Still, it was better not to give any ground. Araminta tilted her chin and sent him a frosty look. “My husband is not far away, Mr. Woking, and I know you detest him very much. Perhaps you should leave.” Yes, Araminta really didn’t need Mr. Woking creating a scene to make her evening worse than it already was.
Usually, Mr. Woking did as she told him. It was the one reason she’d thought he’d make an acceptable husband when she was desperate to have any husband after her predicament with the wretched baby needed solving.
Instead, he advanced a couple of steps and, to her utter horror, put his hand out to touch the great protuberance beneath her high-waisted evening gown. Hidden from the rest of the audience in the theater by the red velvet curtain, his face loomed close, his lips a tight, angry line, his eyes stormy with recrimination. Even in such poor light, Araminta shuddered to think of what her desperation had led her to do with this ghastly creature. Had Debenham not forced her into marriage, she’d have been saddled with this inferior specimen with his weak chin and turkey neck, bad teeth and worse breath—for life. Yet would that have been such a bad thing if she’d found herself able to wield more power over him than she managed in the case of his commandeering uncle? It had nearly killed her to learn the undeserving Mr. Woking had been elevated to the peerage upon the unexpected death of two relatives in quick succession. Yes, indeed, if Debenham hadn’t all but kidnapped her, blackmailing her into marriage, Araminta would now have everything she could have wished for—a wedding ring on her finger and an indulgent, if spineless and unattractive, husband.
That didn’t make her feel any more charitable toward the chinless peer looking at her with such condemnation.
To her horror, he now asked in a low voice, “Have you told Debenham that it’s my child you’re carrying? Or shall I tell him?”
“How dare you insult me?” Araminta tossed her head and turned in her chair so she presented him with her side view, holding up her fan so that her outrage would not be observed by anyone who chanced to glance up from the stalls. Her whole body trembled, and she felt in that moment like bursting into tears. “What if you are overheard telling such lies?”
“Lies?” He sounded aghast as he plunged forward, whisking up her hand and bringing it to his lips. His look was no longer censorious but tortured. “There you sit, like an exquisite Madonna, carrying my child whom you are now going to parade to all the world and to my hateful uncle as the new heir to his estate if it’s a boy. Do you know how it makes me feel every time I lay eyes upon you,” he choked on a sob, “and to know that you were nearly mine? That you could have been my duchess, making me the happiest, proudest man in the land, squiring you to every grand occasion you wished to attend while we awaited our happy event?”
“You’re dreaming, Mr. Woking.”
“Lord Myles, if you please.”
“You will always be Mr. Woking to me, and what...happened that night did not result in this for your uncle kidnapped me, as you know, and did the very same thing you did to me.” She pushed up her chin, proudly. “Tell me, which of the two of you is the bigger, stronger man?”
Mr. Woking seemed unable to speak for the surge of apoplexy that rendered him like a gesticulating lobster.
“Kidnapped you? That’s not what my eyes saw when I followed the sounds that drew me to the bedroom where my hateful uncle had enticed you, and where the pair of you were—” He broke off on a strangled hiss of rage. “What I beheld did not give the appearance of Miss Araminta Partington being kidnapped.”
Sulkily, Araminta dropped her fan and fiddled with the tassel of her pelisse. “Your uncle blackmailed me. He needed my testimony to save him from the noose. He needed me to tell the world that I was with him at Vauxhall all night, when really he was having a meeting with two other men whom the Government believes are plotters. Radicals out to bring down Westminster, I understand. He said if I did not pretend to be enjoying his attentions, he would...he would...” She thought wildly for something that might elicit Mr. Woking’s finer feelings, or at least his sympathy.
“He would what?” Mr. Woking didn’t sound too affected.
“He would ruin Papa and destroy Hetty’s happiness.” Araminta looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “You know how tenuous things are between Debenham and Sir Aubrey? I couldn’t let the worst happen to Hetty and Papa. The two people I love more dearly than any others in the world, except for Mama.”
Mr. Woking was still. Thinking. “He really threatened you?”
“Of course he threatened me,” Araminta snapped, her anger getting the better of the affected tragedy she’d striven so hard to achieve. “Do you think I wanted to marry your uncle when I was already betrothed to you, and knowing that you had such prospects? You know me sufficiently, I’d wager, Mr. Woking, to realize that I would have far preferred to have married you than Debenham had he not all but held a knife at my throat, ripped off my clothes, and told me to smile for the crowd that he intended to see witness his evil plan to have me ruined and thereby force me to marry him.” She dropped her fan and put her hands to her face, and the tears in her voice were real. “I am so unhappy, but what can I do?” She heaved in a breath and took her hands away. “What could I have done? You didn’t save me,” she added accusingly. “You believed I was as bad as everyone painted me.”
When Mr. Woking took a step forward, she waved her hand dismissively. “Leave me, Lord Myles.” Her voice was quietly dignified now. “Whatever you might want to say, it’s too late. And I hear footsteps. I do not want Debenham to catch us together when he’s already so wildly jealous of you.”
When she turned, there was no sign of Mr. Woking, but to her astonishment, there in the curtained alcove, stood the man she really would have chosen to marry above all others in the world—if there had been time—she reflected, tragically, clasping her hands across her swollen belly.
“Lord Tunbridge.” Her gasp was unfeigned, the roiling excitement in the pit of her stomach on par with the desire in her wildly beating heart. “Teddy!” She half rose, as if he might take her in his arms and hold her to him. Like the last time they’d been together. Oh Lord, why had he been such a gentleman, refusing to allow himself to be seduced before he rushed off to do some apparently noble deed on the Continent? He’d said he’d be gone two months, and then he’d return to claim Araminta as his wife. If he’d only taken what Araminta had offered, they could have been enjoying wildly blissful days and nights together, and Araminta would have been the happiest newlywed in the entire world. She’d have been married to the handsomest, kindest, most honorable man to walk the earth, and her child would have had a father who would cherish him. One whom he could respect. Not cold and cruel Debenham.
She gave a little sob, then looked up when he did not come to her. To her horror, he met her gaze with a cold, stony stare so unlike his so perennially good-natured expression. Stonily, he said, “I saw you from my box and waited until you were alone. I told myself I should not. That I would only torture myself, but in the end I could not stay away.”
She forced herself to retain her dignity and not rail at him for she did not deserve this. “Yet you chose to remain on the Continent more than two months, my Lord.”
His eyes bored into hers with the heaviest reproach. “What reason was there for me to return when I heard the news of your marriage? I had left England the most joyful man on earth, but within days, the news of your faithlessness had caught up with me.”
Araminta bit her lip as she wondered how much detail had been contained in the news he’d received. She dropped her eyes and studied the embroidery on her slippers. Debenham was generous with her wardrobe. The pin money she received was more than sufficient, but he also did not demur when she presented him with the increasingly exorbitant bills of her milliner and mantua maker. Around her neck, the rubies and diamonds of her exquisite wedding gift, were cold. However, Teddy’s generosity would have cast Debenham’s in the shade, she was sure, and he would not have made her do t
he things Debenham enjoyed doing. Her husband’s enjoyment seemed to be heightened the more reluctant she was. Searching his face with tear-filled eyes, she said in a strained voice, “I tried to go after you the very night you left. I was mad with grief that you would leave me behind, and after Lady Marks’s Riverside Soiree, I took a hackney and went with my maid and my chaperone to your townhouse to entreat you to delay your journey or to take me with you. Perhaps your butler did not tell you? I thought I would die if I were parted for so long after what we’d shared. The fireworks. Do you remember?”
His shoulders slumped, and he let out his breath in a soft sigh. “I cannot see fireworks without being reminded of the woman I once loved more than life itself...until she wed another within days of my departure, proving just how little she truly felt for me.”
Araminta stared at him. His cold, measured tone was torture. The vibrant rapture she’d felt in his arms was the most sincere experience she’d ever had.
“I was blackmailed,” she whispered.
“By Mr. Roderick Woking or by Lord Debenham?” His tone became curt. “If I recall, you declared your betrothal to the former within a day of my leaving the country, but then you reneged on his offer in order to elope with the boy’s uncle. What kind of a woman does that make you, Lady Debenham?”
Araminta’s mouth dropped open. “Do you truly imagine I wished to marry either of them? After I could have enjoyed wedded bliss with you? I despise Mr. Woking and I fear Lord Debenham, but I was in their clutches. All because of your brother!”
“My brother?!” Teddy looked shocked. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Araminta beckoned him closer so she could lower her voice. Meanwhile, her mind was running in circles. Lord Tunbridge was angry, but she’d seen cracks in his armor. He could be brought around if she only found the right words, the right argument. “Surely your brother has told you about the government’s suspicions regarding Debenham’s involvement in a certain matter pertaining to...to espionage?” She went on at the flare in his eye. “You know of course that your brother Ralph Tunley’s sweetheart is my half-sister? Yes, it’s scandalous, and I’m ashamed to admit it. I learned the truth a few months ago when we were mistaken for one another. Apparently, we share an uncommon similarity. You do not think so? Well, in certain lights, if we adopt the same smile and mannerisms we could be mistaken for twins. I’ve heard it from many, and I heard it from Lord Debenham. Come closer, Lord Tunbridge, so I can tell you of the terrible fate that befell me no sooner than you’d abandoned me.”
Warily, he advanced, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and desire. Araminta reached up and touched his cheek briefly, leaving him, she hoped, in no doubt about the sincerity of her feelings. “The fact is, I was tragically mistaken for my half-sister Larissa when she visited Sir Aubrey in his supper box—alone—in Vauxhall Gardens,” she whispered, cupping his cheek to bring his head closer to her lips. How she longed to nibble that beautiful earlobe. And that would only be the beginning. With a heartfelt sigh, she continued, “Lord knows what she was doing, but then, to make matters worse, she was observed visiting Debenham. He didn’t know what to do; he was outraged, of course, and sent her away. But evil tongues began to wag, claiming it was me. But Debenham had been with men he knew would place him under suspicions, and that’s the reason he kidnapped me when I was for a moment separated from Hetty, and he held me prisoner in his supper box as he all but forced me to agree to marry him.”
“Dear God, he kidnapped you to try and force your hand? Did he...?” Lord Tunbridge—her darling Teddy—broke off, his skin taking on a darker hue which Araminta could see even in this dim light.
“Did he force me into anything? No, he did not. Not on this night, anyway.” Araminta was conscious of the wretched baby turning a summersault. Lord, she’d thought her difficulties would be over when she found a father for it; yet keeping up the fiction that it had been conceived two months later than, in fact, this particular night in question, was proving a nightmare.
“Why did you not tell me this? I’d have ensured your reputation was not besmirched. Why could you not have trusted me?”
“I wanted to tell you, and that’s part of the reason I rushed after you in the middle of the night after I’d agreed to marry you...but you’d already left for France.” She gulped. “I knew there could not be this terrible secret between us. On my return in the carriage, not two minutes after my maid had spoken to your butler, by chance we happened upon Mr. Woking who was in his cups and who stumbled in front of the carriage. Lord, we nearly rode right over him! We stopped to pick him up and take him home, and he told me that his uncle was about to tell the world that I’d...spent the entire night with him in his supper box, as he needed an alibi since my half-sister had sketched a drawing that showed Lord Debenham in company with the other two plotters whom the English Government are investigating for some nefarious dealings. You do realize your brother is working in secret for them? Yes, I discovered that through my maid, though I’ve not told Debenham. No, not even my own husband, for I never wished to marry the blackguard. Never! Mr. Woking said that his uncle was intent upon this ruthless plan, and that since you had left the country and could not protect me, he would do the honorable thing, and that we could pretend to be betrothed as it was the only way to keep me safe from his evil uncle’s clutches. But even that wasn’t enough.” She put her hands to her face and shook her bowed head. “No, the night we announced our betrothal, Lord Debenham followed me to the lady’s mending room at Miss Hosking’s own betrothal ball, dragged me into an empty room, and ensured that my being compromised was thoroughly witnessed and documented. He forced me onto the bed so that I would have no choice but to marry him...and you were not there to protect me,” she added with a little sob and in a suitably accusing tone as she dropped her hands.
Watching Teddy’s mouth drop open and the flare of horror in his eyes was the only satisfying part of her entire evening.
And the fact that she had not lost the art of turning a bad situation to her advantage.
Chapter Six
Kitty breathed in the now familiar smell of oil paint, rancid powder, and smoke with her usual delight as she sat at her dressing table and slapped on her make-up with whatever came to hand—a rabbit’s paw sufficing for the moment. Around her a dozen chattering, bustling actresses prepared themselves while Kitty, as the jewel of the night, had her own attendant to comb her hair, two thick fair ropes adorned with ribbons in the first scene. By the end, it would be a lustrous, tangled mass of curls after a stricken Romeo knotted his grasping hands in it.
Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet had been enjoying spectacular reviews since it had begun playing the week before after three weeks of rehearsals. Each night they’d played to a full house. Mr. Lazarus had forgiven Kitty after she’d pliantly kissed him during rehearsal and allowed him to fondle her rump. Fortunately, it seemed that was all he was after, so Kitty had been given the role with her virtue intact. She was now enjoying a great deal of fawning admiration from a range of men. Bouquets of flowers were delivered nightly, notes declaring ardent love from complete strangers were regularly handed to her by glowering chorus girls, including one very sweet piece of parchment from Lord Silverton, in which he lauded her stage presence and beauty and wished her much happiness in her chosen career, evincing the deepest regret that another had stolen her heart and offering her a refuge should she need one.
Kitty had hugged the single yellow rose, signifying loyalty rather than love, while an odd feeling had roiled in her belly; but then, a mealy-mouthed Jennie had come into the dressing room carrying an enormous bouquet of red roses, and a message from Lord Nash that he looked forward to paying his respects to Kitty in person after the night’s performance.
“Don’t go losing your heart to this one, now,” Jenny warned. “’E likes to break in all the new ones.”
Kitty thought Jennie was just jealous, for she knew sincerity, and that’s what had shone from her
first shared gaze with the handsome viscount. Lord Nash, she was quite sure, was the handsome dark-haired swain the gypsy fortune-teller had prophesied as her destiny. If his inky-black curls and smoldering eyes did not make the argument sufficiently, the small dueling scar beneath his right eye certainly did.
So, while generally Kitty relished every moment on stage, tonight she couldn’t wait for the performance to be over so she could at last gaze upon the Adonis whose image had haunted her since he’d first swept his extravagant bow just before her first disastrous audition.
It had been love at first sight. She’d relived the scene so many times, pinpointing the moment they had seared each other’s souls with that single, piercing look. And now he was here, exquisite in evening clothes that molded his well-built form, his dark, curling hair falling rakishly over his noble forehead.
“Miss La Bijou, you were superb!” With a mixture of feline grace and almost uncontained exuberance, he crossed the room to offer her another of his extravagant bows. And Kitty, aware that Jennie was nearby and clearly furious, basked in the praise and attention from this scion of nobility, this Adonis, this creature from another planet, it seemed.
“I should like to take you to supper. Do, I beg you, accept.” He went down on one knee suddenly and held his arms out in a gesture of supplication, causing Kitty to giggle while Jennie huffed just behind her shoulder.
“I should love to go to supper with you if you will allow me a few moments to change, my Lord.” She knew she was blushing furiously, and that heat beaded her upper lip over the thick make-up she’d not yet removed. Yet still, he called her exquisite as if he could see beyond her failings. That was true love.
Beyond Rubies (Daughters of Sin Book 4) Page 6