Mistress of Scandal

by Sara Bennett

  SARA BENNETT

  MISTRESS OF SCANDAL

  Contents

  Prologue

  “I need you to go back to a time many…

  Chapter 1

  Sebastian settled himself more comfortably upon his hired hack. In…

  Chapter 2

  Francesca felt her heart give a painful jolt. He was…

  Chapter 3

  The woman of his dreams was watching him as if…

  Chapter 4

  Francesca wriggled as much of herself as possible down into…

  Chapter 5

  Francesca hurried down the stairs. No doubt everyone else was…

  Chapter 6

  Somewhere in Greentree Manor a clock was chiming midnight. Sebastian…

  Chapter 7

  Upstairs, Sebastian stood over Hal, breathing quickly and looking as…

  Chapter 8

  He was dreaming again, and a very nice dream it…

  Chapter 9

  As they passed through the newly completed Euston Square Railway…

  Chapter 10

  William arrived home exactly when Mrs. March had said he…

  Chapter 11

  Francesca huddled deeper into her cloak. Lil had told her…

  Chapter 12

  “What happened last night then?” The voice strained and slurred…

  Chapter 13

  Francesca had never been to Aphrodite’s Club. She’d never seen…

  Chapter 14

  Francesca screamed.

  Chapter 15

  Sebastian strode along briskly, barely registering his surroundings. His heart…

  Chapter 16

  As soon as Amy had gone upstairs to rest, Francesca…

  Chapter 17

  “Miss Francesca,” Lil began, her eyes suspicious. She’d been waiting…

  Chapter 18

  “You see that man over there?”

  Chapter 19

  “Francesca…” he began, as the door to his rooms closed…

  Chapter 20

  Lil’s elfin face was so serious. As soon as Francesca…

  Chapter 21

  She’d imagined the room as dark and empty, but it…

  Chapter 22

  “You lied to me.” It was the first thing she…

  Chapter 23

  “Uncle William.”

  Chapter 24

  It was the following day, and Aphrodite was dreaming again.

  Chapter 25

  “So she really can’t speak?” Lil asked, wide-eyed.

  Chapter 26

  Marietta sat down and put her feet up. “You have…

  Chapter 27

  Francesca’s heartbeat was gradually slowing beneath the palm of his…

  Chapter 28

  The door to Amy’s bedchamber was hardly closed when Francesca…

  Chapter 29

  Lil, her hand tucked around Martin’s arm, all but skipped…

  Chapter 30

  It was a very long time since the Tremaine house…

  Epilogue

  Francesca sighed and picked out a book that looked as…

  About the Author

  Other Romances

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  London

  Aphrodite’s Club

  1849

  “I need you to go back to a time many years ago.” Madame Aphrodite sat forward in her Egyptian-style chair, her black silk gown rustling, her long fingers, heavy with rings, gripping the sphinx carvings on the armrests. Her beautiful, haggard face was intent, while her dark gaze was fixed upon Sebastian Thorne. “I need your help,” she said hoarsely.

  “Of course,” Sebastian murmured. He was used to overwrought clients—it was something he had seen a lot of in the past eight years—but there was something about this one that was different. “I will do what I can, Madame.”

  Aphrodite must have decided she was playing her hand too openly, exposing her raw feelings, because she leaned back, forcing her clenched fingers to relax, one by one. “So you will help me?”

  “Yes, if I can.”

  “You are the best…or so I have been told.” She gave a little smile.

  “I am flattered.” Sebastian bowed his head.

  “Don’t be, mon ami! I was also told that you are a dangerous opponent and give no quarter to those you hunt; that there are those who glance over their shoulders and look for you in the shadows and shiver. But I am not one of them, so that does not concern me. I want results, and I do not care how they are obtained. If you are ruthless, then so much the better.”

  Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Then explain to me what it is you want, Madame, and I will tell you honestly whether or not I can obtain it for you.”

  “Very well.” She smoothed her skirts. “Let us begin.”

  Beyond the room Sebastian heard laughter—women’s voices. He knew that although Aphrodite’s Club offered many forms of entertainment to its patrons, it was actually a high-class brothel. Such things did not bother him; for the past eight years he had walked through the darkest streets in London and seen some nightmare sights, so he doubted he could be shocked. Besides, Aphrodite’s Club had a better reputation than most. The owner was the mysterious Madame Aphrodite, and although there were plenty of stories and rumors about her, no one knew the truth. Whatever it was she wanted from him, he needed to hear it from her own lips.

  “You called me here to help you, Madame,” he prompted her now. “I am at your disposal.”

  She looked amused, as if she knew his gentlemanly good manners were nothing more than the veneer over something far more dangerous. But then her face grew serious once more, her eyes full of painful memories.

  “Twenty-four years ago my three daughters were stolen by a woman called Mrs. Slater. She was one of those evil creatures known as a baby farmer, and she came to my country home in the night, and bundled my poor children into a coach. I was here, in London, and the servants were asleep. I do not blame them, for how could they know what was about to happen? How could any of us have known? Besides, it seems likely she had an informant, someone who knew which door would be unlocked, and where the nursery was situated.”

  For a moment she seemed to brood on the perfidy of that someone, and then she drew a deep breath and went on.

  “Unknown to me, Mrs. Slater took my daughters north, to the Greentree estate in Yorkshire, where she had leased a cottage. For a time they lived there, unharmed, although they were left very much to fend for themselves.” Aphrodite blinked back tears. “Imagine it, mon ami, three little girls—Francesca no more than a baby—left to feed and dress and care for themselves? Vivianna was six years old…” She managed a smile. “I dread to think what would have happened to the two tiny ones without my sensible and clever Vivianna. Then Mrs. Slater’s husband came to live at the cottage. He was in his cups most of the time, shouting at them. They were afraid of him—they had never been shouted at before. They were left alone more than ever, locked in one room, cold and hungry. Frightened. And then one day the Slaters left, abandoning the cottage…and the children.”

  “They were left entirely alone?” Sebastian found his jaded senses could still be shocked after all.

  “Oui, all alone, until Amy Greentree rescued them.”

  “And you want me to find Mrs. Slater and her husband?”

  “That is part of it. While she was living in the cottage, Mrs. Slater would visit the village inn, and she was heard to boast about how clever she had been, and that she was expecting to be well paid for something she was hiding. Of course she meant the children. Someone was paying her to do what she did. That is why I need you to find that monstrous woman, Mr. Thorne.
Mrs. Slater is the key that will unlock the truth.”

  Sebastian’s voice was tempered with caution. “You don’t know that Mrs. Slater is still alive. These events happened many years ago. She may have drunk herself to death by now.”

  “Psht! Creatures such as she do not die so easily. They cling to life, no matter how miserable, because they are afraid that their evil will be punished in the hereafter.”

  Sebastian thought she might well be right.

  “Go to Yorkshire,” Aphrodite was instructing him in a firm voice. “Go to the Greentree estate and visit the village. After Mrs. Slater and her husband fled, they must have hidden themselves somewhere. People notice. There was much talk at the time the children were found. Someone must remember something. Start there, Mr. Thorne, and follow the trail. I will pay your costs. How much do you require to begin?”

  He smiled, and bowed his head to hide it.

  But Aphrodite saw, and raised her slim dark eyebrows at him. “I amuse you, mon ami?” she said tartly.

  “It is just that I’m not used to such plain speaking, Madame. Most of my clients prefer to pretend I am doing their bidding out of the goodness of my own heart. They do not discuss money. It is impolite; it is beneath them. Besides”—and he shrugged to show he didn’t care—“they prefer to despise me for what I do.”

  Aphrodite waved an impatient hand. “Psht! I have no time for such foolishness. I do not care who you are, only that you will do this job for me, and for that I will pay you very well.”

  “I will try—”

  “Come now, you are the best! You found Lady Harmer when she shot her lover and fled her home, and you discovered Sir Marcus Grimsby when he ran off with the parlormaid and his family’s fortune. You have a reputation, Mr. Thorne.”

  She was right; he was the best at what he did. He was a hunter, and once he had the scent of his prey he followed the trail wherever it led. “A veritable human bloodhound,” he murmured.

  She laughed, but sadness lingered in her eyes and about her mouth.

  “If it becomes necessary to speak with your daughters, Madame…?”

  “Vivianna is presently in Derbyshire, and Marietta is in Cornwall. Francesca remains in Yorkshire, at Greentree Manor.” She sighed, as if Francesca were a source of concern to her.

  “And will you take your daughters into your confidence in this matter?”

  Again she leaned forward, her expression deadly serious. “Under no circumstances should you reveal your true quest to them, sir. I do not want them to know. They will pester me into telling them, and…and I cannot be pestered about this matter. It is dangerous. Even you, Mr. Thorne, must tread very carefully. The persons you are seeking will harm you if they think you might threaten their anonymity.”

  “I am not afraid, Madame, but I am not a fool. I will be careful.”

  “Good, that is good.”

  “May I ask what you hope to accomplish by this search? And why you have waited so long?”

  Aphrodite’s dark eyes took on a feverish quality. “A name. I need to hear a name spoken aloud. I thought I could put it behind me but I can no longer live with this terrible fear. I begin to think that he will strike again,” and she pressed her hand to her heart. “It is making me ill. I want to know that my daughters are no longer in danger from him. I want to enjoy their company and not be always afraid.”

  “You want to put an end to it, Madame. I understand that. What about punishment? Justice? Do you want this person brought before the law? Or do you prefer to deal out your own brand of retribution?”

  She blinked, but he could see that she understood exactly what he was saying. “You have done this before?” she whispered. “You have punished people for their crimes?”

  “You said you knew the sort of man I was,” he reminded her quietly. “Madame, it is clear that you suspect someone else to be the general behind Mrs. Slater. Can you tell me his name?”

  But she shook her head violently. “Non, non! Not yet. I want you to discover it for yourself. I want to hear it spoken on your lips. I want to know I am not the only one who believes it is so.”

  She was frightened, and it was a fear that had been with her for a long time.

  “Very well, Madame, I will do as you wish. I am very discreet. And, as for justice, we will discuss it when the time comes, oui?”

  Aphrodite took a shaky breath and nodded jerkily, strands of her curling dark hair loosening from its pins. “Thank you, mon ami. I feel better now. I am afraid, oh yes, I am afraid, but this is the right thing to do. This is the thing I must do.”

  Sebastian rose and took her hand, pressing his lips lightly to her elegant ringed fingers. “I will return to you when I have news, Madame.”

  She was distracted, but she smiled as he moved to leave the room. “Thank you, Mr. Thorne.”

  Sebastian’s steps were quick and light, and as he opened the door, the woman outside stepped back with a gasp. Dark hair, a pretty face, a mouth that was designed to smile. “Oh, I do beg your pardon,” she said in an attractive Irish lilt. “I have a message for Madame, and I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt.”

  She was watching him, a combination of wariness and flirtatiousness in her gaze. Sebastian had that effect on women—they liked what they saw, but at the same time they sensed he wasn’t easily tamed.

  Aphrodite spoke behind him. “Maeve? Is something wrong?”

  “The champagne, Madame. I think it has gone bad—the guests are complaining.”

  Aphrodite clicked her tongue in annoyance. Sebastian bowed again and left them to domestic matters, but the Irishwoman’s face remained with him. Perhaps what Maeve had said was true; she was simply being polite by waiting outside the door. But Sebastian had learned to be cautious, and he suspected she was eavesdropping. That in itself was not a serious offense—she might simply be curious, with nothing sinister in her actions—but he promised himself that he would be far more vigilant the next time he visited Aphrodite’s Club.

  Right now he had work to do.

  His blood began to stir as he contemplated the chase. The role of hunter came naturally to Sebastian. It amused him, too, that those high-society types who treated him with contempt and refused to speak to him in everyday life were forced to be polite to him when they wanted to hire Mr. Thorne.

  Dancing with the devil, he called it to himself, and while none of them enjoyed it, plenty of the highborn rich had been his partners. Mr. Thorne was useful in a difficult situation, and no one remembered that he had another life, had been another man, eight years ago. Why should they care? They simply wanted him to do their dirty work for them and then disappear into whatever alleyway he’d crawled out of.

  And that was fine with him, because he’d lost the ability to be the man he’d once been. That man had gone forever. And Sebastian had no intention of bringing him back.

  Chapter 1

  Yorkshire

  Several weeks later

  Sebastian settled himself more comfortably upon his hired hack. In the bracing cold he followed his companion across the bleak Yorkshire moors, hoping he was getting closer to whoever had planned the kidnapping of Aphrodite’s daughters.

  He always found the northern light different. More diffused and atmospheric, in a way that made him think of worlds beyond this one. Or perhaps that was just because of the landscape; miles of lonely moorland and rocky outcrops and not a sign of habitation. He glanced sideways at his companion. The man—Hal—was dressed in rough clothing that was none too clean, but he rode as if he knew where he was going. Hal was the village blacksmith, and Sebastian had found him in the village inn, eager and willing to talk. His eagerness had increased when Sebastian offered him the chance to earn ten guineas, five before and five afterward. He’d be a fool, Sebastian thought, to renege on the deal and lose out on the second portion, and Hal didn’t look like a fool.

  “T’ Gypsy camp is over the hill,” Hal called out now, his unshaven face flushed from the cold. “The man you wa
nt’ll come out to meet us. As I told you before, Mrs. Slater and he were as thick as thieves. Every day they’d be in the inn, whispering, plotting I called it. If anyone knows owt of where she’s gone, sir, then it’ll be that Gypsy.”

  “And Mrs. Slater’s husband?”

  Hal shrugged. “Didn’t see much of him.”

  “Was there anyone else she associated with, apart from her husband and this Gypsy fellow?”

  “No, but sometimes she got letters. Letters all the way from Lon’on.”

  Sebastian nodded. It was as he thought. Mrs. Slater was taking her orders from someone else. He was hoping that the Gypsy he was on his way to meet was another link in the chain that would eventually lead him back to the real mastermind behind the kidnapping of Aphrodite’s daughters. The name that the courtesan already knew but couldn’t tell him.

  “Not far now.” Hal’s voice drifted back to him. “Aye, there he is!”

  They had climbed a rise, and below them lay a verdant green valley. Sebastian admired it a moment, before following Hal’s pointing finger to the horseman waiting on the far side, on top of another bleak, limestone tor. It crossed his mind that there were no birds about—this part of the moor was very quiet indeed—but it was only a passing thought. He was more concerned with the meeting ahead of him; his heartbeat quickened with anticipation.

  They started down into the valley at a trot, and then suddenly Hal drew up, cursing, and dismounted. “Damn me, my horse’s lame,” he said, when Sebastian circled back to see what was the matter. “Could be nowt more than a stone in his shoe.” He prepared to inspect the animal’s hooves. “Don’t you worry about me, sir, you go ahead. The man you want is waiting.”