“How dare you!” Caroline cried, circling the table to reach Natasha.
“I dare, because you were insufferably rude to my friend!”
Caroline stopped with her skirts pushing against Natasha’s. “She’s a whore that stole the man that should have married you! I will not have you associating with people of their kind.”
“That’s a fine piece of hypocrisy, coming from you, Mother. Our family is hardly a proud example of chastity and forgiveness.”
Caroline’s eyes widened. “You dare speak of such matters!”
“It’s high time someone did! Vaughn Wardell is the only one who has dared speak of it and that was three years ago! Were you ever going to explain to me about my mysterious half-brother? Did you even mean to tell me his name? Or did Vaughn betray a secret you had no intention of revealing? I’m curious, Mother. Did Father find it awkward having our dirty linen aired in public like that? It’s a pity he didn’t keep that lesson in mind when he pilloried Seth Harrow!”
Caroline slapped her. Her hand cracked across Natasha’s cheek and sent her staggering a step or two backwards.
Susannah cried out, but Natasha gritted her teeth and remained silent. She touched her numb cheek. Her eye was watering freely.
“Go to your room.” Caroline’s voice was shaking. “I will send the maid to lock the door behind you.”
“Oh dear, oh dear…” Susannah dabbed her forehead with her napkin.
“I am going to see my perfectly respectable friends,” Natasha said as calmly as she could. She stared her mother in the eye. “Or would you prefer that I spend my time with that hardened criminal, Seth Harrow, and give you a real scandal to waste your time discussing?”
Caroline’s face paled. “I will not tolerate this impudence! I am your mother! You will do as I say! And you will never, ever, speak that man’s name in this house again! Do you hear me?”
Natasha stared at her mother, awed at the genuine fury she radiated. Caroline never shouted—it wasn’t ladylike. But now she sounded like a common fishwife. The veins in her forehead were pulsing visibly.
“I hear you,” Natasha told her. “I will be at Lord and Lady Fairleigh’s townhouse for the afternoon.” She walked out of the room, trying to imitate the gracious glide Elisa had used, but her knees shook too much.
Chapter Seven
Vaughn and Elisa’s townhouse sat on the finest street in luxurious Mayfair, a glorious brick home with wrought iron fencing and a gold knocker in the shape of cupid. Very appropriate for the couple who lived there, Natasha thought, as she knocked three times on the black lacquered door.
She looked around as she waited for an answer, for she rarely visited Mayfair and the lovely old shade trees always caught her attention. Hyde Park was within walking distance and even from the front steps of the townhouse she could hear the clatter of carriages and laughter as Londoners spent the afternoon on The Row, taking advantage of the cool, sunny day.
She took a breath as deep as her stays would allow and let it out. She was still shaking. All the way to Vaughn’s townhouse, she had replayed in her mind the argument in the dining room. Her parents’ retribution for her highhandedness would be severe, indeed.
The door swung open and Vaughn appeared and to Natasha’s great dismay her heart skipped a beat. How handsome he was! His green eyes sparkled with genuine warmth, reminding her of a time when he’d been the focus of her world.
“Good lord, I was expecting your butler!”
“I knew it would be you at the door. Natasha, I’m so glad to see you.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against her fingers. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you. You look quite handsome yourself.”
He grinned devilishly, then his grin faded suddenly. With gentle fingers, he lifted her chin and turned her face so he could see the cheek under the brim of her bonnet.
“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, pulling his hand away.
“It’s a swollen nothing, then.” He firmly turned her cheek again, so he could examine it. “It needs a cold compress. Come inside, Natasha, and Elisa will take care of it.” He tugged her gently across the threshold, tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, and walked her down the marble hallway and into a drawing room.
The long, narrow room had walls that had been papered in a floral with pinks and deep mauves, while beneath the chair rail, the wall was a deep forest green, which blended beautifully with the cherry wood furniture. It was not a fashionable color choice, but it was delightfully welcoming and quite different from anything Natasha had seen in the public rooms of the ton.
A fire crackled in the hearth, warming the room. Natasha removed her bonnet, gloves and wrap and gave them to the butler who had silently appeared at her side.
“Please sit down.” Vaughn offered her a high-backed chair near the fire.
As she seated herself, Elisa glided into the room. She wore the same yellow dress, but this time her smile was warm and friendly. “There you are. I am so glad you did not change your mind. Oh my goodness! Natasha, your cheek!” She raised her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my dear, you didn’t receive that on account of my invitation—please say you did not?”
“No,” Natasha responded calmly. “I received it because I choose to spend time with genuine friends, regardless of what other people might think of them.”
Tears welled in Elisa’s eyes, but she gave Natasha a hug and a smile. “I’ll attend that for you immediately. Sit down, please. Oh, Gilroy!”
The butler slipped into the room immediately, carrying a tray that held a pan and a snowy white pile of linen. “I anticipated the need, my lady.”
“Bless you, Gilroy.” Elisa took the tray and dipped one of the cloths into the pan.
Natasha heard ice tinkle. “My mother always applies liniment to such injuries,” she said.
Elisa smiled. “Vaughn learned this trick from professional pugilists, when he was quite young. It works so well, ‘tis a wonder all London doesn’t use it.” She folded the damp cloth, and applied it gently to Natasha’s cheek. The chill bit into her flesh, but did relieve the ache. “Hold it there for a minute, until it warms, then we’ll put on another cloth.”
“Thank you.”
Vaughn sat on the settee opposite Natasha’s chair. “I admire your courage, Natasha, but you must choose your battles more carefully. It’s all right for me, a man, to go his own way, but for you, a maiden under the protection of her family and entirely dependent upon them, it is a much more difficult task to choose your own fate.”
Natasha nodded. “And I do begin to understand this more clearly with each passing day, but Vaughn, if you heard what she said about…well…” She realized that to continue would mean repeating her mother’s words and she had no intention of doing that.
Vaughn laughed and Elisa smiled a little. “Let me guess,” Vaughn said. “Elisa is a whore, I should have married you and we’re both reprehensible and a disgrace to proper society.”
Natasha couldn’t help her blush. She could feel the heat of her cheek beneath the palm of her hand. “How did you know?”
Vaughn laughed even harder. “We’ve both heard those sentiments…more than once.” His laughter faded and he leaned towards her. “Natasha, you should not defend us. You don’t have the power to do that. I know your helplessness to choose your life frustrates you, but you must work within the limitations of your world if you are to find the way out of it.”
“Is there a way out for someone like me?” Natasha asked, feeling a burning at the back of her eyes that heralded tears, for Vaughn had placed his finger precisely upon the despair that had been growing in her for nearly a year.
“Perhaps,” he said, but there was a gleam in his eye that she knew of old and even though he said no more, Natasha was reassured.
She felt herself relax. “I hope you will point me toward the portal when it appears, Vaughn—you’ve had more practice at this than I.”
“Of course I will. B
oth of us will keep a watchful guard for you.”
Elisa took the cloth from Natasha, replaced it with another chilled pad and squeezed Natasha’s shoulder. “You must consider us as very special friends, Natasha. With us, you are always welcome, whatever the day or hour. In this house, you are free to speak your mind and say exactly what you feel. None of it will be repeated outside these walls and no one will chastise you or think oddly of you for what you say. You must always remember that we understand.”
Natasha gave a smile and felt it tremble. “Truly, I am so glad you stopped by and extended the invitation.”
Elisa and Vaughn shared a smile and Natasha felt a pang of envy. What would it be like to be in love as these two obviously were? She wondered if she would ever find out. A life alone seemed infinitely more attractive than being the wife of a man like Sholto Piggot. She shuddered at the image of sharing a marriage bed with the man.
If only she possessed the strength of character Vaughn and Elisa had! They’d married despite the rumors and scandal it caused.
“We want you to be one of the first to hear our news, too,” Elisa said, turning back to Natasha.
NatashaNatasha looked from Vaughn to Elisa. Both wore wide smiles. “A child?” Natasha asked, and struggled to bring her voice above a whisper. The bearing and birthing of children was something only matrons’ spoke of, usually behind fans and closed doors. Men and maidens never discussed it. A woman heavy with child rarely appeared in public and if circumstances forced her to do so, no one would acknowledge her condition until the happy event had taken place. Then the entire world would be conventionally surprised by the news.
Elisa blushed prettily.
Vaughn grinned. “We are both delighted, as is Raymond. He’s always wanted a little sister.”
Elisa shook her head. “Vaughn insists it shall be a girl.”
Vaughn shrugged and kissed his wife’s cheek. “I will be happy whatever the child may be. But I want a little girl who shares her mother’s fair beauty.”
Elisa rolled her eyes as she sat next to him on the settee.
“Hello, Natasha,” said a low voice with a brogue blurring it.
The damp cloth dropped from Natasha’s suddenly nerveless fingers. Even as she turned to look behind her chair, her heart lurched and seemed to stop for an aching, dizzy moment.
Once, when she had been much smaller, her father had picked her up and thrown her up into the air. He had failed to warn her of what he intended to do and as she flailed about in midair, her heart had seized and her stomach had rolled in a way that was both sickening and exciting at once.
That feeling slammed into her now, produced by the same potent combination—extreme danger and thrilling surprise.
Seth stood at the other door, his hand resting against the handle, as if he hovered between entering and leaving. And perhaps he did. He watched her as the mouse watches the cat, waiting to see what the predator intended to do.
He wore pants and a shirt without collar or cuffs. The white linen was thin and soft from many washings and lay open at the neck. The flesh of his throat rose from the gap, tanned a deep brown that was a startling contrast against the cloth.
Her pulse skittered alarmingly.
In the light of day he showed a different face from the urbane gentleman in evening wear. He had a shadow of a beard and his hair was rumpled as though he’d just woken.
But none of it hid the tension in his shoulders, or the tiredness around his eyes. Seth Harrow had not had an easy time of it since the ball.
All Natasha’s indignation at being surprised by his presence faded as she studied him. While all of London had been dissecting Seth’s past and the scandal that her father had unveiled at the ball, she had selfishly been toting up how he had affected her life. She had never once asked herself how Seth felt about what had happened. Well, she had just glimpsed a small part of the answer.
“Hello, Seth.” She was dismayed to hear her voice tremble.
The hand on the door quickly lifted, palm up. “Ye dinna have to be afraid of me.”
She shook her head. “You misunderstand. You surprised me. I did not think I would ever see you again.”
He came toward her slowly, warily. Even his stride seemed sensual and the animal-like quality reminded her of her womanhood. The black cloth clung to muscled thighs and an impressive bulge at the apex. Last night she had seen it in its glory— huge and clearly defined in his pants.
She swallowed hard and looked away, to see that Elisa was watching her closely.
“It’s glad I am to see you here.” He took her hand in his warm one and lifted it to his lips. The feel of his soft lips against her fingers burned. There was a heat in his silver eyes she recognized from the night of the ball.
He was staring into her eyes and she felt trapped under his gaze, unable to look away. Her heart was thundering against her bodice with an unsteady flutter and the same tremble that had shaken her voice now transmitted its way through her fingers.
He must surely see it! The rush of feelings and thoughts overwhelmed her. She did not know how to begin to sort them out.
For over a day she had been listening to her aunt and mother and her father’s tirades on how dangerous this man standing before her really was, how he would ruin her life, how he had ruined the lives of so many people before her. Yet his touch and the expression in his light eyes seemed to give lie to all of it.
Should she trust her own judgment? Or believe everyone else in her life? She needed time to consider and with Seth standing so close, she could not think at all.
She wrenched her gaze away from Seth and found Vaughn’s sober face. Her own must have been telling, for he came forward and rested his hand on Seth’s shoulder.
The Irishman let her hand drop and spun away, as if he, too, forced himself to it. He turned, looking for a chair, then finally stood at the end of the mantelshelf and propped his head against his elbow, against the shelf.
He’s too uncomfortable to sit, Natasha realized and that brought her a measure of ease. She was not alone in her nervousness. But what was Seth nervous about?
She looked at Vaughn, who had clearly orchestrated this meeting.
“Natasha. Lady Munroe, may I introduce to you Seth Williams, son and heir of Marcus Williams, Earl of Innesford.”
Natasha glanced at Seth. He was standing very still, as if he waited for her reaction.
“Surely, you must know that this is not a surprise to me, Seth. Even if you had not made me believe it the night of the ball, I could scarce ignore your mother’s claim, nor the twittering of every gossip and scandalmonger in London.”
Vaughn continued. “You should know, Natasha, that Seth and I have known each other since we were children.”
“Yet the night before last you asked him if he was Seth Williams and he denied it.” She looked at Seth. “You introduced yourself as Seth Harrow. You lied to all of us.”
He pushed his hand through his hair, the long fingers raking through the waves. She realized, then, why it looked so rumpled. This was not the first time he’d vented his nervousness in that way.
“Natasha, for fifteen years I have been Seth Harrow. Williams was a name I left behind in Ireland—forever, I thought. Your father has changed that now. If he had not spoken, then no one in London would have known of my connection to the Earl of Innesford.”
“But now you claim the name. Why?”
Seth visibly hesitated. She saw him swallow before he spoke, his voice low. “Because of you.”
“Because of me? But why?” There was a roaring in her ears and her legs were suddenly too weak. Even as she demanded the explanation, she saw the shape of it— the incredible, sweet shape of it. He wanted her. Not as a dalliance, or an interlude. He wanted her in a way that society would accept. Abruptly, she fell back into the high-backed chair, all the strength in her legs draining.
“Vaughn, she’s gone white!” she heard Elisa cry.
Natasha saw Seth was a
bout to lunge towards her and held out her hand. “I’m all right,” she said quickly. “Please…don’t. Not right now.”
Seth gripped the edge of the shelf, his knuckles turning white, but he remained where he was. He glanced at Vaughn and Natasha recognized the plea in his expression.
Vaughn brought his hands together. “Let me tell you Seth’s story. Then you can decide what you want to do. Will you let me do that?”
“Of course. I need to know. But first, Elisa…please, may I have some tea? Or water, perhaps?”
Elisa rose and reached for the bell pull and when Gilroy magically appeared, asked him to serve tea.
Vaughn told her, then, the incredible story of Seth’s life—their shared history at Eton School and then Cambridge for a year, before Seth returned to Ireland for one last fateful summer, fifteen years ago.
She listened with total concentration as Vaughn laid out the night he was arrested and the next year and a half as he was tried, sentenced, transported, to finally arrive in Port MacQuarrie.
“They say it’s the worst penal colony in the world,” Natasha remarked.
“They have the right of it,” Seth replied, the first comment he had made.
Vaughn shot him a look, then, and Natasha realized that Vaughn had made Seth agree to let him tell the tale. Perhaps because Vaughn was a more impartial storyteller than Seth may have been, or perhaps because Vaughn knew her a little better and knew what she could tolerate. For Natasha recognized from the awful details Vaughn supplied that there was more he did not speak aloud. One day, she decided, she would have those details from Seth himself. And she would not judge him by them.
But for now she listened and thought of Seth as a young man of nineteen, confused and alone in the world, sent to a foreign land to work off a crime he’d never committed.
“Seven years. It’s so long…” Fifteen years ago, she had been a mere six years old, with ringlets, short skirts, a soiled pinafore and scuffed boots. Her kitten had been her greatest possession and now so much time had passed she could barely remember the kitten’s name or even what had become of it. From the time she had been six, until the year she turned fourteen, Seth had been a convict doing hard labor for his crimes.
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