The Mysterious Governess (Daughters of Sin Book 3) (13 page)

It was no excuse that he declared he was mortified as he’d struggled out from beneath her. He had raged at her, as if it were her fault, claiming he’d married Hetty by special license not half an hour before.

And then he’d rushed into the night in search of Hetty and Araminta had had no choice but to follow for she had the letter and she meant to use it. There was still time for Sir Aubrey to wriggle out of this foolish, impulsive union with her sister. Why, the marriage would not yet be registered. They could waylay the clergyman. Couldn’t he see that anything was possible, now that he knew Araminta loved him?

But Sir Aubrey would not see sense. Not even after they’d discovered Hetty in the clutches of Lord Debenham who was clearly in his cups and posed no danger at all, though Sir Aubrey had taken exception to the broken bottle of arrack that Lord Dabenham had waved in the region of Hetty’s throat. Did the stupid man not understand that of course Lord Debenham would not have hurt Hetty? Yet Sir Aubrey had cast all common sense to the wind and refused to succumb to Araminta’s warnings. Finally, Araminta had had no choice but to burn the letter which could have restored his good name and which painted Lord Debenham in such a bad light.

Now here she was alone with Lord Debenham. She didn’t feel comfortable, it was true, and she was close to distraught at the events of the past hour, but he was her last chance. If she did not make the most of her opportunities, she could find herself facing a third ignominious season or, worse, carrying the child of the man she’d expected to marry, the man she’d thought desired her as she desired him...

The man who’d just married her sister.

Frozen, she stood by the window. Lord Debenham, who should have been looking at her as if she were the most delectable creature, was instead thoughtfully smoking a cheroot as he lounged in a chair with legs crossed at the ankles, resting on the table.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?” Her throat felt dry, her words brittle. She tried for an alluring smile.

“For burning that incriminating letter? When you hoped to blackmail Sir Aubrey with it so he’d marry you?” Lord Debenham chuckled. “Now you want to compromise me so
I’ll
be forced to marry you?”

Araminta had never been spoken to by a gentleman in such a manner.

“You are a very handsome man, my lord.” Yes, she could do this. She could play up to him—and maybe she had to, even if just to prove that she was still irresistible. That Hetty wasn’t the one to waltz off with the prize, leaving her older sister languishing, a laughing stock, an ape-leader with no dowry, their father having lost all his money.

She moved forward and boldly draped herself over his lap, careful to hike up her skirts so that he had a good view of exposed thigh. Yes, she had to entice Lord Debenham, because right now she didn’t know what else to do.

Predictably, Lord Debenham placed one large, hairy hand on her knee and began to stroke her skin. With her heart in her mouth, Araminta watched. There was both revulsion and wild eroticism at play. He was dangerous and he was attractive. He was also terrifying. But if he made her his wife, she could be one of the great hostesses in the country.

His hand roamed higher. The other dipped into her bodice to fumble for her breast. Araminta wasn’t sure what to do now. There was no suggestion of desire or tenderness in his exploitation. As for herself, she felt numb. As if the bruising, sudden, intimate encounter with Sir Aubrey had never happened.

“How tempting you are when you lay yourself on a platter for my enjoyment, Miss Partington.” He sighed. “However, I regret that I am not prepared to be tricked into being forced to offer for you. It’s dangerous enough that you are alone with me, but I’ll not take your virtue. You are a poisoned chalice—and I’ve already promised you to Roderick.”

With a gasp, Araminta leapt off his lap. “How dare you!” she cried. “I wouldn’t marry your nephew if he was the last man alive! Besides, he’s...in love with my sister.”

“Well, your sister has just taken herself out of the race, and the truth is, Roderick has lusted after you like a dog in heat ever since you crossed his orbit. He might not look like he’s capable of much, but once he gets over his awe of you, I think you won’t be disappointed by his prowess.”

Araminta couldn’t believe he was speaking to her like this. Did he think he could be so coarse, just because she was alone and unprotected? “I would make his life misery!” she declared. “But it won’t come to that because I will never marry him!”

Lord Debenham rose with a smile and headed toward the door. “You may just have to if you come to the end of another season without an offer,” he said, opening it to usher her out. “Young Roderick is a very wealthy man, and he stands to inherit a great deal more. An ambitious young lady like you is quite capable of looking past his shortcomings.”

Tearfully, Araminta pushed down her skirts and lunged for the cold outdoors. Her nightmare evening was getting worse by the moment.

Lord Debenham chuckled, patting her bottom as she passed. “Now hurry on back to your chaperone, Miss Partington, and don’t look so crestfallen. If I weren’t expecting a couple of colleagues any moment now I’d have happily tasted the delights you were so keen to offer.”

If she’d had the foresight, she’d have picked up the broken bottle of arrack at his feet and wiped that smirk off his face.

“G
ood Lord, is that...Miss
Partington
running out of that supper box? I’ve met her before and she’s a beauty. With a reputation, I might add.” Cosmo stopped in his tracks and Lissa looked in the direction he jerked his thumb. In the dim light of a lantern, she saw a figure dressed as a Spanish dancer with no head covering, tear across the lawn and disappear into the throng.

“I...I’m sure it could not have been.” Lissa licked dry lips. Hetty had also been dressed as a Spanish dancer but the lithe, fleet-footed creature had not been the sweet, reflective, much plumper younger sister, she felt sure.

She peered again at the supper box. “That’s...Lord
Debenham’s
.” They were en route to hand the sketch directly to Mr. Crossing but when another gentleman suddenly appeared in their line of vision, Lissa saw her opportunity. “Yes, that’s Lord Debenham standing in the doorway of his supper house. And look, there is Lord Smythe! Lord Debenham is inviting him inside. Quick, we must take this opportunity to do the drawing Lady Smythe requested.”

It took a couple of moments to persuade Cosmo of the merits of executing both commissions rather than return, first, to find Mr. Crossing and perhaps miss the opportunity of sketching Lord Smythe.

Not that Lissa was keen on the idea of getting closer to Lord Debenham than she had to. The few minutes in his arms on the dance floor had been the most uncomfortable she could remember and the more she heard about him from Ralph, the more terrifying he seemed. While Araminta had made no secret of her interest in Lord Debenham, she’d also told Lissa she was interested in Sir Aubrey. No, the figure fleeing from his supper box surely couldn’t have been her, for she’d have been very properly chaperoned this evening.

Wishing she could quell the disquieting flutters of doubt she felt, Lissa quietly followed Cosmo in the direction from which the mystery figure had fled.

The sounds of slightly slurred laughter emanated from within and as they drew closer, Lord Debenham’s distinct, ironic drawl punctuated the night air. Even that was enough to make Lissa want to take to her heels and run.

Still, she forced herself to the task, glad of the delay in returning to find Mr. Crossing.

The light was better here than it had been when she’d sketched Mrs. Crossing and her lover. There were three men gathered, the last having turned the lamp up full when he’d arrived a moment or so before. All seemed extremely convivial and Lissa was shocked to see an empty bottle of arrack, broken, its jagged bottom pressed against the leg of one chair. None of the men seemed concerned as they discussed the matter at hand.

“Hurry.” Cosmo elbowed her and wordlessly Lissa began to sketch.

Lord Smythe, the eldest of the trio looked to be in his late fifties. His thatch of thick dung-colored hair was in stark contrast to the thinning locks of the youngest, a nervous, reedy-looking man with a bulbous red nose. Lissa was surprised at his presence for despite his foppish rig-out, he spoke like a poor man. His cheeks were sunken, giving him a cadaverous look, and when he laughed, Lissa saw most of his teeth were black stumps. Yet he was richly garbed in a paisley waistcoat and claret-colored wool coat together with black satin pantaloons.

With deft, quick strokes, Lissa recreated the scene: foppish Lord Smythe with his caramel drawl, the wizened, younger man whom Lissa heard Lord Debenham refer to as Buzby. He dominated the conversation until Lord Debenham mounted a strong defense for whatever was being argued. Lissa paid little attention until she heard Buzy’s aggressive tones, “And then our esteemed Lord Liverpool will rue the harsh line he’s taken with the machine-breakers in the north. If that won’t stop the government in their tracks, I don’t know what will,” before the men started laughing.

She glanced nervously at Cosmo but his expression remained impassive. He’d either not heard, or chosen to pretend he had not.

For Lissa, the implications were terrifying, made more so as the conversation progressed.

Were these men plotting treason?

She was aware of Cosmo craning over her shoulder to see her work and she stepped back, suddenly nervous, giving a small cry as she dropped her sketchbook onto the ground.

Immediately Cosmo was upon her, roughly clapping his hand over her mouth as he dragged her to the back of the structure and into the shadows. Her heart pounded as she heard one of the men mutter something in fright, and then the door was thrown open and Lord Debenham thrust his head out for a cursory look around.

Apparently satisfied, he returned. “Damned squirrels,” she heard one of them say before the conversation resumed, this time on a more muted level.

Lissa picked up her sketchbook and hastened deeper into the darkness. She wasn’t going to risk being caught by Lord Debenham, knowing what she now did of this evil, terrifying man. The letter that Hetty had obtained from Jem confirmed his involvement in something havey-cavey, though Ralph hadn’t told her its full contents or why he’d not taken possession of it. Perhaps Jem no longer had it but was able to relay its contents, having learned in the interim what it had said.

Now Lissa had witnessed His Lordship giving voice to treasonous sentiments, and had sketched him with his associates.

It was a huge relief to be back in the safety of the thoroughfares, where revelers jostled her and men, lightheaded with drink, sang public odes to their consorts. The perfection of the weather seemed to add to the high spirits of the crowd.

Except Lissa didn’t feel high spirited at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. For all that Mrs. Crossing might be guilty of terrible wickedness, the genuine and touching way the couple had said farewell to each other spoke to Lissa’s purest sentiments.

She decided to destroy the sketch. She didn’t care how much Cosmo was being paid for it—or how much she’d make.

“There you are, my lad!”

Their progress about the rotunda was arrested by a broad-shouldered giant with an enormous head topped with lustrous salt-and-pepper curls topping a bullish neck, and extravagant mutton-chop side-whiskers. He clapped Cosmo on the shoulder. Mr. Crossing. His smile was unctuous but the right side of his lip curled up in what resembled a snarl, though Lissa soon decided this was really a smile as he went on, “Raising the breeze, eh? No, you’ve been working, and on my account, too. So, do I reward you? Have you found the twopenny whore? You have? By God, if she tries to cut the wheedle with me...” His words trailed off but his gesture left Lissa in no doubt that Mrs. Crossing would soon feel her husband’s displeasure.

She stared at his hands. They were monstrous, flexing now as if he meant to wrap them around the young lady’s throat the moment they were reunited.

Cosmo clicked his fingers at Lissa. “The picture for Mr. Crossing, please.” He sent a nervous glance in the direction of his benefactor, adding, “This is my—er, cousin, who sometimes acts as my assistant. She has the artwork.”

Impatiently he held out his hand but Lissa stammered, “I...I don’t have the picture. I...I sent it back to the house with my maid.” She sent Mr. Crossing an apologetic smile. “I had no idea we’d see you this evening, sir, and merely wanted to ensure it was kept safe.”

Lissa was ready to be strongly censured. And indeed she was. Cosmo immediately rounded on her, but it would seem her rueful expression was sufficiently ameliorating for Mr. Crossing, who gave her a fatherly pat on the shoulder.

“Tomorrow then. You can present it to me when I’m breakfasting with my wife. That’ll surprise her. No need to tear strips off your poor cousin.” He smiled at Lissa who was mesmerized by his fat, fishlike lips. She didn’t wonder at the risks the very young, sweet Mrs. Crossing would go to escape a close encounter with them.

Snapping back to the present, she saw that Cosmo’s benefactor had narrowed his eyes. He made a sucking noise then said in a loud whisper as he pulled Cosmo slightly away, “I trust you did not find her...in a state that would cause embarrassment either to herself or to me.” Clearing his throat, he eyed Lissa with some awkwardness. “I would that you had not accompanied Mr. Lamont.”

But Cosmo broke in quickly, saying, “Indeed, my cousin remained in the rotunda while I executed your commission. I made sure she did not...er, see...the result of my jottings, which I immediately consigned to a pouch as, like you, I would hate to have caused her distress.”

“Distress?” His eyes grew bulbous.

He was about to say more, but Lissa interjected quickly, “I think my cousin is exaggerating, sir. When he pointed your wife out to me, she was deep in conversation with another lady, listening to Mozart.” She placed her hand firmly on Cosmo’s forearm. “And now, cousin, shall we leave? Mama will be cross if you keep me up too late.”