame Venna could handle the marquess in a manner that was denied Miss Deverall. “Yes,” she said, her assent startling her more than it had her companion.
What had she done?
It was too late to take her remark back.
Chapter Seventeen
Five hours later, Saint strolled into Nox feeling rather pleased with himself. He had spent a pleasant afternoon with Catherine Deverall, and he anticipated doing so again in the near future. Although she had been reserved at first, his gentle teasing coaxed her into sharing her opinion on the bout of good weather they were enjoying and the books she was reading. He retold an amusing story he had heard the previous evening, spoke briefly about his responsibilities as Marquess of Sainthill so she did not think him an absolute bounder, and spoke of his friends and their wives.
Her modesty was refreshing, though she was as skittish as a frightened mare. As they sat at a small table at Gunter’s, he could sense that the mildly curious stares from the other patrons troubled her. He was surprised how protective he felt toward her, wanting to shield her from the other men’s gazes. When he whispered that it was her beauty drawing everyone’s attention, she gaped at him in disbelief.
Saint was used to women who knew they were beautiful, and expected adulation from others. Catherine stared at the pastry on her plate, and simply endured. All he wanted to do was bundle her into his carriage and hold her until her heart stopped racing. It was only then that he would give her heart another reason to pound in her chest.
As he escorted her home, an idea began to take form in his head about introducing her to his friends’ wives. Regan, Juliana, Sophia, and Isabel could take Catherine under their collective wings, and help nurture her confidence. Widening her circle of friends would be good for her. Although he had yet to share his plans with the lady, there was no doubt that he could talk her into meeting his friends.
“Good evening, Berus,” Saint greeted Nox’s steward. “Has Sin arrived?”
“No, milord,” the servant said, accepting Saint’s hat. “It’s still a tad early for Lord Sinclair. However, Lord Chillingsworth and Lord Vanewright are upstairs.”
He hesitated at the bottom of the staircase as Berus casually mentioned Frost’s name. While they had put aside their animosity, Saint privately felt awkward and edgy around his friend. It was not Frost’s fault. Over the years, they had shared and enjoyed the same women, and not one had provoked either of them to violence. He had been avoiding Madame Venna, as well, until he could get himself under control.
“Lord Sainthill, before you join your friends upstairs, there is a gentleman who wishes to speak with you,” Berus said.
<
br /> “Who is it?”
“Lord Greenshield. He hoped to have a private audience with you, so I escorted him upstairs to the drawing room.”
Greenshield. Saint had encountered the older gentleman in various card rooms over the years, but he did not know him well enough to warrant a visit. “Did he mention the purpose of this private audience?”
The steward shook his head. “No, milord. He just insisted that he was here to see you.”
Saint could not fathom what business he might have with the gentleman. However, the meeting with Greenshield would give him more time to compose himself for his evening with Frost and the rest of the Lords of Vice.
When he opened the drawing room door, he discovered Lord Greenshield standing in front of the fireplace. He looked like a man burdened with unpleasant thoughts.
Saint could sympathize with the gent.
“Lord Greenshield.” He shut the door behind him. “I was told that you wished for a private audience with me.”
The older gentleman returned Saint’s formal bow. “Indeed, sir. I find myself in the uncomfortable predicament of requesting a favor from a gentleman who owes me no allegiance.”
Saint gestured for the man to sit. “A difficult position, indeed. How might I assist you?”
The man’s normal pallor became suffused with color. “By staying away from my daughter, sir!”
Saint froze at the angry demand. Cautiously, he settled into his chair. “I beg your pardon. This favor … you require it from me? Lord Greenshield, I was unaware that you had a daughter.”
Frustration drove the earl to his feet. “No one is aware of her. A little more than twenty-seven years ago, I was drunk enough to indulge in a brief tryst with a lady who was not mine to claim. Both of us regretted the incident, and we were content to forget our mistake, until the lady discovered she was carrying my child.”
“Let me guess. The lady was married.”
The earl nodded. “Yes. Though it does not excuse our actions, the lady in question was caged in an unhappy marriage. She was lonely, and she sought comfort in our friendship. When she discovered that she was in a delicate condition, she was frantic. At the time, her husband was abroad. It was impossible to pass the child off as her husband’s.”
It was not uncommon for a lady of the ton to seclude herself in the country until her lover’s child was born. Some were given away, while others were accepted into the family as orphaned distant relatives.
“So your lady kept the child?”
“No, we gave her away,” Lord Greenshield admitted, his voice heavy with regret. “As a bachelor, I had no business raising a child, and the mother thought it best that our daughter be settled in a good family. If the lady’s husband had learned of his wife’s infidelity, the child would have suffered more than her mother.”
Saint leaned forward and studied the gentleman. “Let us be frank with each other, Lord Greenshield. This child you speak of is Catherine Deverall.”
The earl’s shoulders sagged with relief, though the reasons for his strange reaction escaped Saint. “Yes, yes … the child—my daughter is Catherine.”
Understanding lit Saint’s blue eyes. “She does not know.”
A bitter laugh rumbled in the man’s throat. “Oh, Catherine is quite aware of her parentage, and she rejects it. Vehemently.” The earl dragged his hands through his thinning hair. “Not that I can blame her. Neither her mother nor I has done right by her. The people who raised Catherine—well, there were circumstances that came to light too late for me to rectify the situation. I lost my daughter long before I found her.”
Catherine had told him that she did not have any family. Saint supposed it was true enough since she had been given away. “If you have no influence over Catherine, why are you warning me off?”
“You are a Lord of Vice, sir. Do you think I have not heard tales of you and your notorious friends? I am also aware that you patronize the Golden Pearl. If Catherine learns of it, I doubt she will regard you in a favorable manner.”
“Are you threatening me, Greenshield?” he asked silkily.
“Young hothead! I’m simply pointing out that whether she wishes it or not, Catherine has my protection,” the earl said, not backing down. “I will not see her in the unfortunate position her dear mother was in.”
“I have not seduced her.”
Lord Greenshield’s eyes narrowed, and Saint realized Catherine had inherited her gray eyes from her sire.
“Yet,” the older man said gruffly. “I mean no offense, Sainthill, but it is the nature of the beast. Your father was a scoundrel, and you are cut from the same cloth.”
“Perhaps you are wrong.”
“I have seen nothing of your life that shows me you have chosen a different path from your father. Do you deny that your own family keeps their distance from you?”
The well-aimed barb stung. “All I have offered Catherine is friendship. She seems to live a solitary life in town. I had hoped to introduce her to the wives of my friends. As your daughter, she would be welcomed by the ton.”
“By some, but not all. And then there is her mother.” The earl sighed. “She wants nothing to do with Catherine. No, that is not quite accurate. She cannot acknowledge her daughter. Ever. She would suffer for her betrayal, and I would not expect her to.”
“You have kept your secrets for more than twenty-seven years. Why are you telling me?”
“In the hope that you will cease your pursuit of my daughter. I will not have her seduced and discarded by a scoundrel. She has been through too much to suffer at the hands of another.”
Frost would have tossed Greenshield out of Nox for questioning his character. Tempting as it was, Saint had an idea that might benefit both of them. “You mentioned that Catherine has rebuffed your attempts to make amends. What if I approached her on your behalf? I cannot promise anything, but she might be willing to listen to me.”
The earl stopped pacing the room at Saint’s suggestion. “You have gained her trust so quickly?”
Saint laughed. “Not at all. Like you, she is convinced I am a bounder, but she is too kind to send me on my way. Nevertheless, I do have her ear, and I am willing to assist you in return for a small favor.”
“State your terms, sir.”
“Do not attempt to turn Catherine against me. I admire your daughter, Lord Greenshield, and I would like to see her take her proper place in polite society. Whether you want to admit it or not, you need my help.”
The older man stared at Saint as he weighed his options. Finally, he said, “We have an agreement.”
Chapter Eighteen
Madame Venna could not believe her good fortune.
When Abram had thrown open the doors this evening, she had never anticipated that Anthony Warren, Viscount Chandler, would seek out the infamous proprietress of the Golden Pearl.
Unbeknownst to the thirty-year-old viscount, he had ties to the brothel. Specifically, blood ties. Lord Chandler was the eldest son of Lord and Lady Eyre. He was also her half brother. More than twenty-seven years ago, the Countess of Eyre had been unfaithful to her husband with Lord Greenshield, and the lady birthed her unwanted daughter in shame. After Catherine’s birth, she allowed her lover to dispose of the mewling infant; he, in turn, handed her over to the Royleses.
She smiled at the viscount as she contemplated mischief. There were so many ways she could exact a little revenge on the lady who had birthed her and cast her aside.
Her thoughts abruptly switched to Saint. The marquess had become quite dedicated to the Golden Pearl, and rather possessive of her. He would not be pleased if he caught her with another gentleman. However, Lord Sainthill was not her husband, and the opportunity for a little revenge against Lady Eyre proved to be too irresistible.
“You honor me, Madame Venna,” the handsome blond viscount murmured as she seated him to her right, unaware that his hostess despised him solely for the fact that they shared the same mother. “For years, I have heard oth
er gentlemen speak of the Golden Pearl and its mistress with reverence in their voices. My only regret is that I waited so long for an introduction.”
“Well, I, for one, am pleased you have found your way to us, Lord Chandler. Gentlemen, you agree, no?” she asked her companions, her voice heavily accented and exotic.
Everyone around her concurred, but a few of her male companions were lacking in enthusiasm. The viscount was her new favorite, and they envied the gentleman’s position.
Anna approached Lord Chandler from behind. “Milord, your glass is empty. May I offer you more champagne?” She met Madame Venna’s gaze.
The viscount could not take his eyes off Madame Venna. He shifted in his seat and raised his glass without glancing at Anna. “Yes, thank you.”
Do you really want to do this?
Madame Venna saw the exasperation Anna did not bother to hide, but she chose to ignore it. After all, it was not every day that she could flirt with her half sibling as she contemplated his moral downfall. At the Golden Pearl there were endless possibilities, endless amusements.
She could even see to the matter herself. Lord Chandler might be her half brother, but she felt no kinship to him, not even an errant tingle. Since his blond hair was identical to hers, it was obvious that she had inherited some of her mother’s good looks.
Not that anyone would notice. This evening she was a brunette. Saucy plump curls bounced against her bare shoulders. As she smiled playfully at the viscount, she pondered the implications of bedding her half sibling. She was not worried about her soul.
Her adoptive mother used to tell her that she was born without one because God did not waste something as precious as a soul on bastards. When she was older she had tried to argue that all of mankind was born with sin, including the pious Mrs. Royles. She had been whipped for her cheek, but the punishment had been worth it. For the first time, young Catherine had not been afraid of the woman.
All Afternoon with a Scandalous Marquess Page 11