Dark of the Moon (45 page)

"Thank you, Minna," Caitlyn said, standing up. Though they both knew it was a fiction, she and Minna continued to behave as if she were in truth the mistress and Minna nothing more than her maid. As long as Sir Edward was pleased with her, that was how it would be, though she was forbidden to leave the house without either Minna or Fromer in attendance.

"Will you wear your new cloak? It is quite cold out." Minna's voice was so impersonal that it was almost as if a piece of furniture spoke. Caitlyn nodded, and as the woman turned to fetch the cloak, she studied herself for a moment in the cheval glass. The young woman who looked back at her was tall and wand-slender, her black hair worn piled high with only a single curl coaxed down over one white shoulder. Her face was delicately painted, porcelain perfect, with enormous eyes like jewels and a rose-red mouth accented by a strategically placed patch at its corner. Lush creamy-skinned breasts were more than half visible above the tantalizing neckline of a breathtaking gown of emerald-green silk generously trimmed with black lace. Emeralds set in gold sparkled in her ears and around her neck. She looked beautiful, expensive, remote—and she was a total stranger. This lavishly turned out woman had nothing to do with the person Caitlyn knew herself to be.

"Don't wait up," Caitlyn said as Minna draped a luxurious velvet evening cloak around her shoulders. It was sumptuous, as were her dress and her jewels and the furnishings with which she lived and even the carriage Sir Edward had sent to fetch her without bothering to come himself. In her lean days in Dublin, her eyes would have popped if she had known that one day she would live in such splendor. She would have thought life could hold no greater happiness than to have so many lovely things, to say nothing of a warm home and plenty of food and servants to do her bidding. Settling herself back into the fine upholstery of the carriage seat, Caitlyn didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She had every material thing of which she had ever dreamed, and she was more miserable than she had ever imagined possible. She would trade every dress, every jewel, every feather to be home again at Donoughmore with Connor.

Had Sir Edward been an ordinary man of moderate means, the situation would perhaps not have been so hopeless. But his friends included many peers of the realm, and his influence was vast, far greater than Connor's, who, she rather thought, had none. Connor was not wealthy; to her certain knowledge he gave away most of what he managed to acquire. She had no way of knowing the full extent of Sir Edward's wealth, but from every indication he was a rich man indeed.

Sir Edward's hunting box, occupied perhaps four weeks out of the year, was far larger than the manor house at Donoughmore, where the four d'Arcys and she had lived year-round. Sir Edward owned four other residences that she knew of: Ballymara, where he spent the summer and early fall, though he had not been back since leaving Ireland with her; his fashionable town house in Grosvenor Square, where his sister, Sarah, presently lived with him as his hostess in complete ignorance of Caitlyn's presence in quite another part of town; his principal seat, Dunne Hall, in Sussex; and her own snug house on Lisle Street. Each dwelling was elaborately furnished and maintained without interruption by a staff appropriate to its size and function. He dressed impeccably, ran the finest horses and carriages, and at every meal at which he was host his table groaned with more food than the entire gang of lads she used to run with in Dublin could consume at a sitting. He dressed her well, ordering outrageously expensive outfits for her by the dozen from London's finest modistes. Boxes were delivered weekly. The clothes were all designed to show off her charms and beauty to the utmost, at the expense of both decency and good taste.

He enjoyed exercising absolute power over her. That power was one reason he had kept her so long as his mistress. He also enjoyed making his friends envious of his possession of her—and envy him they did. Gloating, he told her that they called her a diamond of the first water and offered him tremendous sums to secure her services for themselves, which offers, thankfully, he declined. To share her would cause her to lose some of her value.

Caitlyn knew that as long as she had such value for him, he would never willingly release her. Not even his death would free her, not as long as Connor lived. Sir Edward's death would bring Connor's with it. Whether Connor caused it or no, the letters would be opened, and Connor would be exposed, arrested, tried, and ultimately hanged. For just a moment Caitlyn tried to imagine what would happen if she, Liam, Rory, Cormac, and Mickeen all swore to Connor's innocence. Her lip curled. Would any magistrate anywhere believe them against the dying statement of a man as wealthy and powerful as Sir Edward Dunne? She rather thought not.

The carriage pulled into the line of vehicles jamming Oxford Street as they waited to discharge their passengers at the glittering doors of the assembly rooms. Linkboys and lackeys carrying lanterns ran along the street, lighting the way for those who chose to abandon their vehicles to the confusion and walk the rest of the way. Caitlyn stayed where she was, in no hurry to join Sir Edward and his party, but in no time it seemed she was at the entrance. The Pantheon itself was magnificent, Caitlyn saw as a footman helped her to alight. Gargoyles and Gothic arches were everywhere, and every embellishment that conceivably could be was gilded. Enormous crystal chandeliers blazed from domed frescoed ceilings. Marble steps led up to a huge rectangular ballroom with numerous saloons and boxes and alcoves leading off from it. A group of musicians played vigorously from a raised platform at the far end of the room.

The rooms were crowded, though the hour was relatively early, lacking nearly an hour and a half to midnight. The motley crowd was dressed in everything from elaborate evening clothes such as Sir Edward had instructed that she wear, to dominoes, to various costumes. Nearly half the company was masked. Caitlyn knew that it was considered a daring thing for members of the
ton,
carefully disguised beneath dominoes and masks, to attend a Pantheon assembly, where they would rub shoulders with everyone from country rubes just come to town to the most vulgar members of the muslin company to the sharps who hoped to lure unwary young men to their gambling establishments.

Another footman had apparently been watching for her arrival. He led her to the box where Sir Edward waited with his party. For a moment after setting eyes on Sir Edward she hung back, struck by a wave of hatred and revulsion so strong that it was all she could do to make herself overcome it. Had she ever thought him not unattractive, with his tall, thin frame, thinning fair hair, and light gray eyes? It seemed inconceivable to her, as though that assessment belonged to another person in another life. But then, of course, she had had no notion of the true evil that dwelled beneath the bland exterior.

Sir Edward turned and saw her. She put one foot on the marble step leading up to the box and walked across the wooden floor to join him. He watched her as she came, his eyes moving over her critically. His evening clothes were of dull gold satin, and she knew that he had ordered her to wear the emerald silk with an eye to the picture the pair of them would present.

And she had to admit it: had she not known him as she did, she would have thought him an arresting-looking man. But she did know the cruelty and depravity that were the cornerstones of his char- acter, and as he reached out a hand to pull her close to his side, she had to repress a shudder. His eyes met hers, and she thought that he guessed something of what she felt and was enjoying the idea of her hating him while being helpless to do anything about it. Still holding her eyes, he bent his head to press a lusty kiss on her mouth. It was done for the benefit of his envious friends, she knew, but she had to steal herself not to pull away.

"You're late," he said under his breath. Though his tone was mild, she knew that he intended for her to worry over his displeasure. Her pupils dilated slightly, but she tried not to let her instinctive fear show. Surely he wouldn't come to her again tonight! Please God he wouldn't!

"I'm sorry," she managed, and was relieved when he nodded and turned to present her to those of the party she didn't know. There were three couples besides herself and Sir Edward.

The men were all of the
ton,
though they were dissolutes who for the most part flitted around its edges. The females were of the Covent Garden variety. Like herself, they were dressed to appeal to the men who provided their daily bread. Their coiffures were elaborate, and two were thick with powder in the prevailing fashion; their faces were painted and patched, and they were clad in slightly vulgar ballgowns that left most of their charms on view. Their names were Yvette and Suzanne and Mimi, and if they had a drop of French blood in their veins, Caitlyn was an Englishwoman born and bred. She sat down with them to partake of supper, and though she tried to join in with their spirit-fueled hilarity for fear of Sir Edward's later displeasure, she had to make more of an effort than usual. When supper was over and couples began taking to the floor, she was relieved. Out of Sir Edward's immediate vicinity, she could concentrate on the problem at hand: how to get Connor safely out of her life again.

One of Sir Edward's friends solicited her hand for the quadrille that was just at that moment striking up. She accepted with alacrity. The dancing master whom Sir Edward had employed to teach her had drilled the steps into her head so that she could dance without thinking about her feet. Her partner was not so fortunate. While he counted out the steps under his breath, her mind was free to turn itself to coming up with possible solutions.

No matter what tale she thought up to tell him, Connor was not likely to just go away. She had known him too long and too well to believe that for more than a hopeful instant. The idea of telling him all, and asking his advice as to how Sir Edward could be circumvented, was tempting. Perhaps they could simply run away together, his brothers and Mickeen as well. . . .

No, it would never work. Connor's character and Connor's temper coupled with his hatred of Sir Edward, which had been born long before she had ever come on the scene, and his rage would know no bounds if he were to discover how Sir Edward had compelled her to go away with him. Once that was out, there was little likelihood that she could keep the secret of Sir Edward's physical abuse. Contemplating Connor's reaction to that, Caitlyn actually shuddered, causing the arms of the man holding her rather closer than the movements of the dance called for, to tighten.

"You're so beautiful tonight, just like a glowing emerald. Why don't we take a stroll around the saloons together? There is much—oh, much!—I would show you." The Honorable Winthrop Cunningham actually giggled in her ear at what he doubtless considered the witticism of this last. He was well on his way to inebriation and was not quite steady on his feet as he moved with her in the elaborate figures of the dance. Caitlyn barely managed to mask the distaste on her face. Sir Edward, she knew from experience, would be furious were she to be openly rude to his friends.

The Honorable Winthrop dared more than he ever had and placed his hand on her breast.

Sir Edward or no, she kicked him in the shin, her reaction instinctive. The thought that he might complain to Sir Edward and she might suffer for it crossed her mind, yet she could not be sorry.

She felt much of her old spirit beginning to return, ousting the hopeless despair that had been her companion for most of the past year. Though it was senseless, just knowing that Connor was nearby was bringing her back to life. She was less able to tolerate insults and pain, more likely to rebel. Only the thought that to do so would endanger Connor himself ultimately kept her in line.

"Oh! Ah! Why, you kicked me!" The Honorable Winthrop jumped back and nearly fell on his amply padded rear. No one else on the crowded dance floor seemed to notice. They were too busy pursuing their own intrigues. Trading partners for the night or longer was one of the objects of those who visited the Pantheon. It was an ideal place for gentlemen to meet ladies who were less careful of their virtue than they should be, and for ladies to meet gentlemen wishful of getting to know them better. Of the three couples who had rounded out their party at supper, two, Caitlyn saw, gave every evidence of having already changed partners for the night.

The third gentleman was the Honorable Winthrop, whose friend Suzanne had disappeared with Sir Edward, for which Caitlyn was thankful. Not that there was a hope that Sir Edward would replace her as his established mistress. He could not perform as he preferred with the others. There was always the fear that they would scream, and cry, and tattle.

"I'm so sorry, my foot must have slipped," Caitlyn answered, speaking carefully to keep as much of the Irish as she could out of her speech. Sir Edward did not like her to appear too provincial before his friends. It was something else that might lessen her value in their eyes.

She smiled with patently false contrition at her partner. "It does that, you know, when gentlemen allow their hands to slip."

"You're a saucy wench," the Honorable Winthrop told her with a hiccup, reaching for her to resume their dance. There was really no harm in this portly gentleman, so Caitlyn allowed him to pull her back into the quadrille. Some others of Sir Edward's friends genuinely frightened her. She took good care never to be alone with any of them if she could help it, and locked her door whenever she was forced to attend one of their house parties. The Honorable Winthrop was a fat fool, but she could handle him without much difficulty.

"Where did Neddie find you, anyway?" her partner muttered as the movements of the dance brought them close again. "You are truly exquisite! A pearl beyond price!"

"You must ask him." Caitlyn responded as she had painfully learned to do to any too-intimate inquiry into her history. Sir Edward had made his views plain the time or two, when she had first appeared in public as his mistress, that she had given out too much information. Caitlyn rather suspected that, despite all his safeguards, Sir Edward feared the news of her whereabouts might somehow find its way to Connor. Sir Edward feared Connor almost as much as he hated him, and with good reason.