“One hears things in our profession,” Lily said softly, apologetically. “I am sorry, Kate.”
“Maggie is ill,” Catherine said defiantly. “She would not behave so if she were well.”
“She is sick with laudanum,” Sarah Desmond said harshly. “So is that blackguard, Withers, with whom your father is closer than two thieves. He is an opium eater.”
Catherine stared, distracted for a moment from her own affairs. “Is he? But surely it could be he who gave laudanum to Maggie?”
The question fell into an awkward silence. She could tell that both Lily and Sarah Desmond thought that that was exactly what had happened.
Sarah got to her feet. “I will leave you to talk, Lily.” She checked the elegant little clock on the mantel. “Do not forget that Faulkner may call—”
Catherine saw Lily blush. “I won’t.”
Sarah nodded to Catherine. “I like you, Catherine Fenton, God help me. But I don’t want debutantes in my house. Gives the place a bad name.” She smiled suddenly. “Good luck.”
She went out and closed the door softly behind her. Catherine looked at Lily.
“I like her, too.”
Lily smiled. “She has been more than good to me. She took me in when no one else would help me.”
Catherine nodded. “Thank you for seeing me,” she said.
Lily sighed. “You should not have come here, Kate. If anyone finds out, you will be ruined.”
Catherine gave a laugh that was a half sob. “After tonight, Lily—”
“Do not say that.” Lily’s hand tightened on hers. “Tell me what happened.”
Catherine told her. She explained about Maggie’s trip to Crockford’s and how Ben had kissed her in the carriage on the way home, and about the miniature, and how she had attended the ball that night, and she only stumbled when she came to relate what had happened with Ben after his guests had left.
“You do not need to tell me about that, Kate,” Lily said. “I understand. Truly I do understand how painful it can be to believe oneself in love and then discover…” She broke off and Catherine remembered the painful shock of Lily’s own betrayal at the hands of a man who had sworn he loved her and then abandoned her publicly when she had taken the scandalous step of leaving her husband for him.
“I am not in love with him,” Catherine said. “I barely know him.” But her heart betrayed her even as she spoke.
Lily looked at her. “Love can happen in a year or an instant, Kate. There are no rules.”
Catherine shook her head stubbornly. “I made a mistake, Lily. I thought that what I felt was more important than it really was.” She looked up. “I daresay I am not the first young lady to…to lose her heart to Ben Hawksmoor.”
“No,” Lily said, with some of Sarah Desmond’s dryness, “but you are probably the first to lose her virginity to him. Lord Hawksmoor does not have any interest in debutantes.”
“He took me out of revenge,” Catherine said bleakly. “At first I thought it was because he believed me to be a courtesan, but he told me he knew who I was tonight.” She knitted her fingers together hard to still their shaking.
Lily was looking appalled. “He knew you were a virgin but he despoiled you anyway? The actions of a blackguard!”
“No,” Catherine said. “It is worse than that. He believed that I was in league with Withers against him, that we had planned the whole thing together. He seduced me to spite Withers, I think.”
Lily was white. “Kate!”
“I know,” Catherine said. “I do not know why he should think it of me but that is what he said.”
Lily put her hand over Catherine’s closely clasped ones.
“I am so sorry, so sorry that you had to be disillusioned in this way.”
Catherine was silent. Everything she had ever wanted had been offered to her on a plate in her life. Everything except warmth and love, and when she had reached out for those, she had made a dreadful mistake.
“Everything that a debutante is taught,” she said slowly, “suggests that to give oneself to a man out of wedlock is the most disgraceful of crimes. If people knew what I have done I would be ruined.”
Lily’s serene face set in hard lines. “That is true, Kate. Those are society’s rules.”
“And yet,” Catherine pursued, “once one is married and—preferably—has provided the heir, one is free to do as one pleases.”
“Also true,” Lily said. She was smiling slightly now. “Unless one breaks the rules again—as I did.”
“Yes,” Catherine said. She looked at her friend. “And yet you are the same person that you were before, Lily. So am I. I regret what I did but I am not a lesser person because of it. Neither are you.”
Lily gripped her hand and Catherine suddenly saw that her friend’s eyes were brilliant with tears. “You are very strong and very wise, Kate,” Lily said. “It has taken me months to see that I should not let the opinion of others diminish me.” She looked around. “Yet the reality is that because of the opinion of the world, I am now obliged to earn my living as a courtesan, which—” she looked away “—is not a profession that suits me.” She blushed. “There are those who are temperamentally suited to such a life, those such as Lady Paris de Moine, perhaps, who can profit from it. But I did not want this.”
A wave of fury took Catherine unawares, breaking through the cold misery that had trapped her since she had fled from Ben’s room. Society had treated Lily badly. She had no intention of allowing it to do the same to her.
“No,” she said. “You wanted a home and a family and someone who cared for you. Not so much to ask.”
“Do not allow it to happen to you, Kate,” Lily said, and suddenly Catherine saw the lines of fatigue deep in her face. “Put this behind you. Marry Withers—”
“Well, I certainly won’t do that,” Catherine said, “since that would be worse than anything. I am lucky.” She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice. “I am blessed with fortune and therefore have no need to marry. And I shall try to forget.” She stopped, thinking that perhaps for all her life she would be haunted, not by a sense of shame at what she had done, but by the ghost of what she had wanted, what might have been. But it was foolish to think on that. Ben Hawksmoor had never been hers. He could not give her the warmth and the love that she craved. Their tragedy was that they had both thoroughly misunderstood what the other had wanted, she looking for love in the wrong place and he thinking she was someone very different from the real Catherine Fenton.
There was a silence. “Well,” Lily said, “whatever the case, we must decide what to do now. You should go home, Kate, and try to put this behind you if you can. I will see you soon.”
The bell jangled with an earsplitting peal, making them both jump. There was the sound of the front door opening followed by a sudden outburst of voices in the hall—Connor’s threatening, Sarah Desmond’s smooth and placating, then masculine tones that Catherine recognized all too well. They were low and hard and menacing.
“I know she is here, madam, so do not trouble yourself to deny it.”
“Lord Hawksmoor!” Lily whispered.
Catherine looked around. Her first instinct was to hide, her second to climb out of the window and run away. But it would not serve. Money had bought her entry to Mrs. Desmond’s House of Enchantment. The same inducement would no doubt buy Ben Hawksmoor all of her secrets. As he had said earlier, everything—almost everything—had a price.
She smoothed her skirts down in a nervous gesture, threw Lily a smile and walked across to the door, opening it quickly before her nerve failed her.
Out in the hall, Ben Hawksmoor was adjusting the set of his jacket and smoothing his cuffs. Catherine could see Connor sprawled on the marble floor behind him, knocked out cold. Sarah Desmond was looking both impressed and slightly put out by this high-handed behavior. Ben turned slowly and his eyes met Catherine’s. She felt the heat and anger in his gaze like a physical touch.
“Lord
Hawksmoor,” she said, and she was proud of the steadiness of her voice. “I did not expect you to seek me here.”
Sarah Desmond took one look at her face and stepped between the two of them.
“Lord Hawksmoor,” she said, “we are naturally delighted to have the pleasure of your custom tonight, but what can I interest you in?”
There was a dark and dangerous look in Ben Hawksmoor’s eyes. They pinned Catherine to the spot. “There is only one thing of interest to me in this house, madam.” He put a hand into his pocket and withdrew a pile of guineas.
“An hour of your time,” he said, directly to Catherine. “I want to talk to you now.”
THE DOOR OF THE DRAWING ROOM was firmly shut behind them but when Ben turned the key in the lock, Catherine was moved to protest.
“My lord, I should be more comfortable were we not imprisoned together.”
Ben shot her a look. Very deliberately he placed the key on the cherry table and beside it, the pile of gold coins. “I should not wish you to feel constrained, Miss Fenton. The key is here and you may leave at any time.” He drove his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I would ask that you stay a little and speak with me.”
“Because you have paid for my time,” Catherine said coldly.
He gave her another look, dark and unreadable. “Because I ask it, Miss Fenton.”
Catherine nodded slightly. “Very well. But how did you find me?” She swallowed convulsively. “Oh, I remember—the butler. He told you…”
Ben shrugged. “Price heard you give directions to the hackney and I remembered that Miss St. Clare was your friend. I confess that it surprised me, though. You are no whore, are you, Catherine, no matter what you did tonight?”
Catherine felt cold at his words. She wrapped her arms about herself for comfort. What had she expected from him—a declaration of love? She had already realized that the deep emotions that had moved her had had no similar effect on him. He had wanted her, had shown her a man’s lust, and that was all. She was the one who had made the mistake here.
“Lily and I were at school together,” she said colorlessly. “I do not forget my friends, no matter what befalls them.”
Their eyes met but he said nothing.
“Why did you come?” she asked. It seemed difficult to force the words out when he was standing watching her with that pitiless gaze. Never had the gulf between them seemed so wide.
“I came because I wanted some answers,” Ben said. He held out the silver miniature in his palm. “I want to know where you obtained this, and why you thought it necessary to bring it back to my house.”
Catherine felt a wave of sickness sweep over her, part fear, part disillusion. He had found the miniature already. A tiny part of her heart had hoped he might have sought her out for herself alone. Would she never learn? She had stumbled into a game where the rules were far more sophisticated than she could ever have imagined. It was no wonder that she had got hurt. She allowed the last of her hopes to be extinguished. Even if he accepted that she had no part in Withers’s schemes, he still did not care for her. In his eyes she was a foolish debutante who had played with fire and been burned as a result. But he did care about the theft of the miniature and what was behind it.
“I cannot tell you that,” she said. She knew it would anger him but she thought it was better than to prevaricate.
Ben’s hazel eyes narrowed on her face. “You are protecting someone.”
Catherine did not reply. Her heart was tripping with quick, light strokes. He was not stupid. He would guess soon enough, put the evidence together, remember seeing her with Maggie…
He came across and sat beside her on the sofa. “Listen to me, Catherine—”
Her eyes flashed at his use of her name and she saw him smile, that wicked smile that had been the undoing of her foolish heart. “I beg your pardon. Miss Fenton. Please listen to me.”
Catherine set her jaw. “Pray continue, my lord.”
Ben shifted. “Very well, then. If you do not tell me the truth, Miss Fenton, I shall have you arrested for theft.”
The brutality of it took her breath away. Her eyes flew to his face. “You would not!”
He shrugged. “I need to know who gave you the miniature and why. So tell me.”
Catherine pressed her fingers together to stop them from shaking. She felt sick and giddy with fear. She looked up and saw that he was watching her implacably.
“You did not take it yourself,” he said.
“No.” The first admission felt like a step on a slippery downward path.
Ben inclined his head. “When we met at Ned Clarencieux’s hanging you told me that you had met him before. But you were not the one who was his mistress, were you, Catherine? Who are you protecting?”
His perception was frightening. He had deduced at once that one of Clarencieux’s mistresses had taken the miniature as a memento. Catherine tried not to panic.
“I…” Her voice was a whisper. “I did it for a friend….”
Ben’s expression eased to have his suspicions confirmed. “How unconscionably naive of you to be so helpful. I cannot conceive why anyone would go to all that trouble for someone else.”
“No,” Catherine said. “I do not suppose that you could.”
Ben frowned. “So you have a friend who was Ned’s lover.”
Catherine trembled. “I…Yes. Yes, I do.”
“What is her name?”
Catherine straightened. That night at Crockford’s he had seen her with Maggie. If he remembered for one moment…
“I will not tell you that,” she said. “She swore me to secrecy.”
Ben shook his head. “Either you are lying to me and this is another of Withers’s schemes, or you are too kind for your own good. Such generosity of spirit is only for fools.”
Catherine thought of the fragility of her family. She had already fought so hard to protect those she cared for. “I would expect a man of your stamp to care for nothing but himself,” she said. “You would not understand.”
She saw Ben’s lips tighten into a thin line. “Tonight you came to my house solely to put the miniature back on behalf of your friend.”
Catherine raised her chin sharply. This was the moment to restore some of her lost pride. “Solely for that,” she said. “Nothing else, my lord.”
There was some expression in his eyes that she could not read and it was gone before she had time to be certain of it, but for a moment it had looked like pain.
“I see,” he said. “And what followed—”
“Was a mistake,” Catherine said, “as I previously mentioned.”
“A rather large one,” Ben said, “for a virginal young lady.” His hands bit into her shoulders suddenly. “Why, Catherine?”
Catherine stared into his face for what seemed an age. It was the first time that she was seeing the man himself rather than the handsome adventurer she had longed for. But although she could see him now without illusion or pretense, it made little difference to her feelings and with a pang of despair she realized that maybe it never would. There was something about this man that drew her. She knew that whatever happened to her in the future, for all her life, memories of him would come to her, unbidden, catching her unawares, making other men appear dull in comparison. But she had to learn to live. She could not nurse a broken heart forever. She had to teach herself to forget and she had to start now.
“I went too far,” she said honestly. “I did not do it deliberately. I was misled by my feelings and I was not experienced enough to know how or when to stop.”
Nor did I want to. I thought I loved you…. Her perfidious heart whispered the words but she kept them locked up within.
Their eyes held and he was the first to look away. “I am sorry,” he said.
Catherine thought he had probably never said that to a woman before, but as his hands fell from her shoulders, she saw the pity in his face, and felt glad that she had at least withheld a small part of the t
ruth from him. He did not know that she thought she had loved him—and he would never know.
“I cannot tell you whom I am protecting,” she said again. “I promised.”
His expression was hard again. “Do you think I cannot find out?” Ben got to his feet and strode over to the cherry table where the guineas gleamed dully in the firelight. He picked them up then stacked them again. The coins clinked together.
“There are any number of people in this house who would sell me that information,” he said softly. He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I suppose you have told your friend Lily the whole story? And Sarah Desmond?” He saw how her face paled, and nodded. “I thought you would do. You are too trusting.”
“Lily would never betray me,” Catherine said defiantly.
“But Sarah would if the price was right.” Ben smiled, a parody of a smile. “Or I could simply save time and take you to Bow Street and have done with it.”
Catherine jumped up. “You would not dare! That would be abduction!”
He shrugged carelessly. “Abduction, seduction…You have learned little of me if you think I would stop at either.”
Catherine thought of the prone body of Connor sprawled untidily in Sarah Desmond’s hallway. Physically it would be easy enough for him to do but she did not believe him. Despite all he had said and all he had done, she did not believe that he would lay violent hands on her. He was not like Withers, who had thought nothing of hitting her in his fury. Ben had seduced her and broken her heart but he had never physically hurt her.
“I won’t tell you,” she repeated stubbornly.
He turned on her with barely repressed fury. “You do not understand! This is important. You said that you were not implicated in Withers’s plans.”
Catherine drew herself up. “I am not. I detest the man and I cannot imagine why you would believe it of me!”
Something shifted in Ben’s face. Regret again? She could not bear for him to pity her.
“I was misinformed,” he said.
“How unfortunate for you,” Catherine said coldly. “And even more so for me.”
Lord of Scandal Page 14