A Lady of Notoriety (The Masquerade Club) (15 page)

She pushed against his chest. ‘No. Please let me go, Hugh!’

Her touch inflamed him. His arms encircled her and pressed her against him. She struggled only for a moment before melting against him. ‘Hugh. Hugh.’

They remained in an embrace, clinging to each other as if clinging to a cliff. His arms slid down her back and he ground her against him, where he was instantly hard for her. He found her lips, demanding a taste of her, a taste for which he’d felt starved since she’d left him. His kiss was urgent and angry and full of need.

She gasped beneath this onslaught, but met him with matched intensity. Her hands cupped his face, holding him in the kiss as urgent sounds came from deep in her throat.

He wanted no barriers between them. No secrets. No deceptions. No cloth.

He reached up and pulled off her mask.

She let out a cry and pushed him away. He stared at her, his body still throbbing with desire for her, his breath still coming fast. The ache inside him shattered like shards of glass, slicing him to pieces.

He knew her! By God, he knew her!

He spat out her name. ‘Lady Faville.’

There was no mistaking her. Smooth, alabaster skin with a natural blush to her cheeks. Full mouth. Huge blue eyes fringed with long dark lashes. Hair the colour of spun gold. Tantalising curves. Anyone in London would know her. She knew he’d know her.

Could her deception be any crueller? This was a thousand times worse than being played for a fool. She’d known the connection between them from the start.

How had she dared hide her identity from him, knowing all the while it would matter to him? His mortification at her hands was complete.

Blast! Now even the memory of their time together was tainted. He could not even cling to a delusion that being with him had meant anything to her. He lost her all over again.

This time he lost the illusion of her.

* * *

Daphne felt tears sting her eyes and she ached with anguish. ‘I told you. I told you it would be better to leave my mask in place.’

The mask was still in his hand. She snatched it away, but did not attempt to put it back on. What was the use now?

‘All this while.’ He laughed drily. ‘Lady Faville.’ He said her name like a curse.

She waved a hand and put more space between them. ‘I comprehend. I was forbidden to come here. I will not come again.’

He continued to glare at her.

She lifted her chin. ‘I assure you I will not burn this place down, if that is your fear. In fact, I will leave now so you will know I can do no harm.’ She started for the door.

He seized her arm. ‘You are not leaving yet. Do no harm, you say.’ His face was stiff with anger. ‘You have already done harm—more than enough.’ He tightened his grip. ‘You are not leaving until you give me an explanation.’

His grip hurt, but she’d never let that show. ‘Is it not obvious, Hugh?’

‘Not to me.’ He released her, but his gaze pinned her in place. ‘Was this a new trick to play on my family? Some kind of revenge on Xavier?’

‘Neither.’ She collapsed into a nearby chair, trying to resist the impulse to cover her face. It was too late for that now. ‘I have no defence, Hugh. I deceived you terribly and I should never have come here. It was just another foolish whim.’

He planted himself in front of her, looking even more imposing than when she’d been standing. ‘Foolish whim? You spent two weeks pretending to be someone else, when you knew all along I would know you. You shared my bed, knowing! How am I to feel learning who you are now?’

‘It was a terrible thing to do to you.’ What else could she say?

Her heart was breaking. Rather, it was being slashed to shreds by the dagger that had taken up residence there. She rose from the chair, but he did not back away. He stood too close to her, assaulting her with the memory of his arms around her, his body flush against hers.

And now he despised her, as she always knew he would.

‘I will go now,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I promise I will not return.’

She took a step, but he seized her arm again. ‘You promise? Have you not proved the quality of your promises?’

She was reasonably certain that she had never promised him anything, but what good would it do to argue that point with him? ‘It does not matter if you believe me or not. Even if I desired to return, you would recognise me, obviously, so I would be foolish to attempt it, would I not?’

He leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear, ‘You probably knew I would recognise you this time.’

But she hadn’t. It had never occurred to her that he could tell who she was by any other means but sight.

She stepped back. ‘I was fully masked. At worst someone might have guessed Lady Faville had returned, but you never saw Mrs Asher. I never imagined you would know it was me.’

His eyes bore into her; their gleam heightened her senses. ‘I knew you in other ways, Daphne.’ He blinked and his eyes grew hard again. ‘It is Daphne, is it not, Lady Faville? Or was that a lie, too?’

She cleared her throat. ‘I was Daphne Asher before I was Lady Faville.’

He smirked. ‘Oh, just a little lie, then.’

Or a very childish desire to be mere Daphne Asher again. ‘Yes. A little lie.’

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed twice, startling them both.

Two o’clock. ‘I must leave, Hugh. My carriage is coming to pick me up.’

He stepped back. She managed to walk to the door even though her feet felt gelatinous. She could not help but glance back for one last look at him. He stood with arms akimbo, glaring at her. She swallowed the tears that finally fell from her eyes as she reached the door and opened it. Once in the hallway, she stopped to tie the mask onto her face again. Her hair and clothing were mussed, but she did not care. For most people here, she was merely a masked lady come to gamble, and if anyone else guessed who she was, they’d never know she’d briefly been Daphne Asher again.

She descended the stairs, where Lord Sanvers lingered on the landing like a hunter waiting for his prey. Must she deal with him again?

‘What the devil was that all about?’ he asked, his voice amused. Likely he thought it a trifle.

To her it was like a mountain falling on top of her. ‘Nothing for you to know, sir.’

She passed by without looking at him and continued to the hall.

Carter waited for her there. He did not ask her any questions. ‘I will cash in your counters, m’lady.’

‘Thank you, Carter.’ She fished in her reticule for the counters and handed them to him.

The hall servant—Cummings—stood nearby.

‘Would you please bring us our things?’ she asked him.

He nodded and disappeared into the cloakroom. Daphne stared vacantly at the door. All she wanted was to leave this house. There would be plenty of time for regret later. Now she could add coming here, revealing herself to Hugh, to her long list of regrets.

She heard Cummings come back and turned, ready to take her cloak from his arm.

Hugh descended the stairs. She’d not expected him to follow her.

‘I’ll help the lady with her cloak, Cummings,’ he said. He must wish to make certain she truly left the premises; it was the only explanation.

Cummings handed him her cloak and he walked over to her. She endured the bittersweet sensation of Hugh’s hands upon her shoulders as he draped the cloak around her.

‘Who escorted you?’ he asked her, his voice low enough so only she could hear. ‘No other men, indeed. Another lie, I suppose?’

She did not turn. ‘It was Carter.’

He released a surprised breath.

Carter, still masked, emerged from the cashier’s office and took a step back when he spied Hugh standing next to her. Bless Carter; he did nothing more to betray his identity. He handed her a purse filled with coin.

‘We will settle it later,’ she told him.

Carter nodded.

Hugh approached him, a sceptical look on his handsome, angry face. ‘Carter?’

Carter nodded. ‘Sir.’

‘We must go,’ Daphne said. ‘The carriage...’ The least she could do was spare Carter from being interrogated by Hugh as he’d interrogated her.

Cummings handed Carter his hat and gloves. He put them on and walked to the door, opening it for Daphne. To her dismay, Hugh took her arm and walked out the door with her. He stood with them on the pavement where the carriage was to pick them up. Carter stepped a few paces away, giving Daphne privacy she did not want.

‘I suppose it is Smith coming to pick you up,’ Hugh remarked. ‘Assuming your servants were not using fictitious names, as well.’

‘All of the names were real,’ she retorted. ‘Including mine.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘Why are you out here, Hugh? To make certain I leave as I said I would?’

‘Perhaps I find it difficult to be certain of anything you say.’

She lifted a shoulder. ‘Of course. I cannot blame you for that.’ It was the consequence of not telling the truth. Trust once betrayed was difficult to earn back, if even possible to earn back.

They stood in silence for what seemed an eternity to Daphne, but must have only been a few minutes. Smith finally drove up in the carriage. He warily nodded to Hugh.

‘Smith.’ Hugh nodded back.

Carter hurried over to open the carriage door and let down the steps. He waited for Daphne.

‘Goodnight, Hugh,’ Daphne murmured.

By the rushlight of the doorway, he looked very handsome, very mysterious. Very angry. She stifled a sob. She’d wanted one more look at him. This would certainly be the last one.

Hugh walked with her to the carriage door and helped her climb inside, but said nothing. He nodded to Carter, who entered the carriage after her.

When Smith pulled away, Daphne turned around to get the very last glimpse of Hugh, still framed in the light, now no more than a silhouette.

Carter sat opposite her in the rear-facing seat, taking off his mask immediately, although he kept silent and left her to her thoughts. Dear, dear Carter. His intent was to be kind, she was certain, but at this moment, she felt too much agony to be left alone. She needed a friend, even if he was her servant.

‘He recognised me, Carter,’ she said. ‘He heard me speak and he recognised me.’

‘So I gathered, m’lady.’

‘It never occurred to me that he could recognise me by my voice. I never intended to be so close to him.’ She reached behind her head and untied her mask. ‘He was so angry.’

‘I am sorry, m’lady.’ Carter sounded genuinely sympathetic.

‘I should never have come.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘We should have stayed in Vadley.’

‘It is done now,’ he said. ‘Some good will come of it, you will see.’

She glanced at him in surprise. Such words might have come from the mouth of the abbess.

She smiled. ‘Thank you, Carter. You comfort me.’ She felt the coin purse in her lap. ‘I won a little. Did you?’

The corner of his mouth turned up. ‘I did all right.’

‘You are no stranger to cards, are you, Carter?’ She lifted the purse.

He frowned. ‘I hope that does not distress you, m’lady.’

‘Not at all,’ she said. Perhaps someday she would ask him more about that. Might it have had something to do with finding him penniless and jobless in Fahr? ‘I am glad you won.’

Perhaps that was the only good that was meant to come out of this night.

Chapter Fifteen

H
ugh watched Daphne’s carriage until it disappeared around the corner of St James’s Street. His insides were churning with rage and confusion. Why had she come here?

She’d given him no answers. He knew little more than the day she’d left him. He knew only that she was Lady Faville and that she had pretended to be someone else. But why? Why deceive him?

He’d known Lady Faville only to nod a greeting to. He’d seen her a few times at the Masquerade Club in the days she’d been pursuing Xavier. That very pursuit had prevented Hugh from joining the ranks of her many admirers. She’d wanted Xavier and had no concern for whom she hurt in the process. He’d learned later it had been his sister who was hurt.

And that final act. Attempting to burn down the club. What would have happened to his family if she’d succeeded? The Westleighs would have drowned in the River Tick, that was what.

Hugh shook his head. He’d been staring at an empty street. She was gone and he did believe she would not be back.

But why had she come? Apparently not to speak to him. To see the Masquerade Club again? It made no sense.

He walked back to the gaming house door.

Why, she might have been in London all this time without him knowing. Had he read anything about Lady Faville being in town? He could not remember, but she might have been mentioned a hundred times. He rarely read that part of the newspaper.

Forget this. Forget
her
.

He opened the door and re-entered the hall. Cummings stood there, as if at attention. He’d been in Rhys’s regiment, Hugh recalled, not that he talked of it. Cummings rarely talked at all.

Cummings’s brows rose. ‘Lady Faville?’

Hugh was surprised the man guessed. ‘Yes.’

‘Thought so,’ Cummings said. ‘Needed a second look.’

In his month managing the Masquerade Club, Hugh had become pretty good at guessing the identities of the masked patrons. He was nothing to Cummings and MacEvoy, though. Those two knew everyone. They also could spy a card shark within a couple of minutes.

‘Well.’ Hugh blew out a breath. ‘She won’t be back.’

Cummings’s brows rose again.

Let him be sceptical. Hugh knew she would not be back.

He headed for the game room.
Forget her,
he told himself again. It was time to perform his duties.

* * *

Daphne sat at her dressing table already dressed for bed. All that waited was Monette to remove the pins from her hair and brush it smooth so she could put it in a plait. At the moment Daphne despised looking at her own reflection, but she could not expect Monette to understand that. So she sat in front of the glass as she did every night. This dressing table was her most ornate, with two side mirrors and dozens of compartments for her creams and tints and hairpins and combs. And her rosewater scent.

‘Was he really very angry at you?’ Monette asked as she pulled out pins.

‘I knew he would be.’ The pain of it shot through her again. ‘I knew he would be angry to discover I was Lady Faville.’

Monette untwisted a coil of hair. ‘That is why you did not tell him before, is it not?’

‘Yes.’ She’d been correct that he would both despise her for being Lady Faville and for not telling him who she was. There was no winning. She’d made him pay a high price for those glorious two weeks.

Monette took out the last pin and Daphne’s blonde hair tumbled to her shoulders. She glanced at Monette in the mirror. The maid’s lips were pursed and her brows knitted.

‘Monette, these are my troubles, not yours. Do not let it distress you.’ Daphne had enough on her conscience already.

‘It is not that, m’lady.’ Monette brushed her hair. ‘I mean. I am distressed for you. I do not want you to be unhappy, but—’ She clamped her lips shut and brushed with more vigour.

‘But what, Monette?’ Daphne asked.

It took several strokes of the brush before Monette answered her. ‘It is just that— Are we returning to Vadley now?’

Daphne understood. ‘You are worried that I will order us all back to Vadley as quickly as I sent us to London.’

Monette nodded.

Daphne continued, ‘And you are worried that Toller will send a letter here and that we will miss it.’

Monette stared at Daphne’s image in the glass and nodded again.

There was nothing more Daphne wished to do than run back to Vadley and make herself busy again. She did not care if it took her entire fortune, she wanted to do so many good works that she would not have a moment to think about herself.

Or about Hugh.

She reached back and squeezed Monette’s hand reassuringly. ‘Do not worry. We will wait here for word of Toller. I promised you that you would see London. Perhaps we will take in some of the sights while we are waiting. There is much we could do here. Order new livery for the footmen, new dresses for the maids. We must think of what the house in Vadley needs and purchase it here. One can find anything in the shops of London.’ She’d make herself so busy in London that she would not have time to think of him.

Monette smiled. ‘I would like that, my lady. The part about Toller I would like the most.’

Daphne smiled in return. ‘I know. We will wait to hear from him and, if he wishes to come, we will wait for him to arrive here.’

After her terrible behaviour with Xavier and Hugh’s sister, Mr Everard had encouraged her to remove to the Continent until society forgot the whole episode. She’d stayed away two years. Was that enough time? She had no intention of attending parties or the theatre, but would she be given the cut if the
beau monde
encountered her shopping at Floris or consuming an ice at Gunter’s?

She must not care about matters such as this. She must instead try to make reparation for being vain and selfish and wicked to people who deserved none of her nonsense.

And now she needed to do something to make up for deceiving Hugh. Not directly, though. She must never seek to see him again.

Monette put Daphne’s hair into a plait.

She bid the maid goodnight and climbed into her bed. When Monette closed the door behind her, Daphne extinguished her lamp and lay in the darkness, staring at the glow from her fireplace. How was she to sleep? She wanted to weep, but what good would weeping do?

Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to remember Hugh’s face, especially his dark brown eyes that so burned with anger at her. How would those eyes appear during lovemaking? She again felt his hands exploring her body, touching her face, joining his body to hers. She remembered the ecstasy of her release, of sharing the blissful moment with him.

She’d live on these memories. What other choice did she have?

* * *

When morning came Daphne forced herself to eat some toast and jam for breakfast. She feared offending her London cook’s efforts to please her with kippers, veal pie and baked eggs, but toast was all she could manage. She was sipping a cup of tea when Carter entered, looking again like a servant, not a masked gambler.

‘Mr Everard, m’lady,’ Carter announced.

‘Everard? Here? So early?’ It was ten in the morning, too early for callers.

‘Yes, m’lady. He is eager to speak with you, he says.’

She’d hardly slept, still felt near tears and was not in the mood for callers. ‘Very well. Tell him to join me here.’

A moment later he entered and immediately bowed. ‘My lady.’

‘Good morning, Everard.’ She managed a smile and a bright voice. ‘Do serve yourself some breakfast from the sideboard. I insist.’ Perhaps his appetite would gratify Cook’s desire to please.

‘As you wish, ma’am.’ He bowed again, piled food on his plate and sat down opposite her.

Daphne poured him tea. ‘To what do I owe the honour of your visit?’

He had already put a forkful of food in his mouth and held up a finger to signal he would answer after he swallowed. ‘I was concerned about your intention to go to the Masquerade Club last night, as you know. I simply wished to make certain nothing went amiss for you.’ He speared a piece of veal from the pie. ‘I hope you do not think it improper of me to be concerned.’

She did think he took too much of an interest in her affairs, but it was her own fault for manipulating him into escorting her to the Masquerade Club night after night two years ago.

‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘But you must not be so concerned about me. You have much more important matters to tend to, I am sure.’

He placed his fork down on his plate and gave her a direct look. ‘Nothing is more important than your well-being, my lady.’

She must do what she could about this devotion to her. ‘Nonsense.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘As you can see, I am well. How is your wife? She is fortunate indeed to have a husband who concerns himself with the welfare of others.’

‘My wife?’ He sounded as if he’d forgotten the woman. ‘She is in good health.’

‘I am so glad to hear it. I should like to meet her some time.’ She took a bite of toast.

‘You would?’ He tackled more of the food on his plate.

Did she really wish to meet Mrs Everard? It would be a nice gesture, she supposed. ‘Of course I would. Why would I not?’

He devoured yet another forkful of food before asking, ‘Did you find everything satisfactory at the Masquerade Club?’

Her stomach fluttered at the mention of the club, but she put on a pleased expression. ‘Oh, yes. I was so happy to see it looking so unharmed. The supper room was as lovely as always.’

He took a gulp of tea. ‘Then you will not go back?’

She glanced down at the table. ‘I will not go back.’

He looked relieved. ‘Is there any service I may render while you are in town?’

She made herself smile. ‘You may pay my bills. I intend to do some shopping while we are here.’ She sounded like the old Daphne, even to herself, although this time she could think of nothing she wished to buy for herself.

She wondered if there were items she could purchase for the tenants. Perhaps she ought to send a letter to Mr Quigg. The estate manager would know what they might need. Perhaps some furniture. Furniture was so expensive. The tenants might like a nice bureau or a chest or something. Who could not use a pretty chest?

‘Do you know of any good furniture shops?’ she asked him.

‘Furniture shops?’

‘Oh, not fine furniture shops, but some that might be appropriate for an ordinary household.’

He looked very puzzled. ‘I cannot think offhand, but I will make enquiries, if you like.’

‘That would be so good of you,’ she said.

If she kept very busy, shopping for her servants and her tenants, she might not think of Hugh so often and she might not always feel this despair so acutely.

* * *

Hugh stumbled out of bed with a colossal headache. No doubt the bottle of brandy he’d consumed after closing the Masquerade Club had done the damage. He was half tempted to drink down another. Better to remain in a stupor than to remember. He walked over to the mantel clock and read the time. Ten minutes to noon. Why was he up so early?

Because even the brandy did not help him sleep. His mind whirled with thoughts of Daphne. He felt fresh rage at her for leaving him, for deceiving him, and a deep painful ache of desire for her that even his anger could not eliminate.

Daphne had returned to him for one more deception, one more trick, and was this not the biggest and best of all her tricks? She’d known him all along. She’d been the bane of his family for a time, nearly ruining his sister’s happiness and almost burning down this building.

Why had she done it? Why had she deceived him from the beginning and why had she returned? Apparently she’d not planned to make herself known to him. Why?

He’d allowed her to slip through his fingers again without answering any of these questions. Well, this time she would not get away with it. Now he knew who she was, he could discover where she lived. In fact, he probably had the information in the Masquerade Club records. She would have wanted Xavier to know where she lived; she probably had provided the location of her town residence.

He rummaged through the cabinets in the bedchamber and in the drawing room until he found another bottle of brandy. He drank enough to calm the headache, even though it burned his stomach. He poured water from the ewer into the basin and washed, shaved and dressed before going below and looking for some breakfast.

He found MacEvoy at the breakfast table, as well.

‘I counted our take from last night,’ MacEvoy said.

‘How did we do?’ Hugh asked, although the success of the Masquerade Club was not at the forefront of his mind this morning.

‘Better than the previous night,’ MacEvoy said, ‘by about two hundred pounds.’

‘Well done.’ That was a very tidy sum.

When Hugh and Ned first convinced Rhys to run the club for them, Rhys took half the profits, but now that he’d given up the management, his share dropped to one quarter. Hugh would receive the other quarter, and half still went to repay the Westleigh estate. At least, if this rate continued he’d come out of this latest family task with a fortune.

‘Yes, indeed,’ admitted MacEvoy. ‘The club is still doing well.’ He sounded surprised.

Hugh supposed Cummings and MacEvoy and the croupiers did not expect him to be as successful as Rhys. Hugh figured that Rhys had built the foundation and there was not much he could do to weaken it. The idea of being able to gamble masked was still a popular one.

One of the kitchen maids brought in Hugh’s breakfast and he made himself eat, knowing it would sooth his brandy-burnt stomach. There was also a welcome pot of coffee on the table.

Hugh poured himself a cup. ‘I have a favour to ask.’

MacEvoy looked up warily from his plate. ‘What is it?’

‘See if you have Lady Faville’s location in the records.’

MacEvoy nodded knowingly. ‘So that was the lady, eh? I suspected as much. Why did she come back? Was she looking for Campion?’ Campion was Xavier’s surname.

She’d been obsessed by Xavier before; Hugh feared she still was.

‘I do not know why she returned,’ he answered MacEvoy. ‘But I intend to find out.’