The Widow's Scandalous Affair

by Lucy Ashford

  The landlord crouched quickly beside her, checking Raphael’s pulse. ‘He’s had a nasty knock on the head,’ he told Serena. ‘Rest is what he needs. And maybe a doctor to check for broken bones.’

  Rising to his feet, he told one of his barmen to run and hail a hackney cab from nearby Leicester Street. When the cab at last came into view, several of the men hoisted up Raphael’s still-prone figure, ready to lift him inside, but the driver blocked their way.

  ‘Don’t normally take on fellows who’ve been brawling,’ he said stubbornly. ‘No indeed.’

  ‘Please!’ Serena rose from Raphael’s side. ‘I need to take him to my home in Mayfair and I promise I’ll pay you well. He’s not drunk and he wasn’t fighting. He was attacked!’

  ‘There’ll be a reason for that,’ the driver said, but Serena’s plea and the mention of Mayfair had clearly softened him. ‘Well, we’d best get him inside the cab, then. Don’t want the gent dying on the street, do we?’

  ‘Thank you. Oh, thank you!’ Serena could see that the landlord’s friends were already lifting Raphael in and laying him across one of the seats inside. After that she climbed in, too. He was starting to stir, just a little, though his eyes were still closed.

  Dear God, all this was her fault. After Vauxhall, he’d wanted to take her back to her house, but she’d dragged him here despite his reluctance. Her fault indeed, so, yes, she would take him home—and she would be the one to take care of him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When they arrived at Serena’s house, the two footmen watched, astonished, as the driver tried to help the barely conscious Raphael out of this cab. ‘Come here, both of you!’ she spoke urgently to them. ‘You must carry the Marquis inside—he’s been injured.’

  They snapped to attention. ‘Which room, ma’am?’

  Serena thought quickly—not upstairs, he was too heavy for them to carry all that way. ‘To my sitting room,’ she declared. Mrs Penney had now arrived, all of a-fluster, so Serena added, ‘Mrs Penney. Please take some fresh sheets to the sitting room and make up the day bed in there.’

  Her housekeeper was regarding Raphael with horror. ‘But, ma’am... His head—it’s bleeding!’

  ‘Do you think I don’t realise it? Do as I say and tell the maids to bring in several bowls of hot water and some linen strips. One of the footmen must go to summon Dr Phillips in Wimpole Street.’ Late though it was, she knew the doctor would set off speedily at the mention of her name.

  Mrs Penney still looked shocked. ‘My lady. You surely won’t tend to the gentleman yourself? It isn’t fitting!’

  ‘It’s perfectly fitting,’ Serena retorted, ‘since Monsieur Lefevre was defending me from street robbers at the time of the incident. So, yes, I will stay with him.’

  And please, God, she whispered, please let him not be badly injured.

  * * *

  That hour she spent sitting at Raphael’s side, waiting for the doctor to arrive, was one of the longest of her life. His eyes had briefly flickered open as the footmen carried him into the sitting room, but now he’d drifted into unconsciousness again. She felt quite sick with fear.

  One of the footmen had removed his outer garments while she spoke to Mrs Penney and now Raphael wore only his shirt and breeches and was covered to his chest by a sheet. The day bed was one of George’s most expensive purchases for the house—it was French, he’d told her proudly, with gold scrolling, It was at least a hundred years old, but little did Serena care. She flinched when she saw how the candlelight picked out the gash high on Raphael’s forehead, but she braced herself to do what was necessary, using the hot water and linen a maid had brought to bathe away the blood that matted his hair.

  The doctor, on arriving, asked her to wait outside and came to her ten minutes later to make his report. ‘Fortunately, nothing has been broken, my lady, but the Marquis has suffered quite a blow to the head and has lost blood, as you’ve noted. The wound is minor, but he will, for a day or two at least, be better staying where he is. Moving him would not be wise. You’ll inform his household?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said.

  There was no sleep for Serena that night because she was busy, either watching over Raphael or supervising her servants in caring for his needs.

  * * *

  The next day, too, she insisted on being in charge; but by nine that evening Mrs Penney was begging Serena to take some rest.

  ‘I’ll stay through the night with His Lordship myself, ma’am,’ she urged. ‘You’ve had no sleep and I’d swear not a morsel of food has passed your lips since you brought the poor man home. If you wear yourself out, what use will you be to either him or the rest of us?’

  But before Serena could reply, a visitor was announced.

  ‘Mr Jeremy Wolverton is waiting to see you in the reception hall, ma’am,’ her butler Grinling informed her.

  Serena’s heart sank. Why? Why now, so late in the evening? Wolverton was a worthy man, undoubtedly. His support of the charity school was invaluable and she felt some sympathy for him, since, despite his successful business and his generosity to good causes, he would never be fully accepted by London’s elite.

  Then she also remembered that the last time she’d seen him was at the Duke of Hamilton’s ball, where he and Raphael... Oh, Lord.

  It was with considerable reluctance that she went to meet him. ‘Mr Wolverton. Is the matter urgent? I’m rather occupied at present.’

  ‘It is urgent, as a matter of fact. May I speak in private?’ He frowned at the hovering Grinling.

  ‘As I said, this really is not a good time—’

  ‘Very well, then!’ The normally reserved Wolverton appeared quite agitated. ‘I’ll say what I must say right here. It’s about that man, Lefevre—’

  Swiftly she led him into the small salon to her left and closed the door. Immediately Wolverton started talking again. ‘Yes, it’s about Lefevre. I’ve heard he’s involved in something underhand—’

  ‘Really?’ she interrupted. ‘My goodness, inventing stories about the Marquis’s misdeeds seems to be one of society’s chief occupations at present. I thought you were above all that, Mr Wolverton!’

  ‘Lady Serena, listen, please. He’s been seen entering the most shocking places in lowly parts of town. I hate to risk offending a person of your delicacy, but he’s known to frequent the houses where young women are for sale!’

  Serena’s brain was reeling. Was Wolverton mad, to come to her with such a tale? She knew Raphael was no saint. Everyone did. But what was Wolverton trying to do?

  Poor Wolverton. He’s smitten with you, Joanna had warned her. She said now, ‘I believe this is neither the time nor the place for these stories of yours. And, yes, you are offending me.’

  ‘But he’s here!’ The man sounded desperate. ‘I’ve heard he was attacked on King Street by three men who knew who he was. This surely proves to you that the man mixes in the most sordid company—and yet you’ve actually offered him shelter here, under your roof!’

  Her mind whirled again. How did he know all these details? Who else knew them, other than her and Raphael? ‘You have it completely wrong,’ she declared. ‘Monsieur Lefevre was injured while defending me from some street thieves. As he was unconscious after the attack, I had no alternative but to bring him here. And now, I must insist that you leave.’ She was already heading for the salon door, but he put out his hand to stop her.

  ‘That’s not all, Lady Serena. I’ve heard that he’s been looking in particular for a young Frenchwoman who was familiar to him in his former life. He’s been asking in the most unsavoury places for her and I imagine her protectors don’t like it. This is surely why he was attacked! You must banish him from your house immediately and put yourself at a considerable distance from the wretched man!’

  Serena was shaking inside. But somehow she managed to coolly reply, ‘Thank you, Mr Wo
lverton. That, I believe, will be all. Kindly allow my butler to show you the door.’

  She began to walk out of the room and he followed. ‘Be careful, I implore you. I know you’re besotted with the Marquis. But he’s using you to give himself an air of respectability, while he’s secretly laughing at you!’

  Her butler was waiting in the hallway. ‘Grinling,’ she told him, ‘please show Mr Wolverton out.’

  Mrs Penney came to her side after that. ‘Ma’am,’ she urged, ‘do take some rest now. As I told you, I will sit with His Lordship through the night!’

  So Serena retired at last to her room. After attempting to eat the light supper Martha brought her, she tried to sleep and succeeded, because she was exhausted. But her dreams haunted her all night—and this time they were not of her dead husband, but of Raphael. She dreamed he’d taken her in his arms and so vivid was the reality of his presence that even when she woke she was pursued still by the passionate images that had invaded her sleep. Memories of his caresses. His lips on her skin, her breasts, everywhere...

  * * *

  She woke, her heart thudding. Lionel used to tell her she would have suited a nunnery better than the marriage bed, but there was nothing restrained about her emotions where Raphael was concerned. She’d expected to feel humiliated being seen in his company, but it hadn’t been long before she’d found herself counting the hours until his arrival at her front door. Found herself becoming entranced by his presence, because he made her feel alive in a way she’d never felt before.

  For many months now, she’d believed him to be exactly what the rest of society thought—a man of easy morals who was indifferent to the plight of his fellow countrymen and intent only on personal pleasure. Yet these last weeks had revealed someone completely different—an intelligent, deeply humane man who she guessed hid dark secrets and perhaps had good reason for his cynicism.

  Yes, he was sardonic; could indeed be cutting at times. But to her, he had so often been kind and understanding, tender almost. And so Jeremy Wolverton’s accusations had shaken her to her core. Who was this woman Raphael was supposed to be looking for? Someone he’d once loved and still did? The pain she felt astonished her.

  She reminded herself that whatever secrets Raphael hid from her, she’d always known he would be leaving her life very soon. But still she felt a great emptiness at the thought. Of one thing, she was sure. Whatever she’d let him do to her emotions, she must never, ever let him know it. There must be no more kisses, no more intimate conversations. She’d been a fool to have opened up to him so much about her life and marriage and it was time to build her guard again, since there were only a few days to go before she returned to the solitariness of her life before Raphael. Yet her heart constricted, because she’d grown to like him. To really, really like him.

  Just for a brief moment, she buried her face in her hands. She’d tried so hard to convince herself she was happy being single, happy with her friends and her work with the school. But now that she’d had a taste of what life and love might just maybe offer her, could she ever be happy again?

  It was only four in the morning, but she knew she would never get back to sleep. So she rose and wrapped herself in her dressing robe, lit a candle and carried it downstairs through the silent house to the sitting room.

  Mrs Penney was dozing in the chair at Raphael’s side, though she jumped to her feet when Serena entered. ‘Ma’am!’

  Serena saw that Raphael had not moved and the bandage gleamed an ominous white against his forehead. Dear God, how long would it be before he opened his eyes?

  Mrs Penney was flustered. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am. His Lordship seemed to be peacefully sleeping and I must have nodded off, though I’d have been up in a flash had His Lordship wakened!’

  ‘I know you would,’ said Serena gently. ‘You go and get some proper rest, Mrs Penney. I’ll stay with the Marquis for a while.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘I’m insisting on this. I shall stay with the Marquis.’

  As soon as the housekeeper had gone, Serena took her place on the chair at his side. The crisp sheet had been pulled up to Raphael’s shoulders. His hair was raven black against the pillows and his jaw was dark with stubble. He lay so still. So frighteningly still. She found her mind drifting back remorselessly to that kiss outside the tavern and the way she’d melted into his arms, revelling in the warm strength of him while gazing up into his darkly handsome face...

  He’s been asking in the most unsavoury places for her and I imagine her protectors don’t like it. Wolverton’s words tortured her.

  The servants would be gossiping avidly come morning. She’s refusing to leave him, they would be whispering. We’ve never seen her so anxious. She was being crazy to let herself get so involved with this man of all men. And yet she couldn’t forget the expression on his face last night as he’d brushed his fingers over her cheek. Couldn’t believe he’d been pretending when his lips had captured hers, for she’d seen the dark yearning in his haunted eyes.

  Outside in the hallway the big clock was chiming five and she glanced at the window, wondering when the first glimmer of dawn would creep through the curtains. That was when she realised that Raphael was stirring. His eyes were still closed, but he’d pushed back the bedsheet; his hands were gripping at the fabric as if it imprisoned him and he was muttering, through dry lips, ‘Not again. Not again.’

  Dear God. He was in the throes of a dream, she guessed. A very bad dream. She rose from her chair, her heart knotting, because something about those simple words—the anguish in them—tore at her. She put her hand on his shirtsleeve, feeling the warmth of his muscled arm beneath. ‘Raphael,’ she urged him. ‘It’s all right. You’re in my house now. You’re safe here.’

  ‘The clock. You mustn’t...’ His eyes had opened, but they were wild and unseeing.

  ‘Hush! It’s only the grandfather clock, in the hall of my house. You remember?’

  He sat up abruptly, eyes wide open now. ‘Where have you taken me? Where have you taken her?’

  Her? Serena backed away. ‘Raphael, it’s me, Serena. You were in a fight outside a tavern and were injured, so I brought you to my house. The doctor came and he says that you’ll be all right. There’s no serious harm done.’

  Slowly his eyes focused on her, recognised her—and he lay back against his pillows.

  ‘Those men outside the tavern,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I shouldn’t have let them get the better of me.’

  She could almost have laughed if it wasn’t so heart-wrenchingly brave of him to think he’d failed in some way. ‘There were three of them, Raphael, with weapons! Rather impossible odds, even for you, don’t you think?’ She tried to speak lightly.

  ‘I don’t run,’ he said, ‘ever.’ He tried to pull himself up again and she yearned to help him. What was this man doing to her? Why was she letting him do this to her? Then he clenched his hands where they rested on the sheet and he said, ‘The clock. I heard the clock, Serena.’

  And she suddenly guessed that behind that simple, everyday sound lay some enormous clue—a clue that might unlock the mystery of this enigmatic man. She said to him, quietly, ‘Raphael, why did that clock disturb you so?’

  And when he finally answered her, she realised she was right.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Raphael had once believed there were certain secrets he would keep till the end of his life. The trouble was that in his experience, evil memories tended to come crawling out in the darkness of the night, whether you willed it or not.

  The chiming of the clock had penetrated his uneasy dreams and he’d woken to find himself in a strange bed with his head and ribs aching like hell. Dieu. Those three blackguards who’d attacked him—he was sure he’d seen them before, but where? Where?

  After they’d felled him, all was dark. Yet to see Serena sitting by his bedside with her anxious yet beau
tiful face softly illuminated by candlelight was enough to banish that darkness, if only for a short while.

  ‘Why,’ she’d asked, ‘did that clock disturb you so?’

  ‘Do you really want to know?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she said steadily. ‘Raphael, at Vauxhall you asked me why I took your side against my brother. I told you it was because I believed George was quite wrong to say the things he did. I still want to believe, so very much, that he was wrong. But once more, I beg you, please help me to believe in you by telling me at least some of the secrets you’re hiding from me. Tell me about your life, Raphael!’

  Wearily he pulled himself up on one elbow, then hesitated, because, damn it, he was only semi-clad in shirt and breeches. But then he realised she was scarcely more decent, sitting a mere two feet away from him with her fair hair tumbling in disarray and clad in a flimsy night robe that did little to disguise her delicious curves. Lady Serena—as lovely as ever. His head ached anew with the sheer impossibility of his situation. But it was, he acknowledged with a bone-deep resignation, time to tell her some of the truth. He owed her that at least.

  ‘You want to know about my life?’ he said at last. ‘I told you about my father. Here’s a little more.’ He adjusted the pillows behind his shoulders so he could sit straighter—and he began. ‘After my father died,’ he went on, ‘I joined the French army and was posted overseas. When the Revolution broke out I was in the Caribbean, so at first my regiment wasn’t affected in the slightest. But gradually I heard news that France was descending into chaos, so I sailed home to see how my brother and his wife were. Guy had recently got married, you see, to a girl he loved very much.