Chapter Sixteen
Hunter made no mention of his and Dominic’s disagreement over the marriage as the two men rode together in St James’s Park a few mornings later.
‘How goes the word amongst the ton?’ Dominic asked. ‘Any suspicions?’
‘Not a one,’ said Hunter. ‘There are a few queries as to whether you have rid yourself of Miss Noir or are just being discreet because of your forthcoming marriage. The consensus of opinion seems to be in favour of the latter.’
‘I am glad that they think so highly of me,’ said Dominic sarcastically.
‘You can hardly complain, Dominic, when you have spent the last few years in our dissolute company proving yourself a rake.’
‘I suppose not,’ he said drily.
‘Are you sure that you wish me as your best man? I mean, now that you are trying to clean up your image.’ Hunter was not joking, he realised, judging from the serious expression on his friend’s face.
‘Of course I want you. Who else would I ask?’
‘True.’ Hunter gave a sniff and a shrug of his shoulders. ‘Not much choice when all your friends are rakes. I suppose if you really wanted to be a bastard about it you might ask Misbourne or Linwood. They would certainly get the message that you did not wish to marry their precious Lady Marianne then.’
‘I think they already have that message, Sebastian. Why else do you think I invited them to the ball?’
‘You should have told Misbourne in no uncertain terms at the very start that you had no intention of marrying the chit.’
‘I did, on several occasions.’
Hunter arched an eyebrow.
‘But Misbourne is persistent to say the least. He feels his claim is justified and I have no wish to injure his pride any more than I already have. He owns most of the newspapers in London and he is as sly as a snake in the grass.’
‘Why you do not cut him dead mystifies me,’ said Hunter.
‘We are obliged to work together on political matters; besides, you have heard the saying, keep your friends close and your enemies closer still.’
‘All the more reason to have called him out and put a ball in the rogue’s shoulder,’ said Hunter.
‘With Misbourne it would have to be a ball in the heart. Otherwise he would just keep coming back. Remember what he did to Blandford?’
Hunter gave a murmur of disapproval. ‘Poor old Blandford.’
‘And I would not just be able to walk away having murdered a fellow peer.’
‘Trip to the Continent called for,’ said Hunter.
‘A bit more than that. And I will not have Misbourne dictate the course of my life. Besides, the matter is settled now. He might not like the fact that I am about to marry Arabella, rather than his daughter, but there is not a damnable thing he can do about it.’
For Arabella the week that followed Dominic’s ball was a whirl of activity and she was glad of it, for it gave her little time to think about the way things lay between them and their marriage that lay ahead. She played a role, went through the motions and was careful to concentrate at all times lest she allow something of their secret to slip.
Arabella, Dominic and her mother attended a musical evening at Lady Carruthers’s on Monday, a rout at Lady Filchingham’s on Tuesday evening, a showing of Shakespeare’s Hamlet at the King’s Theatre on Wednesday, a ball at Lord Royston’s on Thursday, and a visit to the opera on Friday. On top of that she had received three sets of afternoon visitors in Curzon Street. It was now Saturday morning and they were due to attend yet another ball that evening.
Mrs Tatton was yawning and half-dozing in the armchair by the fire, while Arabella was teaching Archie a card game at the little green baize covered table.
‘I win!’ Archie shouted triumphantly and spread his cards for Arabella to see.
‘Hush, you rascally boy,’ she whispered with a laugh. ‘You will wake your grandmama.’
‘I am not sleeping,’ Mrs Tatton muttered, ‘just resting my eyes for five minutes while I have the chance.’ Her voice trailed off and her breathing reverted to the regular heavy breaths of sleep with the slight snore that her mother always made.
Archie giggled. ‘She is sleeping. Listen, Mama.’ And then he laughed again as Mrs Tatton made a soft snoring sound right on cue.
The rat-a-tat-tat of the brass knocker on the front door sounded loudly, making both Arabella and Archie start and wakening Mrs Tatton.
‘Is it Dominic come to see me again?’ Archie asked. ‘I hope so for I do like him, Mama.’
‘I am glad of that,’ said Arabella and she truly was, no matter how matters lay between her and Dominic, for as the days passed she was coming to see that even if Dominic did not love her, he loved his son.
‘Is it Dominic? Are we expecting him at this time of the morning?’ Mrs Tatton rubbed at her eyes and sat up straight. ‘Dear Lord, I do not know why I am so very tired these days.’
‘Too many late nights, Mama,’ said Arabella with a smile. ‘And, no, we are not expecting Dominic or any other visitors at this hour. Gemmell will deal with it.’
But less than five minutes later Gemmell appeared in the drawing room. ‘Excuse me, madam, but there is a gentleman at the door who is most insistent that he speak with you, a Mr Smith.’ Quite what Gemmell thought of a gentleman caller bothering his mistress, particularly at this time of the morning, was written all over his face, as if she were the respectable Mrs Marlbrook she was pretending to be. Arabella felt a rush of affection for the elderly butler.
‘I tried to send him away but he is refusing to leave until I pass you a message. I could have him thrown down the steps on to the street, but I thought that such a drastic action would attract attention of an undesirable nature.’
‘You are quite right to come to me, Gemmell.’ Arabella did not know any gentleman by the name of Smith, and, moreover, she was anxious not to receive any gentleman callers other than Dominic, but neither did she wish to be creating gossip and scandal by having the caller manhandled from her front door. ‘And the message is?’ she asked Gemmell.
‘The message is…’ She saw Gemmell’s cheeks colour in embarrassment. He cleared his throat. ‘Miss Noir.’
The name seemed to echo in the silence that followed his words. Arabella could not prevent her eyes widening in horror. Her heart’s steady rhythm seemed to stumble and stop and she felt a chill of dread spread right through her.
Miss Noir. An image of herself as she had stood before the looking glass in Mrs Silver’s house flashed in her head. Of the black translucent dress that showed hints of what lay beneath, of the indecent way it clung to her every curve. Of the black-feathered mask that hid the top of her face.
Someone had seen her.
Someone knew.
‘Miss Noir?’ Mama repeated and looked confused. Fortunately Archie was playing with the cards, oblivious to what else was going on in the drawing room.
Arabella’s heart began to beat again, each beat resounding after the other in a series of rapid thuds so heavy that she could feel them reverberate in the base of her throat.
‘I will deal with this, Mama, then the gentleman will leave us in peace.’ Then to Gemmell, ‘Show him into the library.’
Gemmell cleared his throat awkwardly as if even he had heard of the infamous Miss Noir.
Arabella rose, smoothed out her skirts, checked her appearance briefly in the peering glass to ensure that she did not look as frightened as she felt, and then, taking a deep breath, she walked out to face the gentleman caller.
She closed the library door quietly behind her.
The man was standing by the bookshelves, with his hat and gloves dangling from one hand, browsing the titles of the leather-bound books arranged upon it, and when he looked up at the sound of the door she saw at once who he was.
He was of medium height with a lithe lean build, and the lazy loose way he was holding his hat and gloves belied the tension that seemed to ripple through the rest of his body.
His hair was a raven black against a face that was of pale olive complexion. But it was his eyes that she noticed the most, for they were black and dangerous and filled with fury. And he was looking at her with cold dislike, just as he had looked at her from his place upon the crowded floor beside the Earl of Misbourne on the night of Dominic’s ball.
‘Mrs Marlbrook,’ he said in a smooth voice. ‘I thought that you would see the sensible course and respond to my message.’
‘Mr Smith.’ She gave the smallest inclination of her head and attacked first, hoping to call his bluff with a confident assault. ‘I will speak bluntly and with the same lack of consideration that you have shown in coming to my door bandying such a name. I do not know who you are, or why you have come here on such a malicious mission, but I will tell you, sir, that if you are seeking to make mischief between the Duke and myself, then you are wasting your time. I am a widow, sir, and not completely ignorant of the workings of the world. What his Grace has done in the past and with whom is no consideration of mine. You have had a wasted journey, Mr Smith. So, if you will be so good as to leave now.’ She kept her head high and her gaze level with his.
Mr Smith clapped his hands together in a slow mockery of applause. ‘A performance worthy of Drury Lane, Mrs Marlbrook,’ he said.
‘How dare you?’ Her cheeks warmed from his insolence. ‘I shall have my butler escort you out.’
‘Not so fast, madam. Unless you want it known that the respectable widow to whom Arlesford is betrothed is the same woman who visited his house alone at night a matter of weeks ago. And the same woman who bears a startling resemblance to the whore that he bought from Mrs Silver’s bawdy house and took with him to the masquerade at Vauxhall. I guarantee you that I can have the story published in more than one of London’s newspapers. People will draw their own conclusions, but I would warrant that you will not be so warmly received then, for all of Arlesford’s connections.’
‘I have never been so insulted in all my life!’ Truly the performance of an actress, just as he had said. ‘I will not even deign to reply to such scurrilous and ridiculous accusations.’
‘You may protest all you like, madam, and indeed I would expect nothing less from a woman like you. I might even believe you had I not seen you with my own eyes,’ he said. ‘From doxy to duchess in a few weeks. That is quite an achievement.’
‘Get out!’ She pointed to the door, showing all of her anger and none of her fear. ‘You can be very sure that I will inform the duke of your interest in the matter, Mr Smith.’
‘Please do, Mrs Marlbrook. And tell him also that although he was very careful in fabricating a cover for you, with Mrs Silver, Madame Boisseron and your landlord at Flower and Dean Street, there are always those in the background who are missed. He cannot catch every faceless soul upon the street, every witness to the truth. And you would be surprised at what some people are willing to do for money, Mrs Marlbrook. But then again, madam, perhaps not that surprised after all. I know quite conclusively that you are Miss Noir.’
‘You have a villain’s tongue in your head, sir! Be gone from here. I will not tolerate your presence for a moment longer.’
He cocked his head to the side. ‘Not even to hear what it is that I want in order to keep your secret from the newspapers?’
The fear was pumping through her veins, the scent of it filling her nose, the taste of it churning her stomach. Yet still she faced him defiantly, keeping up the pretence to the end. ‘Publish your lies if you will, Mr Smith. Now, leave my house, sir.’ She strode towards the door and, opening it, stepped out into the hallway, intending to have Mr Smith escorted out. And the sight of what greeted her eyes made her stop dead in her tracks and snatched all of the wind from her sails.
There was a light drumming in her head and she felt sick.
‘Mama?’ the little voice uttered quietly. For there, sitting on the floor at the side of the library door, his back leaning against the wall, playing cards spread out on the floorboards around him, was Archie. ‘Grandmama fell asleep again and I was bored waiting for you to return.’
‘Well, how very interesting,’ said the gentleman’s voice from directly behind her, although he had not yet crossed the threshold from the library. ‘You might not have a care how your own name is discredited within the newspapers, Mrs Marlbrook, but your son—and Arlesford’s, if I am not mistaken—well, I fancy that might be a different matter all together. Only think of the interest that the duke and his bastard will arouse. Even with Arlesford to smooth the way for him the boy would never completely escape the scandal. He, as well as you, would be the talk of the ton.’
Gemmell appeared just at that moment, barely concealing the scowl he directed at Mr Smith. ‘Madam?’ he enquired.
Somehow Arabella found the strength. She looked at Gemmell quite calmly. ‘If you would be kind enough to take Archie through to my mother, and see that he is entertained with a game of cards.’
‘Very good, madam. And shall I then return to escort Mr Smith out?’ He eyed the gentleman with disdain.
‘No, that will not be necessary, thank you, Gemmell. Mr Smith and I have not yet concluded our discussion.’ And, walking back into the library, she closed the door behind her.
‘What do you want?’ She faced him squarely, keeping her face as impassive as she could, although she knew full well that her disgust of him must have been blazing from her eyes. They stood as if they were two opponents in a fight, sizing one another up for strengths and for weaknesses.
‘For you to leave Arlesford. Break off your betrothal and go, I do not care where, as long as it is not London.’
‘Why should it matter to you whether I marry him?’
‘That is my business. You will not marry him, nor will you remain here as his mistress.’ He slipped a hand into his pocket and produced a cloth-wrapped package. ‘There is five thousand pounds here. Admittedly a good sum short of what Arlesford could give you, but enough to pay for your expenses to set up elsewhere and find yourself a new protector.’ He held out the package to her.
It was all she could do not to dash the package to the floor, such was her contempt for his offer. But she restrained herself and just turned away. ‘You are under a gross misapprehension as to my character, sir.’
‘I do not think so.’ He held the money out for just a moment longer, then, when he realised she had no intention of taking it, he sat it down on the closest table.
‘No one would print your lies. It is all of it an idle threat,’ she taunted, but even as she said it she knew that it was not. Just one whisper of his accusations would be enough. Once word of Archie was out, the press men would be peeping in their windows, stalking their every move. She could run their gauntlet, but she could not risk subjecting her son to any such torture.
‘I assure you most solemnly that I can have the story in print and on the front pages by Monday morning.’ He looked at her with an expression upon his face that told her what type of woman he thought her.
‘And do not think to go running to Arlesford with a tale of this meeting or of me. If he hears one word I will know and not only will I publish, but…well, let us just say that London can be a dangerous place, Mrs Marlbrook, even for a man such as Arlesford.’
‘You are threatening his safety?’ She stared into those black eyes, reeling at the ruthlessness she saw there.
‘Take my words in whatever way you will.’ He smiled the coldest smile of promise she had ever seen and she knew with an absolute certainty that this man would have no qualms about executing all that he threatened. Arabella shivered and felt goose pimples break out over her skin.
‘If you have not left Arlesford by tomorrow I will go ahead and make good on my promise to publish. Do you understand, Mrs Marlbrook?’
‘I understand, sir, and I will do as you ask.’ The gall was rising in her throat. ‘Take your money. I do not want it.’ She lifted the packet of money from the table and handed it to him.
‘If you insist.�
�� He smiled and slipped it back into his pocket. ‘Do not bother calling your butler. I will show myself out.’
When the front door shut after him she went to the window and saw him walking along the street. There was no horse; there was no carriage. Mr Smith vanished as quickly as he had appeared.
She leaned heavily against the table, trying to smooth the unevenness of her breathing, trying to calm the anger and the fear that had set her whole her body trembling.
What choice did she have? He had threatened to expose Archie and end Dominic’s life. Arabella dared not risk either. There was no one she could tell. No one who would help her. She did not want to panic and frighten her mother. She knew this was a decision she would have to make on her own. Except that there was no decision to make. How could there be when it came to those whom she loved?
One more deep breath and then she stood up straight and walked through to tell her mother to start packing.
Arabella heard Dominic’s carriage come to a halt outside Curzon Street at nine o’clock that evening. He had come to collect her for the ball. Arabella was sitting alone in the drawing room, dressed not for the ball but in a plain day dress with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. The curtains were drawn; there was no fire upon the hearth, and only a single candle had been lit. The room was in semi-darkness, just as she wanted it, for she did not want him to be able to see the truth upon her face when she told him.
She heard the closing of the front door and the steady sound of his footsteps as he approached the drawing room. Her stomach clenched with the dread of what she must do.
‘Arabella?’ She could see the surprise upon his face. ‘What is wrong? You are not ready for the ball.’
‘I am not going to the ball.’ She rose from the chair and stood very still facing him. She felt chilled, so chilled that her legs were trembling. ‘Dominic, I have to speak to you.’ It did not matter how many hours she had spent rehearsing the words, now it came to speaking them they would not come to her lips. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach, so sick that she wondered if she was going to be able to go through with this.
Unmasking the Duke's Mistress Page 17
