“Now,” she said hoarsely. “Let it be here and now, where no one can see. I will give you what no woman has ever given you before.”
His sight dimmed. He grabbed her by the shoulders, pushed her in among the shrubbery and bore her to the ground. She sighed, flung her manteau open wide and spread her legs. He undid the buttons of his trousers and crouched over her, panting, teeth bared.
Then he saw the image of Mariah, her lips parted, her breath coming sharp as he caressed her. He saw her innocence, her beauty, all the things that had made it nearly impossible for him to leave her.
He jerked away, awkwardly buttoning his trousers as he did so. He was gone before Lady Westlake had recovered enough to pull her manteau over her half-naked body.
PAMELA WAILED. She made not a sound, but inwardly she was crying out her anger.
By God, he had left her. The bastard had left her lying here alone on the wet grass. No man had ever refused her before. And now her plans were ruined.
Pamela wanted much more than just to see Mariah openly humiliated, her marriage destroyed, her reputation cast into the gutter. She wanted to see Mariah’s love for Cornell crushed, once and for all.
But she had failed. She had failed.
Pamela got up, brushed the grass from her all but ruined manteau and buttoned it to cover her own humiliation. Sinjin would never guess, of course. He was blinded by his feelings for her. But she might still use him to destroy Lady Donnington—and Mr. Ashton Cornell.
Her usual confidence restored, Pamela was walking briskly toward one of the house’s several rear doors when the stranger appeared.
He didn’t come from the house, nor from anywhere on the grounds. He was simply not there one moment and standing before her the next, a gentleman in perfectly fitted evening clothes, a vision with silver-green eyes and hair far more resplendent than anything that might have been called “brown.”
Nonplussed and wary, she tugged her manteau as close as she could and smiled. “How do you do,” she said. “I do not believe we have been introduced.”
“We have not,” he said, a sort of curtness in his voice that didn’t please her. “You are Lady Westlake.”
“And who are you?”
“Someone who believes that you and I can be useful to one another.”
She took a moment to study him more closely. If he had been a guest at Marlborough House, she would have noticed him…as would every other woman in residence.
“I am afraid I must go into the house,” she said. “Perhaps we might talk later, Mr.—”
He caught her arm as she turned, and though his fingers were slender, she might as well have been fighting the grip of a bulldog.
“You must not go just yet, Lady Westlake,” he said in a voice that matched his eyes and breathtakingly glamorous features. “I have a proposition to make to you.”
She had never heard any man speak so bluntly. She almost wished she were capable of blushing.
“Kindly release me, sir,” she said in a freezing voice. “I am not interested in any proposition you could possibly make to me.”
He laughed. “You are indeed attractive—for what you are, Lady Westlake,” he said, “but I have no interest in your body.”
All at once she felt steady on her feet again. He was one of those. She should have known at first glance.
“Then we have even less to discuss,” she said, trying to free her arm.
“You’re wrong, my lady, as you shall discover.” He waved a beringed hand, and suddenly she couldn’t move. Not so much as a finger.
“You see,” the stranger said, “I can force you to do whatever I will. But I require your intelligence and cunning, such as it is.”
He waved his hand again, and Lady Westlake sucked in a breath, nearly fainting as she fought a wave of dizziness. She put her hand to her throat.
“What did you…do to me?”
“A very simple matter for one of my kind.”
“Your kind? What is your kind?”
“That is of little moment. It is enough to say that I know what you desire above all else, and that you may achieve your goals by assisting me in achieving mine.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You witnessed the events in the ballroom tonight.”
“Yes, of course. I—”
“I was the one dancing with Lady Donnington.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE LAUGH DIED on Pamela’s tongue. “You?”
He gave a shallow bow. “Lord Caber, at your service.”
The very name Mariah had given to her invisible dancing partner. A man who didn’t exist.
“No one saw you,” she protested. “How could you—”
The stranger smiled, dazzling enough to make Pamela weak in the knees. “I simply chose to make myself invisible.” He lifted one languorous hand and was gone. Pamela blinked, and he was there again.
“You see,” he said, “I am not really here. I have permitted my spirit to travel to your world. It was my desire tonight that no one else should see me.”
Pamela wished that she dared to simply sit on the path and catch her breath. “What are you?” she whispered.
“As I said,” he said sharply, “that is unimportant.” He made a graceful warding gesture, as if to toss her questions aside. “My spirit can somewhat effect the events of this world, but it has its limitations. Do you desire the man you know as Ashton Cornell?”
She knew a sudden blinding fear that he had seen her with Ash a few moments ago. “Why should you care?”
He directed such a frown at Pamela that she felt faint again. “Must I tell you again that such things are not for you to know?”
“No. I care nothing for Cornell.”
“If you lie to me…”
“I am not lying. I…was with him, but he refused me. And I meant it only to his harm.”
“Then you hate him.”
“I—” A flash of insight interrupted her answer. “You hate him.”
“It is enough that he is your enemy, and that you despise Lady Donnington. This is true, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“Then you shall be my agent. Together, we shall eliminate Lady Donnington as your rival and compel her to serve me.”
“Serve you?”
“Yes.”
She knew then that this was no game. There was something more here that she couldn’t see, something even further beyond her ken than the powers of invisibility or holding a woman paralyzed and silent.
But she didn’t care.
“I know Lady Donnington’s greatest weakness,” Lord Caber said, apparently satisfied with her reaction. “She fears madness above all else, because she believed her own mother to be mad. My purpose tonight was to strengthen that fear.”
A great deal began to make sense to her. “You intended others to believe the same?”
He smiled. “I was not mistaken in you, mortal.” His smile vanished. “I have but one purpose here—to drive away all of Lady Donnington’s friends and allies. I have already laid the groundwork. You will take the next step by compelling the people of this house to turn their backs on her. She is to be isolated in every way, so that there is only one to whom she can go for comfort.”
“Who?”
“Cornell.”
“She has already gone to him. She refused his advances.”
“And that is exactly what I wish. The one thing that must not happen is that she and Cornell should lie together.”
“If they are to be driven into one another’s company…”
“You must discourage her from breaking her vows to her husband.”
“How?”
“I have no interest in your methods. These things must be done quickly. In recompense…” He opened his hand, and diamonds glittered in his palm. Pamela almost reached for them.
“No,” she said. “It is not enough.”
“I warn you…”
“I want Donnington.”
&n
bsp; He laughed. “Is that all?” The diamonds disappeared. “If you please me, Lady Westlake, you shall have what you desire.”
But how can I trust you? Pamela asked herself, not daring to speak aloud. How can you guarantee my prize?
Caber saw through her. “I am not one to break my word,” he said. “Even to mortals. You may have your Donnington when he returns.”
When he returns. She sighed and closed her eyes. All would be well. All would be very well.
“We are agreed?” Caber asked.
There was no shaking of hands, no further explanation. Caber simply vanished as he had come, leaving Pamela to marvel at what she had just experienced.
Drive Mariah to Ash, but keep them from consummating their passion. Pamela’s thoughts hummed with satisfaction. What she had in mind would surely achieve her goal, and on two levels: advancing her own revenge, and carrying out Caber’s plan.
Mariah was torn between her antiquated notions of fidelity and her repressed desires. But she and Cornell would never complete the act they had begun. Pamela would do it for them, creating such disgrace for Mariah that she wouldn’t dare attempt another liaison. And when Pamela was finished, even the most liberal of the Marlborough House Set would be compelled to turn their backs on the couple who had exposed their own decadent sins.
VIVIAN NOTED THE address on the letter and immediately took it into her private salon. It was the first real news she’d received from Lady Westlake since the younger woman had followed Mariah and Cornell to Marlborough House, and as Vivian read eagerly, she began to believe that there was hope at last.
Mariah was mad. Or so some were saying. The information was quite extraordinary and entirely unexpected; there seemed little basis for the accusation given the girl’s odd but harmless behavior in the ballroom, hardly more peculiar than the eccentricities of many an English peer. Yet certain members of the easily bored Marlborough House Set seemed to delight in vindictive gossip, especially when the victim was a pretty American who had not yet earned the right to be called one of their own.
The talk would die, of course, if Mariah didn’t repeat the deed or commit another like it. But Pamela had already indicated that she would do her best to keep the rumors alive, if only Vivian would play her part.
Vivian looked up from the letter, blind to the sunlight streaming across the polished surface of her writing desk. Her part was to locate and provide the evidence and basis for Mariah’s apparent “defect,” anything that might lend credence to the speculation about the girl.
She had already written to certain contacts in America, hoping to learn more about Mr. Ashton Cornell. As yet she had received no reply. But in this case, she would be inquiring about a specific family well established in New York. Even though she might receive little cooperation from Mr. Marron himself, there would surely be other relations or acquaintances available to answer her questions—especially for a generous remuneration.
Vivian scanned the letter once again, flexing her fingers gingerly as she turned the sheet over. It was odd that Donnington had never indicated that he knew of Mrs. Marron’s mental condition, but if things were as Pamela had claimed, Vivian could see nothing but advantage to herself in exposing Mariah’s dubious background. Especially since the girl was terrified of going mad like her mother.
Leverage. Vivian had sought it, and now it was in her hands. Rather than have her family’s history of madness confirmed, Mariah might agree to an annulment by admitting that she had never intended to consummate her marriage to the earl.
If not, she could always be compelled to admit that she had been too mentally incompetent to consent to the marriage. There would be ways to make certain that the world believed that to be the unfortunate truth of the matter.
Vivian carefully folded the letter, placed it in her desk and locked the drawer. This was all speculation. Time alone would tell how much benefit she could glean from this new information. All she need do was continue to be patient, and Mariah—poor, sad girl—would take a tumble from which she would never recover.
And if Vivian could take “Mr. Cornell” down with her, so much the better.
“I KNOW YOU WERE with him.”
Sinjin had never felt the slightest desire to strike a woman, but Pamela’s expression in the face of his accusation made him feel tempted. No shame, no denial—only a calm, self-satisfied air, as if they had been discussing her growing popularity with the prince and his Set. She didn’t even ask him how he’d come to know of the liaison.
“Deny it,” he said hoarsely, ready to take her shoulders and give her a good hard shake. “Deny that you went to find Ash in the garden, and that he had you right there.”
She sighed. “I do not deny that I went to find him,” she said. “With excellent reason. But I cannot tell you the rest as long as you are so irrational.”
“Irrational?” He lowered his voice, remembering that his room was not nearly as private a venue as he would wish. “Irrational to find that you have been unfaithful to me—and with Cornell?”
“You assume that I was unfaithful. How very gallant of you,” she said sarcastically.
He was only momentarily silenced. “Explain yourself,” he said grimly, “or I shall toss you out of my bed in such a way that everyone in this house will know.”
“How dare you?” She approached him with her hand half raised, as if she had nurtured the same thoughts as he. “How dare you think you can possess me, when you have long been known for your many assignations?”
“That is different. I—”
“It is no different.” She retreated again and stood watching him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “My purpose was for the greater good…and I did not seduce him.”
Her words were so implausible that they stopped Sinjin cold. “What are you trying to say?” he demanded.
“I was merely attempting to expose Cornell for what he is—a fraud and a swindler. He was angry, and he attempted to take advantage of me.”
He seized her arm. “Did he hurt you, Pamela?”
“He did not, but—”
“Did he force himself on you?”
Her expression became almost severe. “Is that prospect so unbelievable? Have you never suspected that he is both more and less than he seems? You have accepted him as kin, an American cousin worthy of your family name. But have you ever considered that his purpose in coming to England might be less than honorable?”
Sinjin was by no means prepared to lay aside his suspicion of Pamela’s story. He knew that she was completely unaware of Ash’s imprisonment.
“In what way is Cornell less than honorable?” he asked.
“Aside from his behavior toward me? He may be a relation to your family—his appearance would seem to confirm such an assumption. But what if he were after the Donnington fortune?”
In spite of himself, Sinjin laughed. “Your supposition is ridiculous. He has no claim on the fortune. If Donnington were to—” He looked away. “I am the next in line. Even if Cornell assumed that he was entitled to some part of our inheritance—”
“He is American. Perhaps he is unaware of our laws. Or perhaps he simply wished to get into the dowager’s good graces—and yours—in hopes of persuading you to part with some small portion of the family’s money.”
The idea was preposterous. “And you thought that by simply demanding the truth from him that you would get him to confess to this…improbable scheme?”
“I am not unattractive. Men have confessed their sins to me before.”
“But you admit that your plan did not succeed.”
“No. He is too obsessed with that little tart, Mariah.”
“You call her a tart? You?”
She worked her arm free. “Since I believe her to be in league with Cornell, ‘tart’ seems rather mild.”
“Mariah ‘in league’ with Cornell? Have you gone mad?”
“I know they were…acquainted long before Cornell introduced himself to the dowager. That i
s obvious to anyone with eyes to see. Why, then, should she have kept his presence a secret?”
“She didn’t. She…” He stopped, aware that he was on the verge of telling Pamela everything about Mariah’s discovery of Ash. “I know that there was no conspiracy of the sort you suggest.”
“How do you know?”
“I am not in a position to share confidences.”
“Confidences you do not question?”
“I know Lady Donnington.”
“Do you know that she and Cornell believe that they love each other?”
Sinjin swallowed his immediate denial. Hadn’t he seen the signs, even from the very beginning? Hadn’t he warned Mariah not to allow her sympathy to get the better of her? And things had changed immeasurably since Ash had recovered his memories, or at least the memories he professed to recall.
Why shouldn’t Mariah turn to the man who had become such an intimate companion when her husband had all but abandoned her?
Even if that were so, Mariah could not have been involved in any sort of swindle. What reason could she possibly have for coveting her husband’s money when she possessed her own independent fortune?
And yet, what if Ash’s behavior—his claims of having been imprisoned by Donnington, everything he had done—had been a highly ingenious act? What if he had deceived Mariah, and Sinjin, as well?
No. There was no truth to any of it. But inwardly, Sinjin found that a tiny sliver of doubt had entered his brain.
He shook his head. “You are deceived, Pamela,” he said.
“Am I?” She shrugged. “Believe what you wish, then.”
“I will. And you will have nothing more to do with Cornell.”
“You ought to be grateful that I care so much for your well-being”
With a snort of disgust, Sinjin walked away. But he was far from sanguine. If she’d been telling the truth, if Cornell had abused her in any way…
He gritted his teeth and swung about to confront Pamela once more. But she had gone, leaving him with the frustrated need to mark her as his in a way she would never forget.
By God. He would have begged her, here and now, had she not left. That was how low he had sunk. And he had no desire to rise to the surface again.
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