Beyond Rubies (Daughters of Sin Book 4)

by Beverley Oakley

  “Such wise words for such a babe in the woods.” Lord Silverton took her hand and led her to a chair, but instead of respectfully lowering her into it, he sat down first and drew her onto his lap.

  She tensed when he put his arm about her. “I must go home now, my Lord,” she said, turning. “I must get some sleep.”

  “Of course you must get some sleep, but why not here?” He tickled her cheek with his fingertips. “Our little kissing session has left me quite ready for more.” His tone was more like a honeyed growl which made Kitty’s nerves skitter. She didn’t like the fact she wavered inside when he said, “I like you, Kitty. And once Mrs. Mobbs has seen you launched in your grand new career, I’m sure you’ll be on the lookout for different lodgings.” He made an expansive sweep of his arm. “I could set you up in quite a charming bower where I could visit you after your performances.”

  She frowned. “But ...that would not be respectable.”

  “Respectable?” He laughed. “You are worried about that now? Of course it would not be respectable but nor is becoming an actress, nor is spending the day unchaperoned with a gentleman. Or rather, the entire evening, and kissing him in his drawing room.”

  While his hands lightly caressed her, trailing up to her throat and sending sensation coursing wildly through her, she worried at his words. “But what if I fall in love?” she asked. “What if you fall in love, Lord Silverton? In fact, we’ve already admitted that we have.”

  “We have?” He looked confused. “Of course we shan’t fall in love, but we must like each other very much. Love is not a prerequisite for what I’m proposing.”

  “I don’t mean with each other, for you’ve just told me you’re in love with a lady who refused your suit. And I’ve already told you that I think I’m in love with another. In fact, I met him earlier today.”

  “Did you indeed?” He quirked a brow. “And who is this lucky gentleman?”

  “I don’t know his name, but I knew he was my destiny, for a fortune-teller told me to look out for a gentleman with raven-black locks and a scar across his left cheek.”

  “You saw him this afternoon? And have you spoken to him?”

  “We exchanged greetings. I think he knew me, too. There was something meaningful in his look. But what about you? I mean, suppose your lady love changes her mind and agrees to marry you after all? I think my presence may complicate matters, don’t you?”

  He shook his head, and a slow smile grew as he settled her more comfortably on his lap. “My dear, you really are the innocent. Have you ever done anything like I’m proposing?”

  “What are you proposing, Lord Silverton? To keeping me in lodgings so you may visit me and we may do what we’ve been doing this evening? But instead of it being practice, it would be real?” She shook her head and added firmly, “But this evening was in the name of practice, and what you are proposing is something I’d only consider doing every evening with someone I loved very much and who wanted to marry me.”

  He put his finger under her chin and raised her face to him. In the dim light, his expression was interested. Earnest and assessing. She felt a strange tug somewhere in the lower reaches of her belly. A tugging that made her want to melt into him, which was quite absurd since he was most definitely not her destiny, and quite clearly was looking to spend the respectable portion of his life with a respectable wife. He lowered his head to murmur near her ear, “What I am proposing would require more than kissing, Miss La Bijou.” His hand slid into hers, and he gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “Lord Silverton!” Outraged, Kitty whipped her hand out of his. “What kind of young lady do you think I am?”

  He looked sheepish. “My apologies if I’ve offended you, Miss La Bijou. I thought if you were so agreeable as to spend the entire day with me, without someone in attendance, then you had no regard for your reputation. That perhaps you,” he shrugged and looked even more shamefaced, “had none. I’m sorry, Miss La Bijou ...” He stood up so that she slid from his lap and stood before him, her hands on her hips, as she looked at him enquiringly, waiting for him to finish, “I had no idea you were so fresh. And now I feel a complete cad for compromising you, much less proposing what I did. Tell me, have you run away from home? Am I to expect some furious papa on my doorstep with a pistol pointed in my direction, demanding that I marry you? Who are you really and what exactly are you trying to do?”

  As he spoke, his face clouded and he looked almost angry.

  Kitty took pity on him. She smiled as she walked to the door. “I’ve run away from home because I’ve always felt an outcast in my village. As my father and my mother are not married, I have no name that needs protecting.”

  “My poor Miss La Bijou.” A look of sympathy replaced his suspicion. “I understand very well now. You have decided to turn adventuress, even though you have no idea of the perils of this big bad city for an innocent young woman like yourself.” The cool night air hit them as they stepped onto the top step, just as his carriage was brought around. “There we are. Something a little warmer, more comfortable and discreet for me to convey you home.” He helped her inside, then followed after giving orders to the coachman. “I hope your destiny is worthy, for you are quite enchanting and I have enjoyed our time together enormously.”

  Once they’d reached Mrs. Mobbs’s, and the coach had come to a stop, he leaned forward to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Beware, Miss La Bijou, for the theater is a dangerous place. I would hate to see one so sweet and innocent as you become spoiled or jaded.”

  “You are very kind, Lord Silverton.” Kitty put her hand to her cheek and wondered how such a nice gentleman could be embroiled in the villainous affairs of Lord Debenham. She took the hand of the postilion who was holding open the door, waiting to assist her to the ground. It was a shame she wouldn’t be seeing Lord Silverton again, but perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  For a gentleman who had no intention of providing her with the destiny she knew was hers if she made the right choices, it would be safer to keep her distance.

  Especially in view of what Cousin Stephen had said.

  Chapter Five

  Araminta looked down at her protruding belly where, it seemed, the last of the sun’s rays through the window were coalescing. She wished they were somehow magic fingers of gold, or wands, that would remove the hateful creature that lodged within her.

  “Tighter, Jane.” The baby had grown larger and faster than she could ever have imagined and defied the constrictions of the stays she was now exhorting her maid to lace as firmly as she could.

  If she allowed herself to dwell on the potential disaster of a full-term child arriving six weeks earlier than it should, she would terrify herself. All she could do was trust to the fact rescue would come in some form or another.

  Araminta loathed going out in public. When she was alone, she wore loose stays designed for a woman in the later stages of pregnancy. She could relax, eat chocolates and, in the absence of any other company, talk to Jane.

  However, Debenham liked to promote the fiction they were the devoted newlyweds, if one could call themselves that after being married only five months. Of course, when she was required to accompany him anywhere, she had to employ multiple artful means of hiding her seven-month belly. Thus far, Debenham suspected nothing. Araminta knew she was not being complacent in this belief. If Debenham had for one moment thought she was not the virgin he believed he’d married, he’d have made her suffer in every imaginable way. Debenham liked to show her he was master in all things.

  With a grunt, Jane managed to generate an extra inch of slack in the laces. She then came to stand in front of Araminta and, with a frown, put her hand on her mistress’s belly. Her censorious look made Araminta want to give her a sharp kick in the shins, except Jane was the one person who could bring her down and also the one person able to protect her.

  Araminta smiled. “Another one of your lectures, Jane? You know what will happen if I keep Debenham waiting and
make him late for the theater.”

  “‘E will make ‘is displeasure known, m’lady, but then yer knew what kind o’ man yer were marryin’.”

  “If there had been any other man who’d have married me when I needed it—” Araminta drew her hand across her face as she took a shuddering breath. “Now, no more of this talk for it makes my head want to burst. Oh...Hetty, what are you doing here? You didn’t knock!”

  Araminta put her hands over her belly as her younger sister waltzed into the room wearing her characteristically beaming smile. But then Hetty had a lot to beam about whereas Araminta’s life was full of woe. And Hetty was the reason.

  “Goodness, Araminta, why, you’re as big as I am and you’re months behind me. Perhaps you’re carrying two?”

  The thought hadn’t occurred to Araminta, but Hetty’s artless comment gave her pause. That could be a useful proposition. It wouldn’t help when the babe came early and there was only one, but she could, for the moment at any rate, plead two. Yes, she’d plant the seed in the physician’s mind. And her husband’s.

  Araminta patted her belly thoughtfully, crooking her finger at Jane to bring her the evening gown she intended to wear. “Yes, that’s what Dr. Horne believes, isn’t it, Jane? Debenham will be so pleased.”

  Hetty stepped back as her sister raised her arms and Jane drew the handsome, dark red confection of embroidered netting over Araminta’s head. “How are you, Jane?” she asked. “I missed having you to attend to me during our wedding tour, but I thought Araminta needed you more than me. She was so upset when I left, and you’re such a calming person.”

  Araminta glared. She’d not thought Hetty would dare to bring up the topic of the evening Hetty had eloped with Sir Aubrey—the gentleman Araminta had in her sights and who’d given her every indication that he’d make her his bride. But there was Hetty, smiling as if she were making perfectly normal conversation. Had the girl lost her mind?

  Jane bobbed a curtsy. “I’m well, ma’am, thank yer fer askin’. An’ Miss Araminta ‘as bin very kind, as is ‘er way.”

  Araminta narrowed her eyes. Was she imagining the look she intercepted between the women? The secretive, colluding smile. She wished she could bang both their heads together, dismiss Jane, and scream at Hetty that she was a thief, and Araminta wanted nothing to do with her ever again.

  Instead, she said, sweetly, “Jane knows how cherished she is. Debenham can be an exacting husband. Unlike you, Hetty, I didn’t make the match of my heart.”

  “But you made it quite plain that expediency was more important. And Lord Debenham has all the attributes you were looking for, Araminta.” Suddenly, Hetty looked concerned. “He is kind to you, isn’t he, Araminta? I mean, he wasn’t very kind to me but then...”

  She broke off, obviously thinking of that terrible night at Vauxhall when Hetty had stolen the letter from Lord Debenham with which she intended to win Sir Aubrey’s heart, and had found herself with a broken bottle at her throat. Araminta thought it was best to clear the air. “Debenham was bosky when he treated you with such disrespect. You knew you were playing with fire when you confronted him with what was bound to make him behave in a most aggressive fashion. You’re so thoughtless, Hetty. Always rushing into things you know nothing about.”

  “I can forgive him only if I know he is good to you, Araminta.”

  Araminta brushed off her sister’s hand. “Do stop prying into the secrets of my marriage, Hetty. And please go downstairs so I can finish dressing.” She put her hand to her forehead. She didn’t want to put Hetty offside. She might need her one day, too, and even though she despised her sister for being such a peagoose, as well as a thief, she thought a more ameliorating tone was in order. “Forgive me for being a cross patch.”

  “Oh, I’ve always forgiven you that, Araminta. But tell me, dearest—and I’m not trying to pry, you must believe—but you are happy, aren’t you? I mean, you’re going to have a baby!” And she hugged herself with joy.

  “I don’t know ‘ow yer can look yer sister in the face,” Jane muttered when Hetty had left the room.

  Araminta, now sitting at her dressing table and putting on the ruby and diamond earrings her husband had given her upon their marriage, raised her eyebrows. “I don’t understand you, Jane.”

  Jane bent to pick up a discarded shoe. “I don’t know ‘ow yer can face yer sister after what yer done. Whose babe is it yer carryin’?” Her voice was so soft Araminta could barely hear her. Perhaps Jane hadn’t intended her to, but Araminta was riled, nevertheless.

  “How dare you even suggest it’s any other than whose it should be,” she returned on a venomous hiss. “Don’t ever say such things aloud. Who knows who might be listening?”

  Jane’s expression became sorrowful as she cradled the lone embroidered slipper. “What are yer goin’ ter do, m’lady, when yer time comes an’ the babe is full growed but...” she heaved in an outraged breath, “...two months early?”

  “My jeweled comb, if you please!” Araminta clapped her hands imperiously, then muttered as she stared into her hand-held looking glass, “And it’s only six weeks if I have my calculations right. However...I will make a plan.”

  “Like the plan yer made when yer was determined ter make Sir Aubrey wed yer—’cept ’e’d already wed yer sister leavin’ yer in a right old mess? Yes, yer can dismiss me if yer like fer speakin’ so plain, m’lady, but you ’ave jest got ter find a way out o’ this conundrum else yer’ll suffer fer it most sorely, and then I really will ’ave to find meself another job.”

  Araminta put down her looking glass and closed her eyes. Jane spoke only the truth. Her child could be born at any time within the next four weeks, and when it was discovered to be at full term, she very much feared that Debenham would kill her. It was no exaggeration, either.

  All the fears she’d tried to keep at bay surged up her throat. She sent her maid a beseeching look, very different from her usual careless hauteur. “You have to help me, Jane.” The situation was indeed as dire as Jane had painted it, and she’d been a fool to pretend the problem would simply go away. When Jane said nothing, she swung around and gripped her maid’s wrist until the girl cried out in pain. “Promise you’ll help me. I’ll think of something, but to do whatever I may need you to do, you must promise me your utter loyalty.”

  “Yer know yer’ve always ’ad that, m’lady.”

  Araminta suddenly felt petulant. “You like Hetty more than you ever liked me.”

  “Yes, m’lady. I like ’er too much to tell ’er the truth ’bout yer and what I reckon yer tricked Sir Aubrey ter do wiv yer. But I’ll no’ destroy ’er ’appiness when she an’ her new ’usband are smellin’ o’ April an’ May. So yer can rest assured yer secret is safe with me, for it’s over me dead body that I’ll ever let poor Miss Hetty know that it’s Sir Aubrey’s babe in yer belly.”

  For a moment, rage blurred Araminta’s vision. She drew back her hand to strike the impertinent and challenging look from Jane’s hateful face but managed, just, to master herself. She rose. “How do I look, Jane?” she asked with a regal smile. “Will my husband be pleased with me?”

  “I reckon ’e’s always pleased when yer look so beautiful and do what ’e says.”

  Araminta shuddered, her attempt at acting clouded by the reality of what her life had become. “I’ve learned to be very good at that. Now,” she waved her hand toward the door, “I shall present myself downstairs. I shall probably carry on to supper after the play, so you may go to bed in the meantime if you arrange to be woken so can attend to me when I return.”

  “That’s uncommonly thoughtful of yer, m’lady.”

  Araminta smiled. “I always look after those who have pledged me their loyalty.”

  ***

  Tonight was one of those rare occasions Araminta preferred to be in company with her husband. Since Hetty and Sir Aubrey had returned from their wedding tour in Italy a month ago, the two encounters she’d had with her sister and Hetty’s new hu
sband had been thoroughly uncomfortable, bringing back hideous memories. Of course, if Sir Aubrey hadn’t given her to believe he was about to make her a marriage offer, she’d never have done what she had to in order to spur him on. The truth was, she’d been motivated by nothing other than the good of the family as a whole. With Papa on the verge of losing all his money, Araminta had to save innocent Hetty from having to earn her living as a governess. Only look what had happened? She gasped with discomfort as the child kicked within her and Debenham sent her an enquiring look, though he didn’t actually ask if she were all right.

  The child. Whose child? Of course, Sir Aubrey chose to pretend the whole ghastly business had never occurred. No, he simply offered her a bland smile and inane pleasantries whenever they met—no agonized apologies for his brutishness whispered in private as he despaired over having chosen the wrong sister. Lord, it was as if it had never even occurred to him that both Hetty and Araminta were carrying his child, and likely to give birth within a few weeks of each other, if Araminta’s calculations were correct.

  So there the two couples sat in Debenham’s box at the theater, pretending they all rubbed along so well.

  It was a relief when some gentleman across the stalls beckoned Debenham over, and then Hetty and Sir Aubrey made their own excuses to leave just before the interval. Generally, Araminta didn’t like being on her own but tonight was turning into a nightmare. She put her hands to her belly as the wretched child refused to be still. Dear Lord, what was she going to do? It was one thing to tell Jane she had a plan or would make a plan, but what plan could she possibly make?

  “Good evening, Lady Debenham. Should you flaunt yourself in public when you are so advanced?”

  Shocked at the familiar tone uttered with uncharacteristic condemnation, Araminta jerked her head up and beheld in the gloom a tight-lipped Roderick Woking. It was the first time her erstwhile suitor had spoken to her since she’d eloped with his uncle, Lord Debenham, shortly after Mr. Woking had publicly announced his delight over his unexpected betrothal to Araminta. She supposed he had every reason to feel uncharitable toward her, yet it was his uncle to whom he should direct his ire. Debenham had used some very underhanded tactics to seduce Araminta at Miss Hosking’s celebration ball.