Her Secret Affair (4 page)

Nearby sat his younger brother, the Reverend Lord Raymond Jeffries, pastor of St. George’s Church. Beneath his fine clerical garb, his shoulders were slumped. With both hands, he gripped the ivory knob of his walking stick, keeping the blunted tip planted in the rug. His hawk-nosed face wore an uncharacteristic look of sullen resentment.

The charged animosity in the air startled Kern. He had the distinct impression that his presence vexed Lord Raymond. That in itself baffled Kern, for he had always been welcomed as a family member.

On a chaise angled away from the door, two ladies perched side by side, their backs to him. The fair-haired Lady Helen Jeffries turned to grace him with a smile, her face so guileless he felt a surge of determination to fight for her hand.

But one glance at her companion struck all tender sentiment from him.

She alone did not pivot to face him. A gray leghorn bonnet hid her features from his view. The late-afternoon sunlight set fire to the dark ringlets that draped one shoulder. She held herself like a princess, her shoulders squared and her neck straight. Just three days ago, he had placed his hands on that smooth white skin …

No. He must be hallucinating. Again.

Kern walked closer, rounding the corner of the chaise. She sat with her hands demurely folded in her lap. A lace modesty piece was tucked into the décolletage of her sober gray gown.

And then he found himself staring into the slyly sensual brown eyes of Isabel Darling.

Denial clawed at his chest. How the devil had a whore’s bastard finagled her way into one of the most respected houses in England? What lies had she told to Hathaway? What truths to Lady Helen?

The fire hissed and spat as if in evil amusement. Her smile tinged with triumph, Isabel Darling rose from the chaise and came toward him, dipping into a graceful curtsy at his feet.

“Lord Kern,” she purred. “What an honor. I’ve been hearing so much about you from my cousin.”

“Cousin,” he repeated numbly.

“Why, yes. I am Lady Helen’s cousin. Miss Isabel … Darcy.” She paused delicately, gazing up from beneath the fringe of her lashes as if daring him to challenge her false name.

A scathing denunciation seared his throat, but before he could speak, Helen hurried over to link arms with Isabel. “Isn’t this a wonderful surprise, Justin? I never even knew I
had
a cousin. She’s only just arrived in the city.”

“And already introducing herself to the gentlemen,” the Reverend Lord Raymond said acidly, flexing his fingers around the ivory head of his cane. “Someone had best teach the gel how to behave.”

“Oh dear, have I committed a
faux pas?
” Isabel lifted her hand to her cheek, blushing at will. “Pray excuse my rustic manners.”

“For shame, Uncle Raymond—embarrassing our guest.” Helen escorted Isabel back to the chaise. “Dear Isabel. I may call you Isabel, mayn’t I?”

“Nothing would please me more.”

“You mustn’t take offense,” Helen said, patting Isabel’s hand. “We’re all family here. And it is most uncivil of Uncle and Papa to act so grumpy. Why, you’ve scarcely shaken the traveling dust from your clothes.”

“I fear I’m imposing upon you—all of you.” Isabel bowed her head, revealing the tender curve of her neck. “As I was saying, the untimely death of my parents has left me in rather reduced circumstances. Perhaps if you could recommend a respectable boardinghouse somewhere…”

“Heavens, no. We won’t hear of you staying with strangers.” Helen giggled. “That is, we’re strangers, too, but I hope not for long. I hope we shall soon be fast friends.”

“How very kind you are,” Isabel murmured. “It’s a comfort to have a safe place to stay … among people who care about me.”

She lied so prettily. Kern felt the ugly rise of rage. “You’ll be wanting a post as a governess or companion,” he said. “Allow me to help you secure one. Immediately.”

“Thank you, m’lord. But surely my travails can be of little notice to one so exalted.”

“On the contrary, I admire those who seek gainful employment. Do you perchance have any special
skills?
”

Her skin paled at his innuendo. Her gaze locked with his, and he saw the resentment there, the obstinate determination to push her way into the
ton.
She flashed him a brilliant smile. “I regret you’re too late in your offer of aid, m’lord. When you walked in just now, my cousin was proposing I accept a place in her household.”

“Not just a place—you’ll have a home here.” Helen’s eyes glinted with sympathetic tears. “Isabel will be
my
companion. She’ll accompany me into society. Won’t she, Papa?”

The marquess’s granite countenance gave away nothing of his thoughts. “Of course,” he said tonelessly. “Miss Darcy must remain here with us for the Season. I insist upon it.”

Kern scowled from another jolt of shock. Why would Hathaway accept her trumped-up tale? Surely he knew better …

In the throes of denial, Kern gripped the back of a chair and wished it were her throat. “Where exactly do you hail from, Miss Darby?”

“Darcy,” she corrected, her direct gaze taunting him. “I’ve come by mail coach all the way from Northumbria, a journey of nearly four days.”

“Strange. By your accent, I would have taken you for a Londoner.”

“My dear, departed mother spent her childhood here. No doubt I learnt my speech pattern from her.”

And your loose morals.
He was tempted to call her bluff. But Helen was biting her lip in anxiety, and he couldn’t bear to hurt her—at least not until he got to the bottom of this entanglement.

He swung toward her father. “Hathaway? You’ve never mentioned a Darcy branch of your family.”

The older man stood rigidly at attention. A troubled light flared in the steady darkness of his eyes. “The connection is somewhat distant. But we welcome Miss Darcy nonetheless.”

“I see. And did she provide a letter of reference?”

“That isn’t possible. Her family is gone now.” The warning note in his voice invited no more questions.

Kern subjected him to a hard stare. Hathaway knew her true identity. How? Surely
he
could not have consorted with Aurora Darling. Hathaway could not be one of the men described in the memoirs.

Could he?

Impossible.

Then Hathaway cast a guarded glance down at his brother, whose smile had the fixed quality of a man gritting his teeth. Ten years the younger, the Reverend Lord Raymond Jeffries had been a rake in his youth. He limped from the effects of a long-ago duel that had been hushed up by his elder brother. The incident had induced him to settle down with a proper society wife and to obtain a living through Hathaway’s patronage.

Lord Raymond.
Of course.

At one time, Lord Raymond must have engaged in an illicit affair with Aurora Darling. And, as always, Hathaway was protecting his younger brother from scandal.

The churchman got to his feet with the aid of his cane. “Would that I had time to spare for idle chitchat. But I’ve a sermon to prepare for the morrow.”

“And it had best be a lively one,” Helen said, shaking a teasing finger at him. “Cousin Isabel and I shall be listening from the family pew.”

“‘I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep.’ That will be the subject of my sermon. None of us can fool the Almighty, for He always knows what secrets lie within our hearts.” He cast a dark look at Isabel, then excused himself.

“I’ll see you to the door,” Hathaway said.

The two men left the drawing room, the sharp tap-tapping of Lord Raymond’s cane conveying an unspoken anger. Their heads were bent together, and Kern restrained himself from marching after them and demanding answers.

He would have his interview with Hathaway. He would press for an end to this charade. This time, Hathaway must not protect his brother from scandal. A greater wrong could be done if Isabel Darling succeeded in her scheme to wed an aristocrat.

Kern felt a soft touch on his arm. Lady Helen smiled up at him. “Will you be staying to dinner, Justin?”

She had the clear eyes and porcelain skin of a girl straight out of the schoolroom, but for once, her naïveté annoyed him. “Am I invited?”

Helen’s expression took on a quizzical, wounded quality. “Certainly. You’re always welcome.”

His sharpness shamed him. Of course she could not fathom the source of his ill-humor. She had no darkness in her, only light.

He placed his hand tenderly over hers. “If it pleases you, of course I shall stay to dinner.”

“Are you sure?” she asked doubtfully. “If you’re otherwise engaged…”

“I’m not.”

Isabel Darling stood watching, one of her eyebrows arched.
She
saw everything. And judging by the curve of her beautifully shaped lips, she enjoyed his struggle. “I daresay
I
am the cause of his lordship’s hesitation, my lady.” She leaned forward conspiratorially, and for one frozen moment he feared she meant to spill her secret, to contaminate Helen’s innocence. Then Isabel went on blithely, “No doubt he fears your country-mouse cousin might embarrass him by using the wrong fork.”

Helen giggled. “Oh, Justin is not so fastidious as
that.
And you are certainly not a mouse.”

“I’m dressed as one, that much you cannot deny.” Those sultry dark eyes laughed at him, and against his will, he felt the pull of her wicked attraction. “What say you, m’lord? Would it be easier to turn a leper into a lady than me?”

The chit had thrown his own words back at him. With a stiff bow, he conceded her diabolical cleverness. “You exaggerate, Miss
Darcy.
I wouldn’t dream of playing Pygmalion, though I suspect you’ll do well enough on your own.”

Their gazes held, his hard and hers mysterious … enticing … alluring. He could not take his eyes from her, though he was aware of Helen standing beside him, oblivious to the deep undercurrents.

“The Season is off to a grand start,” Helen said with a clap of her hands, her face shining. “Oh, how I’m looking forward to it. We shall all have such fun together in the weeks to come.”

*   *   *

She had done it. She had captured a place in the inner circle!

Her knees weak, Isabel sank onto a padded stool in Lady Helen’s spacious dressing room. It was a relief to escape the volatile atmosphere of the drawing room and Lord Kern’s hostile presence. When he had walked in, Isabel had feared for the first time in her life she might swoon. She had waited for him to expose her, braced herself to hear him denounce her as a fraud.

But he had kept his own counsel. Clearly he would protect his fiancée from unpleasantness no matter what the cost to his pride. His devotion threw Isabel off balance. What would it be like to inspire such love in a man?

She crushed the wistful sentiment. Lord Kern had merely been practicing the gallantry of a gentleman toward his lady. Hathaway had been no less protective of his only daughter.

The marquess had been furious this afternoon when she had showed him and his brother a certain damning entry copied from her mother’s memoirs. Hathaway’s face had grown so red she feared he might suffer an apoplectic fit. To his credit, he had not blustered or tried to deny the truth as Lord Raymond had done at first. Instead, Hathaway had stared at her for the longest time, his thoughts hidden behind his flinty features. Then, just as her spirits had begun to sink, he had agreed to her terms. To protect his brother’s reputation, Hathaway would take her into his own house and present her as a distant relation.

Unlike Lord Kern.
He
had refused to sponsor her. He would have throttled her for certain if he knew she suspected his father of murder.

A rightness of purpose burned within Isabel. Minnie had provided further confirmation of the suspicion her mother had written about in the memoirs. Isabel’s mind leapt to the proof she had learned three days ago.

After she had told Minnie about the murder, the older woman had sunk down onto the bed and stared at the floor for a long moment before lifting her stunned gaze. “You think ’twas Lynwood who poisoned Aurora?”

“Or one of her other lovers.” Agony gripped Isabel’s throat. “Who else could it have been?”

Minnie said slowly, “I never thought to mention this to you before, dearie. But now … I wonder if I should.”

“What?” Isabel hastened to Minnie and grasped her work-wrinkled hands, hands that had once been soft and white. “Do you know who he is? Do you know who did this to Mama?”

“The night before Aurora took ill, I saw a gentleman go into her bedroom. ’Twas too dark to see his face, and I thought little of it at the time, for she liked her privacy…” As if emerging from a trance, Minnie gave a sharp shake of her mobcapped head. “Nay, you must be mistaken. Your mama died of the ague, that’s all.”

“I’m not mistaken, and what you saw proves it,” Isabel said fervently. “That man must have administered the poison. And I’m going to find him.”

Dismay widened Minnie’s eyes. Her hands squeezed Isabel’s. “Don’t do anything rash, child. You can’t fight such powerful men. Leave it be.”

“I cannot. Somehow, I’ll track him down. I’ll make him pay for his crime.”

From that emotion-charged moment, Isabel had refused to listen to any further remonstrations from her aunt. Nothing could stop her from seeking justice. Not the daunting task of infiltrating the
ton.
Not the prospect of posing as a lady. Not even the threat of facing arrogant aristocrats like Lord Kern.

“Dear cousin, you look lost in thought,” Lady Helen said on a merry laugh. “Do stop woolgathering and tell me, what do you think of these?”

Isabel blinked at the girl who stood before her. Helen held her arms outstretched to display a pair of gowns, one of dotted white net over a pale green underskirt, the other of ivory silk with azure ribbons threading the short, puffed sleeves. Both gowns were demurely fashionable. Both were perfectly suited to a debutante of Helen’s fair coloring and slender form. By her bright eyes, she seemed to expect a comment, so Isabel said, “They’re quite pretty.”

“They just arrived this morning from the dressmaker. So which one?”