Jane nodded, opened her mouth to speak then, clearly reconsidering, said in a panicked voice, “Jem made me swear I’d tell no one. He said it could cost him his job. Nay, his life, even, if his secret got out.”
Even Araminta showed surprise but Lady Partington was calm as she repeated, “Tell us now, please, Jane. You have all our assurances that no sources will be revealed.”
Jane sniffed, shifted from one foot to the other, then finally said in a low voice, “Jem’s bin valet to Debenham from the time ‘e came back from the Far East, where he worked for the powerful East India Tradin’ Company.” Staring at her feet, she shook her head. “I don’t know nothing of the East India Tradin’ Company but I do know Lady Margaret’s brother also worked for the East India Tradin’ Company and that he were accused of something fearful, and that Lord Debenham and Lady Margaret were afeared what were goin’ to happen to him.” She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles.
“Where, exactly, does Sir Aubrey come into all this?” Lady Partington prompted gently.
“Well, m’lady, the story’s this. When Sir Aubrey went away, his wife, Lady Margaret decided to visit her brother Master James, who were now living back in England. And it so happened that Lord Debenham also were visiting, cousins as they all were.”
Hetty narrowed her eyes. His Lordship’s visit had, according to Sir Aubrey’s account, been anything but innocent. If this was the version put about by Jane’s young man it didn’t sound as if the truth were about to emerge.
“I do not think Sir Aubrey cared for Lord Debenham, who was too familiar with Lady Margaret,” she said.
Predictably, Araminta swung around. “How would you know such a thing?” she demanded but Lady Partington put up her hand for silence before signaling Jane to go on.
“Jem says that on the final day of Lord Debenham’s visit, His Lordship and Master James repaired to the library whereupon a great argument broke out,” Jane continued. “In a fury, Mr. James went to seize his sword only Lord Debenham pulled out his own and wounded the young man mortal bad.”
Hetty saw her mother’s eyes widen as Araminta said in bored tones, “I fail to see what this has to do with Sir Aubrey.”
Jane glared. “Well, Miss Margaret were naturally distraught at her brother’s being so badly injured. Then Sir Aubrey arrived in a fury, claiming his wife were carrying on with Lord Debenham. Instead of going to Master James’ aid, he turned on His Lordship and the two men began fighting and then Miss Margaret tried to stop them. Well, neither were hurt but when they went in search of Miss Margaret…”
Jane held up her hands in a gesture of defeat, prompting three voices to cry out in unison, “Well, what happened?”
“You know the story already.” Jane nodded at them. “They found Miss Margaret in her dressing room. Quite dead, she were, from the nightshade she’d taken and holding a note saying Sir Aubrey had driven her to it through being a husband of such wicked and unkind ways. And other things about being involved in that plot to knock off Lord Castlereagh besides.” She shrugged. “Leastaways that’s what Jem says.”
“I doubt very much Jem can read,” Araminta interrupted sharply. “So where is this letter, anyway, since it’s the only means of verifying anything?”
Jane’s eyes skittered indignantly to her interrogator. “Jem were with Lord Debenham after. His master were swearing somethin’ terrible, pacing up and down the room and waving the letter in the air.”
The chills that started at the tips of Hetty’s toes rippled up through her body, forced out in a gasp as she implored Jane to go on.
So the letter was last in Lord Debenham’s keeping.
“Jem asked what were in the letter but the master paid him no mind at first. He were muttering that it brooked ill for himself if it were discovered.”
Hetty had to press her lips together to prevent herself from saying she had little wonder Lord Debenham didn’t want the letter found.
Jane continued her story. “‘Is Lordship told Jem the letter were all ‘bout how Miss Margaret were so ill-used by her husband and were a testimonial to Sir Aubrey’s evilness. Them were his very words.” With a worried frown she placed the curling tongs she’d been playing with onto the dressing table and said with a squaring of her shoulders, “Anyway, the master took to the drink after that and Jem found him asleep with his head on the table and the letter just lying there.”
Hetty knew she was weighing up whether to add more by the way she gnawed her lip. “So that’s when Jem took the letter?” she surmised. “As his insurance?”
Jane sent her a frightened look. “What Jem did were a terrible thing and he’s oft regretted it.” There was a pleading note to her voice. “But Lord Debenham is a harsh master. He don’t know if Jem has the letter or not but at least it keeps him from thrashing him or threatening him like before.”
Lady Partington rose slowly. “So Sir Aubrey’s reputation rests on what was…apparently…written in that letter.”
Hetty could have hugged her. “Of course it does, which is why the letter must be made public.” She turned to her mother. “Jane must urge Jem to hand over the letter, mustn’t she, Mama?”
The response she received this time was disappointing. “Hetty dearest, these are the weighty matters that must be dealt with by those who are directly affected. Certainly I shall speak to Stephen about it. But as Sir Aubrey and Lord Debenham are gentlemen who hold no interest for you, I’d ask you to desist from taking this on as a mission of mercy.” She patted Hetty’s hand, saying more gently, “I know you love to see justice done and I’m so proud of the way you want to help those unable to fight their own battles, but Lord Debenham and Sir Aubrey are grown men and we’re talking about serious matters right now.”
Hetty stared at the floor to hide her trembling lip. How could she ever explain to her mother what a vested interest she had?
Reality diminished the size of her role as potential savior. To Sir Aubrey, Hetty was nothing more than a woman of the night. Her heart cleaved and she was glad of the masquerade mask she raised to hide her devastation. If Sir Aubrey was after a wife, as Araminta suggested, it would be entirely plausible that he’d consider her beautiful older sister.
Jane’s defense of “her Jem” filtered through the roaring in Hetty’s ears. “‘Sides, wouldn’t you do all you could to protect yourself if you was in danger of losing not just your employment but your character?” the young maid demanded.
Hetty shuddered. She’d well and truly lost her character. But to a man who ill-used his wife? She couldn’t countenance it. Indeed, she could barely countenance what she had reduced herself to, though to be honest, she didn’t feel the guilt she ought to feel at having debased herself. Every time she thought about Sir Aubrey a frisson of desire surged through her. It left her breathless, shaking, exhilarated and…hopeful.
Yes, a small flame of hope still burned within her. Araminta was beautiful and beguiling. She’d entrap Sir Aubrey but Sir Aubrey was not a man who liked to be entrapped. He’d told Hetty so himself as he’d caressed her with murmurs of how refreshing it was to pleasure and indulge himself in such a sweet piece of innocence. He’d hinted that if he still thought the same in another month, he was going to set her up as his mistress.
She slanted a guilty look at her mother.
Araminta as his wife and Hetty as his mistress? No, that would never do.
But maybe, she thought, emboldened by Stephen’s words of earlier, Sir Aubrey was not only a worthy suitor; maybe he’d consider a plain and accommodating debutante a more desirable lifelong partner than one full of spirit and fire such as Araminta.
Lady Partington rose and made for the door. “Girls, you both look beautiful, and I only wish I could be there to witness your success.” She turned, her hand on the knob, and her smile gained warmth as she gazed upon her youngest. “Hetty, you look especially charming. You will break hearts tonight, I’d depend upon it.”
* * * * *
At Lady Kilmore’s ba
ll later that evening, Hetty lurched from the veritable euphoria she’d felt at her mother’s words to complete self-disgust. Through the slits of her mask, she drank in every detail of the well-dressed throng and for the first time didn’t find herself wanting. The mere sight of Sir Aubrey’s familiar tall, broad-shouldered form made her mouth feel dry and she longed to have it moistened by his wicked tongue.
He was dressed as a satyr with a curved cutlass angled over his emerald-green cummerbund and a patch over one eye, a contrast to Lord Debenham, who’d chosen a monk’s cassock. Sir Aubrey’s dark-brown curls were tousled and the ruffles of his white shirt were in disarray as if, Hetty thought fancifully, he’d been engaged in fierce rough- and-tumble with a dragon or a dangerous fellow satyr.
He did not hold a mask to his face as many others did. His eye patch sufficed, though of course it was the unusual streak of white hair that set him apart.
Hetty, on the other hand, was carefully inconspicuous in a damask full-skirted sacque gown adorned with bows and furbelows in the style favored the previous century. As a debutante she could not claim to style herself upon the infamous Madame du Barry, mistress to the former French king, but that’s whom she imagined herself. The costume kept her identity well hidden. Her hair was powdered and a heart-shaped beauty spot was placed to the right of her mouth.
Araminta had remarked it was a shame Hetty hadn’t lived in an era that allowed her to hide so much under layers of paint and flounces but Hetty had just laughed. That’s what she intended to do when all was said and done. Have the last laugh. Araminta would not always get what she wanted at Hetty’s expense. The difficulty would be in just how Hetty achieved it.
She ran through her plan once more. Tonight she would waylay Sir Aubrey and hint at having information he’d be glad of. She wanted to pique his interest by letting him know she was aware of the existence of the letter that Lord Debenham said revealed him a traitor and wife-beater. Of course Hetty would never dream of being alone with him again, much as she might desire it, but in masquerade it would be easier to find an opportunity of drawing him away. Just a whispered assignation in a corner with perhaps a stolen kiss and she’d be satisfied.
After that she would visit Jem and induce him to hand over the letter. If there were only some way she could slip unnoticed into Lord Debenham’s townhouse while he was safely at Lady Kilmore’s ball, she might have the matter well in hand by the morning.
Breathing heavily, she fanned herself as she relaxed against the support of the wall and closed her eyes. If she could be Sir Aubrey’s savior, who knew how he might choose to reward her?
When she opened eyes again it was to see the lithe figure of a water sprite dressed in the sheerest robe of aquamarine glide up to Sir Aubrey, tuck her hand into the crook of his arm and flutter her eyelashes at him.
Araminta.
The pain and jealousy, which Hetty had thus far successfully managed to hold at bay, took root and surged up her gullet. Indeed, it was several moments before she was in a position to rejoin the crowd and sidle up to Mrs. Monks, who was looking decidedly anxious.
“There you are, my girl,” declared her chaperone, peering at her through her lorgnette. “Your mother has charged me with your good name and I’ll not see you compromised by disappearing into any shadowed corners.”
“You mean like Araminta and Sir Aubrey?” Hetty asked innocently. “I saw them not a moment ago and came to warn you, as he’s a gentleman Mama is most concerned about. Naturally I couldn’t go after them.”
“Araminta? Why, she was just here…” Anxiously Mrs. Monks scanned the room until Hetty helpfully pointed out the pair in the process of slipping out of a side entrance.
Within a surprisingly short amount of time, Mrs. Monks had waylaid them with a frosty, “And pray tell me, Miss Araminta, what had you in mind?”
Chapter Eight
Hetty sidled into the shadows.
Now was not the time to be seen by Sir Aubrey in company with her sister, though she intended to seek him out later. She just had to bide her time and hope he was satisfied with the company in Lady Kilmore’s ballroom so he would not look for entertainment elsewhere.
Hetty’s opportunity came unexpectedly. She’d been watching Sir Aubrey all evening with half an eye, ready to disappear if he ventured too close when she was amongst her peers. Tonight she was to all intents and purposes an imposter. A cypriot breaching civilized society. That’s what Sir Aubrey must think when she made herself known to him. He would think her bold beyond belief. And she’d revel in being branded something so alien to her nature.
She picked up her skirts with one hand to glide across the room, patting her mask to ensure it was tied securely. It was strange to wear hoops and petticoats when she was used to the fine materials and narrow-skirted, high-waisted gowns she’d worn all her life.
Sir Aubrey had just issued into the corridor, once more having bowed his farewells to Araminta, who’d been borne away by Mrs. Monks, when Hetty slid into his orbit.
“Sir Aubrey, we meet again,” she said breathlessly from the shadows. She removed her mask, having positioned herself a few yards along the corridor away from the open door that led into the ballroom. She laughed at his confusion, adding happily, “It is I, Hetty.”
“Good Lord!” he exclaimed, not without pleasure. “How on earth did you slip past the gatekeeper?”
He strode forward then took her in his arms, chuckling as he stroked her cheek and contoured her curves. “You inhabit two worlds, my bold ingénue, and the mere proximity to what I have enjoyed but twice is sending me wild.” He held her away from him as he regarded her with narrow-eyed amusement. “No doubt that was your intention. What is not so clear, however, is how you thought you might profit from this secret assignation. I cannot acknowledge you…indeed, I cannot be seen publicly with you.”
He looked as if he were truly regretful.
Hetty nodded, sagging against him and sighing with pleasure as his exploring hands became bolder, slipping into her low-cut bodice to fondle her breasts. Heat flowed through her, pooling in her lower belly and making her moist at the contact. Reason left and she’d have sunk to the floor in his embrace had he wished it.
“Dear Lord, but you rob me of all reason,” he muttered into her hair as he molded her bottom. “Stop me here, for as it is I am unable to return to the ballroom.” He gave a wry chuckle and put her away from him, shaking his head. “Look at the state I’m in.”
Hetty put her hands to her mouth, embarrassed and amused to see the evidence of his arousal. “Oh, sir, did I really cause that?”
“Don’t pretend such innocence with me, you little minx.” His soft, full lips curved into a smile of fond exasperation before he pulled her into another hug. “Though that said, your innocence is my preserve. I paid handsomely for it.”
She glanced quickly at him. “You received a bill?”
“You know very well what a good businesswoman your Madame Chambon is. I will be presented with my bill at the end of the month and it will be paid promptly. Nothing less is expected. Oh yes, the tailors, the breecher, the mantua maker, they can all wait but Madame Chambon must receive her money on time.”
Rapidly Hetty calculated that she had two weeks before discovery was inevitable. Such a calculation should not engage the numeracy skills of an innocent debutante wanting to make a good marriage, she conceded with a stab of fear. Nor should an innocent debutante have had reason to discover that there were two words to describe an “abbess” and that brothel-keeper was one.
Mistaking her look for something else, he was quick to reassure her. “My dear, I will pay it gladly, do not fret. I’m wild for you and if I could, I’d tup you right here and now.” He cupped her pink cheeks. “Forgive my crudeness. It was intentional and purely so I could enjoy watching you effect your finely honed skills at playing the parson’s daughter fallen on hard times.” He jerked his head in the direction of the doorway. “Come, let us go now.”
H
etty stepped back. “I can’t, sir.”
“Can’t?” His supercilious eyebrows rose. “What prevents you? Surely that’s the very reason you waylaid me? Indeed, it was my intention to send a message to Madame Chambon that I wanted you sent ‘round to me this evening.”
“Surely not, sir! I am glad I found you first, then, for I have spent the afternoon helping my near-blind papa prepare his Sunday sermon.”
He chuckled, clearly enjoying their exchange as he wrapped his arms about her shoulders and led her a couple steps down the passage. “You are vastly diverting, my dear, the way you hint at hidden mysteries.”
Hetty’s grin faded. How much should she tell him? “Sir Aubrey, I have discovered something recently that I think you would very much like to know.”
He chuckled again. “Is this a clever little ruse to gain extra blunt from me that Madame Chambon won’t get her hands on? If so, I’m very amenable to any arrangement you might suggest.” He tightened his grip upon her and kissed her deeply on the mouth. With a sigh she wilted in his arms.
Her pulse was still racing when he set her back on her feet, murmuring, “Come to me tonight. I shall endeavor to be home by three. No, make that two a.m., for the anticipation is already killing me. I have other obligations in the meantime but you’ll round off the evening nicely, my Harriet.”
My Harriet. Hetty could only grin stupidly, her pleasure overwhelming despite his cavalier attitude. The knowledge that he thought her no more than a creature of the night was dispelled by the conviction that one day he’d know the truth—and not be disgusted by it.
Determined, she pushed her shoulders back. She had to find a way to redeem herself. Make him understand she hadn’t deliberately tricked him so that he would forgive her deception. Reward her for salvaging his reputation. For salvaging the reputation of the man who’d ruined hers…
Dangerous Gentlemen Page 9
