But Lord Silverton wasn’t a strange man, and Kitty could do as she liked because she was beholden to no one. It was an unusual situation she’d come to value and, right now, the only advantage she had. No father could thunder at her for behavior, which was no worse than he’d forced her mother into committing. No brother could take the moral high ground because Ned was not like that and she rarely saw him, besides. No husband could claim her earnings for his own, spend her money as he chose, and treat her like the property she was. No, Kitty could do as she pleased, and as Nash had betrayed her, she was going to punish him as much as he deserved.
She was crying by the time she threw herself back against the squabs, dabbing at her face with the edge of her sleeve.
“Here, take this.”
A large, snowy white handkerchief was put under her nose, and Kitty blew loudly.
“You found him in bed with another woman?”
She jerked her head up, and he laughed gently.
“I can’t imagine any other scenario that would have you all but throwing yourself under my horse’s hooves in your haste to get away from your erstwhile lover.”
“I didn’t nearly throw myself under your horse’s hooves,” Kitty objected, offended. Her shoulders slumped. “But you’re right.” She sniffed and added in a quavering voice, “Tomorrow he was taking me to the house he was going to be leasing for me.”
“My, how you’ve gained in experience during the few short weeks since I met you, Miss La Bijou. Yet, how little you still know of the ways of men.”
“He’s not just any man. He’s my destiny. I knew it when I saw him. You think it’s nonsense, but I was so sure here—’’ she tapped her heart —‘‘that I would never give myself to any other man but the one I knew would be true. Well, true as in who would marry me.”
“Marry you!?”
Kitty jerked her head up. “Do not make it sound beyond the realms of possibility or make me out to be a fool. When I was sixteen, a gypsy told my fortune. She described Lord Nash right down to the small scar beneath his right eye. She even described the exact feelings that would tell me for certain that he would be the man who’d become my husband. She said I would follow in Lady Hamilton’s footsteps, and I’m sorry to say it, but she was born of much lowlier stock than I.”
“My, my, I hope you kept your aspirations to yourself, Miss La Bijou. Perhaps that was what frightened him off.”
“I didn’t say anything, but I knew it would happen some day...” Kitty trailed off. She began to pleat the handkerchief with her fingers. “Where are you taking me, my Lord? I thought you lived on the street we’ve just passed.”
“Very perceptive. I’m on my way to look in on an old friend. You could stay in the carriage, but I fear you might catch cold, or I’m perfectly happy to have you accompany me, though I shall say you are my cousin, eh, in case the lady of the house is awake? We can hardly have her believing I’d insult her by parading my mistress before her.”
“I hope no one will think that, my Lord, and that you don’t get any ideas yourself.”
“Indeed, I know exactly the lowly position I occupy in your heart, Kitty, and offer my services merely out of friendship.” He gave a curt nod, holding out his hand.
“I’m afraid I meant my handkerchief,” he said with a smile when she offered him her hand. “It’s far too big to try and stuff into your reticule. Now,” he said, tucking it into his waistcoat pocket after she’d handed it over, “are you ready to put on a brave face? You can tell me how much your heart is breaking later over a medicinal brandy or two, and then I’ll tuck you into a nice, warm feather bed with the promise I shan’t even think about liberties. In the morning, we can put our heads together to work out how you can make Lord Nash dance to your tune, if you’re prepared to forgive him.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly as he helped her onto the cobblestones. “You’re irresistible, I think, Kitty. I believe you can make him do anything you wish.”
Chapter Eight
Araminta couldn’t sleep. Her belly was too big to lie in any position except her back, which she hated, and her fears over the child’s impending birth had become like a hot poker jabbing into her brain.
When she heard the clock strike midnight, she struggled out of bed, lit a candle and began to pace, holding her hands to her lower back to ease the pressure. Her hateful, unwieldy body pulsed with the unwanted life inside it. These days she didn’t walk, she waddled. Men, who used to look at her, eyes lit with that appreciative glow with which she was so familiar, now ignored her. To be so disregarded was almost more than she could bear.
Perhaps a medicinal brandy might help, she thought. She hadn’t resorted to such remedies before, but her mind was spinning, and she needed to calm her nerves. She was very much afraid she was nearly at full term, and she still had not formulated a suitable plan. She’d tried to persuade Debenham to go on an extended hunting trip to Scotland with friends, but on the verge of him leaving, he’d been caught up with business in London. Nefarious dealings, no doubt. Debenham entertained some dubious friends at all hours from heavy-drinking Irish peers to radical shoemakers. He told Araminta he didn’t distinguish between the classes, but Araminta knew there was more to it than that. Sir Aubrey and Cousin Stephen called him a Spencean. She still didn’t quite know what that was, though she gathered it meant a political radical. Not that she really knew what that was, either. She did, however, understand blackmail, and she’d found clear evidence of that. As she wasn’t averse to rummaging in Debenham’s drawers when she got the chance, she had, a week earlier, found part of a draft letter of what looked like an extortion threat against a lesser member of the royal family, whose secret mistress had apparently rather more of a high profile in society than the average mistress fare. Lady C. Oh, if only Araminta could have seen the rest of her name, she might have found a way to profit from the information herself. It was intriguing, though, that a certain Lady C. was linked with the Duke of Cumberland, so Araminta intended to keep her ears and eyes open.
Quite frankly, as long as Debenham didn’t get caught, Araminta didn’t care what he did.
Araminta paced the length and breadth of her bedchamber, and thought with longing about Teddy. The fact she was so huge with child was thankfully a deterrent to a repeat of the depraved sexual exploits Debenham had enjoyed in the earlier days of their marriage. She’d been seduced by the sense of danger he exuded, but she’d soon found he thought little of her pleasure.
Just thinking of Teddy and how much he desired her and wanted to please her made Araminta—even now when she was so big with child—pulse with want. Teddy might be a little reticent about trying out some of the things Debenham enjoyed, but in Araminta’s hands, he’d be like soft clay.
Wrapping a shawl about her shoulders, she picked up her candle and crept down the stairs. The house was in darkness. Debenham was no doubt at his club or some bawdy house; perhaps gaming. He was very fond of that, which Araminta could understand. She enjoyed gaming too, and would indulge in it a great deal more if she were able to go out in public.
She turned the doorknob and opened the library door, expecting to find it in darkness. Instead, she got a huge fright to find four pairs of eyes staring at her from the gloom— Debenham and his friend Lord Silverton, together with Silverton’s fancy piece and another man she didn’t recognize.
“You should be in bed, darling.” Debenham did not look at all pleased to see her. Well, the feeling was mutual, and she was even less pleased that Lord Silverton had seen fit to invite a woman who was...definitely not the kind she should be associating with.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Have a drink.”
He was clearly bosky. He held the bottle up and waved it in the air. He’d only risen briefly at her entrance before collapsing back into his seat, unlike Lord Silverton and the balding shoemaker who paid her the deference she was due by jumping to their feet until she waved them back down.
“Maybe I will.” She took a
few steps forward, and then clutched at her side with another of those increasingly frequent cramps which were totally debilitating.
“Here, give her the bottle.”
Araminta closed her eyes as she tried to breathe through the pain. Was it coming now? Surely not. No, she’d had this cramping before. And Debenham wasn’t even coming to her assistance. Instead, that blonde creature who thought she was London’s gift to the stage was hurrying forward with both the bottle and the offer of a shoulder.
“I’m perfectly all ri—” She went to push the girl away, but instead found herself gripping her shoulder simply so she wouldn’t slither to the ground in a writhing heap. No, surely the baby wasn’t coming now.
“I’ll take you back to your room.”
The woman’s voice was soothing. Debenham clearly wasn’t going to trouble himself. Araminta could hear him talking loudly to the other men. Wordlessly, resting heavily on the actress’s shoulder, she allowed herself to be helped from the room. She wished she’d decided to go back to The Grange two months ago. That would have been sensible, but at the time, Debenham was still enjoying making the most of his conjugal rights, and she was supposedly little more than four months gone, then.
“Down this corridor?”
Araminta nodded, and the young woman supported her back to her bedchamber.
“I’ll help you into bed. Take your time. My mother was brought to bed only a few months ago. She wasn’t as big, though. We have met, you know. At the Tower.”
“I remember. Miss La Bijou.” She wasn’t going to humor her. “Lord Silverton’s mistress.”
“His...friend, actually. I’m an actress.”
“I know.” Araminta accepted the girl’s help to settle her. She felt like a flounder, a great, ungainly fish that couldn’t move anywhere but on its back. “So you consider yourself the toast of the town, do you? Move the pillow this way, will you?” She sighed as she closed her eyes. “That’s better. Well, a great deal has happened since that day at the Tower,” she murmured, raising herself a little on her elbows. “I believe you’d only just arrived in London.”
Miss Bijou nodded and Araminta, who had been about to send her away, thought she saw a tear glisten in the corner of her eye. Good! If the girl was miserable, it would be some diversion to find out why, considering no one could be more miserable than Araminta. Lord knew, she needed something to take her mind off her troubles.
“So much attention, yet not enough of the right kind?” Yes, apparently a perspicacious question. Araminta had known that would strike home for anyone with aspirations toward success. Hadn’t she had her own dreams of wild success? They certainly hadn’t included being vast, ungainly, no longer feted and admired by the general male population, and unappreciated by her husband. Lord, how she despised him, but she was bound to him for life. Her only avenue for success was completely dependent upon Debenham’s ability not to become embroiled in some grubby scandal that would drag them both down. As soon as this wretched baby was born, she could concentrate on finding her own pleasure through different diversions.
Excitement. That’s what she craved.
In a perspicacious flash, it occurred to her that this demimondaine, creature of the sordid underbelly of life with whom she should not be consorting, might indeed be the very one to provide a conduit to another more exciting world.
“I suppose you have lots of admirers.” She peered at Miss La Bijou, then waved her to back into her seat as the girl obviously prepared to leave.
“A few.”
“Well, tell me about them. Do they send you flowers?”
“I receive about half a dozen bouquets at the end of each show. And notes and letters.”
Araminta tried not to let the admission make her feel any worse. “So you could have any lover you choose, by the sounds of it.” She smiled to herself at the girl’s gasp. So coy. Covertly, she studied her in the dim light of the single candle. She was lovely, she’d have to grant her that, if one liked pale, insipid beauties who pretended they were so innocent, when they were the worst of all with their pretended lack of guile to disguise the fact they were plotting all the while. Araminta had once been regarded as London’s most beautiful debutante, but it had been a few months since she’d received any accolades worth mentioning. She was bored and disgruntled, and talking to this creature was mildly amusing. She therefore decided she’d need to change tack when Miss La Bijou took offense to her words and stood up decisively.
“No, you’re lovely, and I’m jealous. I want to know more,” Araminta said before she could think of something more artful to say.
“Jealous? But you’re married to...”
“A knave, though if that ever gets back to him, I’ll have your hair shorn off because I’ll know it was you.” Araminta laughed to show she’d meant it as a little joke. “No, the fact is, I once regularly received notes and flowers, too. I was going to be married, in fact, to the man of my dreams—Lord Tunbridge—before Debenham forcefully compromised me and ensured I had no choice but to marry him.”
The girl’s gasp of shock jerked Araminta back to the present. She hadn’t meant to be so forthcoming. A combination of brandy and boredom had made her lips a little loose. Still, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Miss La Bijou really did look a gullible little goose, for she’d taken Araminta’s hand and was stroking it in a most sympathetic manner as she’d reseated herself.
“I had no idea. And of course, no one can ever know. The two of you are bound in marriage. Forever.”
Araminta nodded. “A prisoner. What opportunities for love will I ever have now?” To her surprise, she gave a little sob, which was actually quite real, then slanted her gaze across at the girl’s large-eyed dismay. In those dark, dismal hours near midnight, a tiny sliver of hope had presented itself. Perhaps Miss La Bijou really could help Araminta achieve what she so desired. Desires that were so simple, really, and no more than any woman aspired to...to bask in the embrace of the man she loved, while not jeopardizing her place in society.
Ever since their encounter at the theater, she’d been dreaming about darling Teddy, thrilling at her memory of the horror in his eyes when she’d told him of the responsibility he bore in her terrible plight.
Dreaming of how pleasant it would be to be adored and revered by a man over whom she exercised complete power. Teddy had been so angry with her when he’d first confronted her the other night in Debenham’s box, but that was only an indication of how much he loved her. Once he’d heard the true story from Araminta’s lips, he’d quickly changed his tune.
She returned the pressure of Miss La Bijou’s hand. “Have you ever met Lord Tunbridge?” she asked.
Chapter Nine
An hour later, in front of a banked-up fire and feeling far more comfortable than she had with Araminta, Kitty stretched her legs out and smiled tearily at Lord Silverton.
“You’ve been awfully good to me, rescuing me, and then offering me a bed for the night. I really would have been sleeping amid the vermin on Mrs. Mobbs’s floor.”
“I’m sure you have more options than you imagine, Kitty, if you think about it. And that’s what we must do. Hit upon what to do with you, eh?”
“You really want to spend your time helping me when I’m completely responsible for my own disaster? I don’t know anyone else who would.” It was true. Her father had probably disowned her already; she had no intention of slinking back home to Mama, in any case, and she still had no address for Lissa. “I’m not going back to Nash yet. I can’t. I need to make him realize how terribly he’s betrayed me.”
“Will you forgive him?”
Kitty nibbled the top of her brandy glass and stared into the fire. Quietly, she said, “He is my destiny. I’m sure of it. Everything the fortune-teller told me—”
Silverton chuckled. “Coincidence and smoke and mirrors, Kitty. A gypsy who’s never laid eyes on you before cannot accurately foretell your future. You believed only what you wanted to believe. And yes
, Nash may be your destiny, but he is a philanderer, albeit a charming one who is, perhaps, madly in love with you. But that aside, he won’t stay true, and he won’t marry you.”
Kitty put down her glass and sent Silverton a beseeching look. “He may and he may not. He wants me to forgive him, but you caution me against taking him back.”
“Only to spare your poor heart. You will find happiness, but I don’t believe it will be with him.”
“Then what should I do?”
He stood up, crossed the room to sit down on the arm of her chair and stroked her hair. “I’ve told you what I think, but only you can make the final decision on how you act. Nor do I think that is a question that can be decided until you’ve had a refreshing long sleep, which you will need if you are to remember your lines for tomorrow. Now, come with me and I will personally show you to a chamber where the bed is made up, and you will be undisturbed until noon if you so wish.”
Kitty took the hand he offered and, like a child, allowed herself to be led to bed. Lord Silverton even returned, as he’d promised, with a night-shift and some tooth powder, courtesy of another female guest he’d once had staying with him, he told her.
Kitty was too tired to wonder about Lord Silverton’s female associations. She was soon fast asleep, dreaming about the ghastly scene she’d witnessed between Nash and Jennie before the whole was neatly wrapped up in a cloud of blue smoke, and she lost consciousness.
***
In the morning, she felt a little better, though still subdued. Soon she’d have to leave for the theater, but now Lord Silverton was pouring her coffee and advising her not to go rushing off to make up to Lord Nash “as you are right, he needs to be taught a lesson.”
“I had no intention of going back to him, just yet,” she bridled. “I was going to ask Mrs. Mobbs for my old room back.”
“Amid the vermin? You’re welcome to be my houseguest for a few days.” He raised an eyebrow. “Make him jealous, if you like.”
Beyond Rubies (Daughters of Sin Book 4) Page 9