Her Secret Affair (38 page)

At best, he hoped to compile a list of suspects. From there, he could question the men and determine who among them knew Aurora Darling. He could enlist the aid of the whores in identifying which of these gentlemen had visited the brothel—

His finger stopped on one name.

Kern sat there staring, reading the inscription over and over, resisting the truth that crept over him. It could not be.
It could not.

But he knew with cold certainty that his search had come to a close.

He had found Apollo.

Chapter 20

Isabel awoke to the hum of bees.

No,
voices.

Blinking into the dimness of dusk, she wondered what had happened to the afternoon. Her brain felt sluggish, thick-witted. Her limbs lay heavily at her sides. Her body throbbed with a languid warmth.

Slowly she absorbed her surroundings. The gold cherubs holding up the canopy. The frilly rose draperies. The gilded furniture.

Why was she lying in her mother’s bed?

Before she could fathom an answer, the whispering came again. From the boudoir.

Kern?

Summoning all her strength, she tried to lift herself up, but her head swam giddily. The doorway doubled, then tripled. She collapsed back onto the pillows. It took several minutes for the room to stop spinning.

Not Kern. That had been another time. The time when he had made love to her in this bed. Oh, how she had gloried in the way he had stroked her body. He had touched her until she cried out with sheer bliss. Even now, her loins pulsed with the resonance of desire, and she drifted deeper into the lovely memory …

But something made her resist. She groped for the thought before it floated away.

Kern had left her. Forever. Because she’d refused to become his mistress.

But she
did
want to be his mistress. She had meant to go after him.

Hadn’t she?

Isabel frowned, her temples aching. The last thing she recalled was scrubbing herself in a hot tub. Aunt Callie had brought up the water and laid out Isabel’s clothes. Aunt Minnie had coaxed Isabel to drink a pot of tea. She remembered stepping out of the tub, then swaying from the rush of an irresistible weariness.

The world had faded to black, leaving only the sound of quarreling voices. The sharp one had been Aunt Callie …

That voice didn’t resemble the murmuring she heard now. A faint glow came from the boudoir. Who was there? Isabel tried to call out, but only a dry croak emerged.

She had not dreamed the bath. Her unbound hair felt a bit damp to her cheek. The strands smelled fragrant, scented by rosewater. She had been preparing herself for Kern. Yes. She’d meant to don her best finery and go to Lynwood House. To tell him that she’d changed her mind.

But now she wore only a flimsy night rail. Had she fallen ill?

She certainly felt woozy. It was difficult to string two thoughts together. A pleasant lassitude filled her body. She relished the coolness of the sheets, the softness of the pillow. Utterly relaxed, she fancied herself a wilted rose, her arms like drooping petals.

The sound of footsteps came from the boudoir. A man’s heavy tread.

A drowsy smile curved her lips. Perhaps Kern had come back to her, after all. Perhaps he wanted them to marry. The golden dream enveloped her. He would take her into his strong arms and kiss her and love her …

A man entered the bedroom. Tall and gangly, he held a lighted candlestick in his hand. The flame cast weird shadows over his aging, patrician features and thinning gray hair.

Terrence Dickenson.

Her muddled brain could make no sense of his presence. Hazy with confusion, she tried to speak. “Whaaaat…?”
What are you doing here?

Her voice sounded slurred. Her tongue felt thick, and her mouth tasted as dry as straw.

Dickenson placed the candlestick on the bedside table. Then he sat down, the feather mattress sinking under his weight.

He bent closer to her. One corner of his mouth curled upward, baring his teeth. “You’re awake. Just as well. I’d sooner you knew it was me.”

Alarm slithered into the disorder of her mind. The heat of his breath fanned her face. What did he intend?

“Go … awaaaaay,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

His sinister chuckle raised goose bumps on her skin. “Ah, this is an unparalleled delight, Miss Darling, having you at my mercy. I do believe I shall enjoy our little encounter even more than I had anticipated.”

He spoke as if this assignation had been arranged. But how had he known she was here?

The question vanished beneath a surge of anxiety. He stood up, unknotted his cravat, then placed it over the seat of a chair. Methodically he stripped off his fancy coat and waistcoat. As he removed his shirt, he watched himself in the mirrored headboard. He sucked in his slight paunch and lovingly ran his hands over his pale chest. Turning to and fro, he admired his reflection.

A paralysis of fear gripped Isabel. Despite her befuddlement, she grasped an unspeakable horror. He meant to rape her.

She jerked her head toward the boudoir. Her senses reeled sickeningly, and she blinked several times to bring the darkened doorway into focus. She must flee. Find one of her aunts. They would save her …

Isabel tensed her slack muscles. Her arms and legs felt mired in treacle. Summoning all of her meager might, she threw herself toward the side of the bed.

A weight slammed onto her. The jarring impact quaked through her, and she gasped for breath. Dickenson pinned her to the sheets. “Not so fast, my pretty. We haven’t had our amusement yet.”

He ground his groin into the cradle of her hips. Through his pantaloons, she could feel his arousal.

Panic bubbled up inside her. His body pressed like an andiron onto hers. He smelled of too much cologne, and nausea rose in her throat. Heedless, she struggled to bring her knee up.

He laughed at her futile efforts. “Don’t think I’ll fall for that trick again. This time, you’ll do as I say.”

Easily confining her, he seized her hand, brought it down to the placket of his trousers, and proceeded to rub her fingers against him. Delight glazed his eyes, and he groaned out his pleasure.

“Nooooo!”
The scream tore from her, harsh and low. At the same moment, she pinched his rod through the cotton of his pantaloons. She put all of her flagging strength into a grinding twist of her fingers.

He howled. His grip slackened. Sobbing, she tried to scramble free, but the night rail hobbled her legs.

He slapped the side of her head. “Bitch!”

She cried out in pain. Her ears rang and her senses careened. She fell back panting, her eyes squeezed shut against the whirling darkness.

A flurry of footsteps approached. Someone shoved Dickenson away. His weight left her, and she found herself gathered against a pillowy form, rocked in a warm, comforting embrace.

“There now, child. Calm yourself. Your auntie’s here for you.”

Aunt Minnie.
Oh, thank God!

Shaking and weak, Isabel clutched at the older woman. “Hellllp … meee.”

“Of course I’ll help you, dearie. Never doubt that. Haven’t I always done what’s best for you?”

She stroked Isabel’s hair and with each loving caress, the frenzy of fear seeped from Isabel. Her death grip slowly eased. She felt drained and lethargic, safe even though Dickenson sat slumped at the foot of the bed.

Aunt Minnie seemed to possess some magical power over him. He made no move to fight her. Instead he glowered at the two of them, while gingerly rubbing his injured member.

“She should be punished,” he said venemously.

Minnie stopped her crooning and lifted her head. “Clumsy bastard,” she snapped. “’Tis what you deserve.”

“She wouldn’t cooperate.”

“Of course not. You came at her like a rutting bull.”

“I’ll have you know, other women appreciate my skills in the bedchamber.”

“Skills, bah. I was out there, listening. A girl likes to hear soft words and compliments, not crude threats and bullying.”

In a swirling fog of disbelief, Isabel absorbed the exchange.
No.
She must be dreaming … this was a nightmare. Aunt Minnie could not have known Dickenson was here. She would not let him perform this act of violation.

“Perhaps I did overwhelm the chit,” Dickenson said in a grudging tone. “But I thought you’d given her a potion of opium to make her cooperate.”

Minnie’s arm tightened around Isabel. “So I did. But that doesn’t give you leave to treat her like a common trollop. She requires gentler care.”

Drugged? She had been drugged? By Aunt Minnie?

The notion staggered Isabel with the blow of betrayal. Her head pounding, she tried to make sense of the madness. The tea. It had tasted sweeter than usual …

“wwwhy…?”
Why did you do this to me?

“Sshh, now there’s a good girl,” Minnie said, petting Isabel’s cheek. “Just lie quiet and let your auntie do the fretting. I shan’t allow him to hurt you. You’ll feel only pleasure, the sweetest pleasure you’ve ever known.”

“I’ll make sure she enjoys it this time.” Grinning, Dickenson put his hands to the buttons of his pantaloons. “Now let’s get on with it. You did want the deed done tonight, didn’t you?”

Renewed panic rushed over Isabel. She latched onto Minnie’s arm and tried to pull herself upright. The room dipped and rolled. The edges of her vision turned black. “Stoooop … hiiiim.
Pleeeease.
” Each word emerged, thick and slow, as she struggled to keep from falling into an endless inky pit.

Minnie leaned closer to massage the back of Isabel’s neck. “There now, dearie, you mustn’t work yourself up into a state. You must relax and lie still. I’ll sit right here and protect you from harm. You’re safe with me.” Her voice was soft, honeyed, persuasive. “Let your fears float away, my girl. Close your eyes now and let yourself dream. ’Tis your Justin making love to his Venus, that’s all. He’ll touch you gently … stroke you … love you … and the pleasure will come if you don’t fight it. Just let yourself drift to Justin, let yourself remember how wonderful he makes you feel…”

Despite Isabel’s resistance, the mesmerizing tone lulled her, the words flowing through her with a hypnotic power, luring her into a soft cloud of inertia. Her eyelids grew impossibly heavy.
Justin.
A dizzying fervor swept over her. Yes, Justin would be here. She craved his loving, the clever pampering of his hands.

“In a moment, he’ll touch you, arouse you. There’s no sensation quite so fine in all the world. So let him come to you. Let him caress you, join himself with you. Let the pleasure carry you higher and higher. The lovely, lovely pleasure…”

The hissing of her conscience faded to nothing, drowned out by the liquid excitement pulsing through her veins. Her loins throbbed with erotic heat. She felt soft and damp with longing, hungry for relief from the ache deep inside herself. Someone eased up the hem of the night rail, and she heard herself whimper at the delicious coolness of air against her bare legs.

Justin.
She moved restlessly against the smooth sheets. Her skin felt highly sensitized. He would touch her now. He would make love to her again and transport her to paradise. She wanted him so badly …

And with sweetly carnal warmth, his hand settled onto her thigh.

*   *   *

“It’s about bloody time,” Kern snapped. “I’ve been here twice already today, looking for you. Where the devil have you been?”

Lord Hathaway had just stepped into the library. A short yet stately aristocrat, he glared with piercing dark eyes that might have skewered a lesser man. “You have brass to show your face in this house.” With a jerk of his head, he indicated the open door. “Now get out.”

Kern strode to the door and shoved it shut. “Not until I have my say.”

His lips thinned, the marquess looked him up and down. “You’ve said quite enough already. Because of you, Helen has suffered a terrible blow. Because of you, she has withdrawn from society lest she be humiliated before all the
ton.
I’ve been out settling my business affairs so that I can take her to the Continent for the summer.”

The thought of Helen’s anguish penetrated the storm of Kern’s anger. “I shall make certain everyone knows the broken betrothal is solely my fault.”

“And should that salve your conscience for the grief you’ve caused her?” Hathaway shook his fist. “Pray God she quickly realizes she is better off without a vile lecher like you. A man who has proven himself to be Lynwood’s bad seed.”

The fury rushed back into Kern. “Are you referring to my relationship with Isabel Darling?”

“You know bloody well I am.” His cheeks flushed with rage, Hathaway took a step toward Kern. “How dare you seduce a young girl living under my guardianship? You have no scruples. No honor.”

Kern deliberately goaded him. “Tell me, why should you care so much about what happens to the bastard daughter of a whore?”

The marquess spun away, striding to the sideboard to pick up the decanter of whiskey. “I was responsible for her welfare,” he said over his shoulder. “While Isabel lived here, she comported herself as a lady—until you led her astray.”

In four furious steps, Kern reached Hathaway and knocked the glass out of his hand. The crystal shattered. Whiskey spilled over the sideboard and dripped onto the carpet.

“Isabel Darling blackmailed her way into this house,” Kern said coldly. “She tricked Helen into believing they were cousins. And after all that, you offered Isabel five thousand pounds if she would marry a gentleman. I want you to tell me why.”

Stone-faced, Hathaway averted his gaze. “There’s nothing to tell. We’ve been over all this before.”

Kern seized the marquess by his lapels and shoved him up against a bookcase. Several volumes crashed to the floor. “God damn you for a lying coward. You are going to acknowledge her. You are going to tell me who she really is. Now.”

Hathaway’s chest heaved. But he made no attempt to free himself. His eyes stark with shock, he stared at Kern. “You’ve guessed,” he said hoarsely. “How—?”