Her Secret Affair (2 page)

“Melodramatic nonsense,” Kern said dismissingly. “She moved on to another customer quickly enough. In fact, I would venture to say she was servicing a procession of men even while she and my father were involved.”

Miss Darling’s gaze wavered, and he knew in cold triumph that he’d surmised correctly. There
had
been other men. Many of them. No doubt she knew all about them from reading the memoirs.

And how many gentlemen had Isabel Darling beguiled? How many customers had run their hands down that exquisite body? How many men had shared her bed?

And for God’s sake, why did
he
want to share it, too?

He strode toward her. “Don’t pretend ignorance, Miss Darling. You doxies are all alike. You entertain whomever is willing to pay your price.”

“Oh? No amount of money could induce me to have
you.
”

“Suppose I were to agree to sponsor you. To let you into society so that you can work your trickery. What would you give me in return?”

He saw her eyes grow round as he stopped before her, mere inches away. She seemed not to notice that the boa slipped from her fingers and pooled at her feet. The air felt charged, as if he’d been struck by lightning. He had come here expecting to confront a coarse, well-seasoned strumpet, not this dainty girl with dark eyes and fine features. As much as her scheme enraged him, he had to admire her pluck. She did not cower, not even now.

His body was on fire for her. But he kept his hands at his sides, even when her lashes fluttered slightly, a sign of submissiveness. She had a soft, willing mouth, and her lips were parted, revealing the gleam of pearly white teeth and the dark promise of pleasure.

Never in his life had Kern propositioned a common whore. Yet she goaded him beyond control. He recklessly bent his head to her, tilting up her chin with one fingertip. “Witch,” he muttered. “You’ve gone about this all wrong. It would be far more profitable for you to seek
my
favor.”

Sparks of gold glittered in her brown eyes. He could feel her quivering like a mare scenting her mate. Then she spun away from him and retreated.

She took up a position behind a gilt chair. Her rigid stance conveyed anger, yet when she spoke, her voice was calm. “You’re as disgusting as your father,” she said. “You’ll introduce me to society—or I shall publish the memoirs within one month’s time.”

Kern clenched his teeth. What a bloody fool he was for letting her charms distract him. There would be the devil to pay if his father’s randy exploits were printed for all the world to read. The scandal would taint his entire family, including his fiancée, the naïve Lady Helen Jeffries. God knew, the disgrace might destroy their betrothal.

Yet he would not—could not—succumb to this blackmail. It went against every principle he held dear.

Kern stalked toward Isabel Darling. She held her ground like a defiant martyr standing up to a lion. No, like an amoral bitch. Her physical beauty masked the ugliness of her character.

This time, he gave rein to his fury. He encircled her delicate neck with his hands. Through his thin gloves, he could feel the swift beating of her pulse. “You play a dangerous game, Miss Darling. But you’ll have to find yourself another dupe.”

“You daren’t refuse me,” she said in a low tone.

“On the contrary.” He scanned her in contempt. “It would be easier to turn a leper into a lady than you.”

A hiss of displeasure escaped her. She stared boldly up at him, defying his insult. Even now he was seduced by the softness of her flesh. He was disgusted by his urge to bear her down to the floor and take the release she sold to other men …

“Well, well,” drawled a husky female voice from the doorway. “Here’s a charming little scene.”

That accusing tone snapped Isabel to her senses. She stepped back so fast the room spun. Or perhaps it was the giddy effect from gazing too long into Lord Kern’s merciless green eyes. She had been transfixed by his towering presence, by the smell of rain mixed with the dangerous scent of man.

The epitome of arrogance, he calmly turned toward their visitor, as if he hadn’t just wrapped his fingers around Isabel’s throat. She could still feel the pressure of those hands, smooth and menacing, capable of snuffing out her life. Subduing a shudder, she watched Callie stroll into the boudoir.

The exaggerated sway of her hips called attention to her voluptuous figure. The years had been kind to Callandra Hughes; few lines marred her face and the brassy blond of her hair hid any gray. She adored men—or rather, she adored the attention men afforded her.

Like a performer in a music hall, she made a show of removing the lace fichu from her bodice and exposing the low cut of her maroon gown. “Shame on you, Isabel,” she purred, without taking her smoke-blue eyes from Lord Kern. “You oughtn’t have kept such a handsome buck all to yourself.”

Isabel stiffened. “This is a private conversation.”

“I’m sure it is.” Callie sidled up to Lord Kern, leaning forward to give him a better look at her breasts. “And who might you be, sir?”

He ignored the question. “Excuse me, madam. I was on my way out.”

“So soon?” Pouting prettily, she slid her arm through his. “Perhaps you’d prefer the company of a woman more experienced in the fine art of pleasuring gentlemen—”

“Aunt Callie,” Isabel broke in. “There’s a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

“Later—”

“Now. My guest can find his own way out.”

Sullenness drew down the corners of that ripe cherry mouth. But Callie released his arm. The earl made a formal bow to both women. His sharp gaze pierced Isabel for a moment, and again she felt that strange pressure in the pit of her stomach. He had alarmed her from the moment he had first appeared behind her in the mirror, frightening her half to death. Without a backward glance, he strode out of the boudoir.

It would be easier to turn a leper into a lady than you.

Isabel closed her fingers around a scent bottle, tempted to hurl it after him. She hated the way he made her feel, as if she were a worm he’d like to squash beneath his elegantly shod foot. Let him think her a fortune hunter, an adventuress. He was nothing but a rich snob, believing himself superior toward those less fortunate.

He
might think their quarrel resolved, but she knew better.

“So,” said Callie, drawing Isabel’s attention away from the empty doorway. “What is this all-important matter you wish to discuss?”

Isabel fought the wash of warmth in her cheeks. “There’s nothing. I only didn’t want you to go with him.”

“I see.” Looking thoughtful, Callie sashayed around Isabel. “So Aurora’s little girl has a gentleman caller at last. Who is he?”

“He’s an arrogant nod-cock, that’s who.”

Callie arched one perfect eyebrow. “Well, aren’t all men?” She pranced to the dressing table and primped her golden curls while watching Isabel in the mirror. “I’ve been wondering why you’ve been acting so secretive lately. Now I know. You finally have yourself an admirer.”

Isabel scrambled for an explanation. “His father was a friend of my mother’s, that’s all.”

“How amusing. Now the son is taken with the daughter.” Callie regarded Isabel as if seeing her with new eyes. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve grown up to be quite as pretty as Aurora, you know.”

Isabel’s throat closed. She wanted to deny it. Though she could look at herself and glimpse an uncanny resemblance to Aurora Darling’s dark beauty, she still felt like the awkward child who’d been taunted by bullies about her bastardy.

“Our Isabel has a charm all her own,” declared the short, round woman who swept into the boudoir. Aunt Minerva, or Minnie as Isabel liked to call her, bustled around the room like a ball of energy, her aproned gown swishing purposefully as she plumped the pillows on the chaise and tidied the jars of cosmetics. “And I, for one, should like to know what Lord Kern was doing in this house.”

“Lord Kern?” Callie said, her lips parting in surprise. She pointed at the empty doorway, where the earl had disappeared. “Lynwood’s heir? That was
him?
”

“Aye.” Scowling, Minnie plucked the boa from the carpet. “I saw him walking out—he told me he came in the back entrance. And ’tis your fault, Callandra Hughes, for neglecting to lock the doors again. Any manner of riffraff might’ve caused us harm.”

Callie stuck out her lower lip. “I’m no servant to be checking doors and windows.”

“You’ll do your fair share, Miss Hoity-Toity, or you’ll be finding yourself turning tricks on a street corner in Whitechapel.”

“Oh no, Miss Almighty Minnie.” Callie stalked toward the older woman. “On her deathbed, Aurora promised I’d always have a home here.”

“
If
you abide by the rules of this house. And that means tending to your chores instead of lying abed till noon and primping till eventide.”

“Listen, you old witch. Just because you were never as pretty as me—”

“Stop it.” Isabel stepped between the two women, who stood nose to nose in the center of the room. “Stop this quarreling at once. It’s beneath the both of you.”

Minnie glared at Isabel for an instant. Then she lowered her head, her graying ginger hair sticking out of her mobcap. “Forgive me. ’Tis this plaguey Irish temper what gets the best of me sometimes. Your dear mama always did chide me for it.”

“Well,
I
see no need to apologize,” Callie said with a toss of her blond ringlets, “since Isabel broke the rule about entertaining men in the house. She’s the reason the rest of us ladies pledged to quit whoring. But perhaps our little girl isn’t so innocent anymore.”

Even as Minnie sucked in an angry breath, Isabel raised her hand to prevent another argument. “I sent his lordship away and that’s the end of it.”

“He’ll be back,” Callie said. “I recognize that look in a man’s eyes. You’ve made a conquest, you mark my words.” She flounced out the door and vanished with a twitch of her skirts.

“Cheeky baggage.” Minnie shook her fist. “You’d think she was the Duchess of Lynwood instead of a hoary old lightskirt.” The stout woman tucked the feather boa into a drawer of the highboy. “Don’t mind her, dearie. I’ll have a talk with her later for upsetting you.”

“Please, leave it be.”

“Now, now.” Minnie paused in her tidying to regard Isabel. “You’re as dear to me as my own daughter. I won’t have anyone slandering you.”

Isabel managed a distracted smile. Though they were no relation, she had grown up regarding Minnie and the other “ladies” as her aunts. Minnie had come often to visit Isabel in the country, where Aurora had sent Isabel to live under the care of a governess, far from the brothel. And when her mother had died the previous year, Isabel had returned here to London to live. She’d had no other choice. Extravagant to the end, Aurora Darling had squandered her earnings and died a pauper.

Minnie polished an alabaster goddess with a corner of her apron. “Now tell me. Why did Lord Kern come to call on you?”

Isabel opened her mouth, then closed it. She hadn’t intended her aunts to find out, not yet. Now, the earl had exposed her secret.

The enormity of her dilemma struck her with shattering force. Her wobbly knees gave way and she wilted onto the chaise, hugging herself in a vain attempt to keep the pain at bay. But the effects of the vicious encounter with Lord Kern rolled over her again, and she felt her eyes heat with bitter tears of frustration.

“Holy Mother of God.” Minnie clapped her hand to her cheek. “’Tis true we need money, but surely you didn’t sell yourself to his lordship.”

“Of course not!” Isabel remembered that appalling moment when he had accused her of being a whore and she had wondered—ever so briefly—what it would be like to disrobe for Lord Kern, to let him touch her in all the ways she’d heard about, eavesdropping while the aunts gossiped.

“Did he insult you, then?” Sounding outraged, Minnie sat down beside Isabel on the chaise and placed a comforting arm around her. “Say the word and I’ll go after that fancy bloodsucker.”

“It wasn’t anything like that.”

“Then why did the man steal in here to see you?”

“Because…” Isabel considered lying, but the keen look in those hazel eyes demanded the truth, just as it had since she was a toddler and had taken one of her mother’s shiny diamond earbobs. Minnie’s familiar scent of musk washed over Isabel, and she was tempted to blurt out the fears and suspicions that had goaded her since reading Aurora’s memoirs. “Because I’d written to his father.”

“To Lynwood? And what would a wee girl like you be wanting with that randy old goat?”

Struggling against an imprudent confession, Isabel shot to her feet. “Excuse me. I-I really don’t wish to talk about this anymore.”

She half ran into the bedroom—her mother’s old bedroom—and opened drawers randomly until she found a square of embroidered linen amid the array of scanty undergarments. With shaky strokes, she wiped her cheeks. Blast Lord Kern for coming here. Blast his haughty, interfering hide!

It would be easier to turn a leper into a lady than you.

Isabel tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling with its fancy gilded cornices. His insult lodged like a thorn in her breast. He couldn’t know how deeply, how painfully, he’d struck. He couldn’t know how many years she had dreamed of being accepted by the society that would scorn the love child of a courtesan.

Seeing Lord Kern reflected in the mirror had been like viewing the devil himself: those eyes an uncanny shade of green, his hair as black as sin, his expression so fierce it could curdle milk. Big and bold, he had loomed over her, catching her off. guard and laying ruin to weeks of planning.

She had anticipated bargaining with a man of weak disposition, an aging aristocrat without scruples, a man easy to sway to her purpose. All noblemen wanted to protect their precious reputations. They had visited her mother under cover of darkness and had left before dawn, the cowards.

Now Isabel cursed her own naïve lack of foresight. She should have gone to Lynwood House unannounced. She should have demanded an interview with the duke. So much depended upon her acceptance into the
ton.
It was the first step to determining the truth. Heaven help her if the duke took that truth with him to his grave.