Beyond Rubies (Daughters of Sin Book 4) (11 page)

Maybe Nash would lurch out into the street, go down on bended knee and ask her to marry him. Would she say yes after he’d deceived her with another woman?

But, of course, he was not going to do that. The best she could hope for was to have him groveling before her. Of course, he must care. But did he care enough to—

“Kitty!”

She turned toward the townhouse, the voice issuing from the stairs from the basement. Nash.

“Kitty!”

But then her name was called from a quite different direction. She heard the jingle of harness; the creak of leather as the heavy equipage of a fine carriage came to a halt right in front of her.

On one side of her, Lord Nash, who’d appeared in breeches, his shirt flapping about his thighs, his dark curls flopping about his face, was begging her to come back.

Meanwhile, in the street, Lord Silverton was leaning out of the carriage window inquiring with concern if she was all right.

“Kitty! I’m sorry! It wasn’t what you thought.” That was Lord Nash. Distraught! Ashamed, but only because he’d been caught. And telling lies! Did he think she was stupid?

“Kitty, has something happened?”

She hunched over, not wanting Lord Silverton to see her distress.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

Despite her grief, there was something familiar and comforting in Lord Silverton’s voice. He had not deceived her. He was a good man, despite the fact he was caught up in some havey-cavey business that was beyond her knowledge. That didn’t matter right now. All that did was that he was offering her a chance not to be caught up in the treachery and deception that mired a woman in misery for following her foolish heart. She couldn’t go back, even as she heard Nash’s voice draw nearer, louder with urgency and self-recrimination.

Oh, she wanted to go to him, but an image of her mother loomed large. She could not be like her mother.

“Forgive me. It was a terrible mistake. I’ll never do it again. Believe me.”

She wavered. She could go back to him, of course. Probably he’d sent Jennie packing, and his bed would now be free to accommodate Kitty’s warm and supposedly willing body.

But, not yet. Not so easily.

“Thank you, Lord Silverton!” she cried, hurrying toward the open carriage door, taking the hand he offered to help her in. She saw him raise his face and grin across at Nash, who was only semi dressed, with arms outstretched in entreaty, and who now cried, “Good God, Kitty, what do you think you’re doing? You can’t get into a strange man’s carriage, no matter how upset you are!”

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.”

A
raminta 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.