Her Secret Affair (6 page)

The consummate gentleman, Hathaway guided Isabel forward, presenting her as a long-lost relation from the country. Lord and Lady Winfrey bade Isabel a cordial welcome, setting the seal of their approval on her presence and sparking a guarded relief in her. She had passed the first test. Afterward, Hathaway joined a group of men in a political discussion while Lord Kern escorted Isabel and Helen up the grand staircase to the ballroom.

The long chamber was decorated like an Egyptian bazaar, the walls festooned with tentlike draperies. Clusters of palm trees filled the corners, and the crystal chandeliers sparkled like stars against the dark arch of the sky. In an alcove at one end, the musicians were tuning their instruments. Footmen dressed in Arabian robes offered drinks to the company. A sense of expectancy filled the air, renewing the gaiety inside Isabel and quickening her pulse.

She was here, truly
here.
She was one of the favored few admitted to a society ball. She tapped the toe of one dancing slipper on the polished wood floor. Anything could happen tonight. A myriad of new experiences lay before her, as enticing as the treasures in Aladdin’s cave.

Not even Kern’s glowering presence could dim her anticipation. At last she had the chance to set her plan in motion, and she meant to enjoy herself in the process. But she would not forget her goal. Against the side of her thigh, she could feel the slight weight of the pocket hidden inside her petticoat, the pocket containing the slim diary written by her mother. Isabel kept it with her at all times, prudently tucked away with a small dagger for protection. Starting tonight, she would finagle a few encounters with certain gentlemen named in the memoirs.

Her stomach gave an involuntary lurch. She would begin with the cad who just might be her father …

Lord Kern bowed to her. “I should like to request the second dance.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” Isabel said firmly. “It’s understandable that you’d prefer the company of your fiancée.”

“Oh, but Justin has already promised me the opening quadrille and a waltz later,” Helen said with an airy wave of her gloved hand. “
You
must allow him two dances as well. That way, the other gentlemen will grow jealous of his good fortune and come flocking to your side.”

Isabel feigned a shy laugh. “Truly, this is all so overwhelming for a country miss like me. Perhaps it’s best that I remain in the background for a time—”

“And hide among the palm trees?” Helen giggled. “Don’t be silly, Isabel. I vow, you’re one of the prettiest ladies here. Don’t you think so, Justin? Isn’t my cousin a beauty beyond compare?”

She’s a viper. A sleek, seductive serpent in the guise of a lady.

Kern compressed his lips around the retort. How could Helen be so blind? Isabel Darling mocked the ideal of frail, virtuous womanhood.

Although youth lent her a certain freshness, she looked far too bold and exotic in a jade gown that hugged her bosom and skimmed downward over womanly curves. She needed no jewels to call attention to the fullness of her milk-white breasts. The frock set off her vivid coloring, the sherry-brown eyes, the hint of fire in the cascade of dark curls. Surely no one could mistake
her
for a blushing maiden.

No one but Helen. Sweet, naïve Helen. He far preferred her delicate blond beauty to Isabel’s garish sensuality.

Turning to his fiancée, he took up her gloved hand and kissed its dainty back. “My dear, I confess to admiring only you.” Glancing at Isabel, he couldn’t resist adding, “However, I’ve no doubt Miss Darby may appeal to certain types of gentlemen.”

“Miss
Darcy,
” Helen corrected with surprising sharpness. “Really, Justin, you might make an effort to get my cousin’s name right. And you’d share my admiration for her if you’d come ’round more to visit. Now, I want you two to be the very best of friends.”

Irked that Isabel Darling already commanded Helen’s loyalty, he forced out an apology. “I beg your pardon, Miss Darcy.”

“It’s quite all right. I, too, have trouble remembering names.” She edged toward an oasis of palms, where chairs provided seating for those too old or infirm to dance. “The music will be starting, so I had better find a place to watch.”

“Quickly, Justin,” Helen said, tugging on his sleeve. “You must introduce Isabel.”

The sparkle in her blue eyes gave him a bad feeling. “Introduce?”

“Of course. You know as well as I that she cannot dance without a proper introduction to her partner. We must find the most eligible man here.” Helen turned to survey the crowded ballroom, where guests were beginning to line up for the first set.

“Really, I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” Isabel said. “I’m perfectly happy to wait—”

“Oh, famous!” Helen said, peering across the chamber. “Mr. Charles Mobrey is standing alone by that pillar. You went to Eton with him, didn’t you, Justin?”

“Unfortunately so,” Kern began.

“Not only is he heir to Viscount Eslington, he has twenty thousand a year,” she confided to Isabel. “He’s a bit reserved, but you’ll draw him out. Come along now, both of you, and hurry.”

Helen, a matchmaker? Kern didn’t care for this new impudence in his otherwise docile fiancée. It must be the influence of Isabel Darling, he reflected grimly as he followed in their wake. She was corrupting his beloved, putting inconvenient ideas in her head. And Isabel’s show of reluctance didn’t fool him. It was all part of her ruse to make people believe she was a meek little rustic rather than a greedy opportunist in search of a rich husband.

At least Charles Mobrey was too much the elitist to be taken in by her spurious charms. Kern remembered him as an intense sort, fancying himself a poet and given to bouts of brooding. True to form, Mobrey lifted a fair eyebrow at Isabel, his chin jutting regally above his elaborate cravat and rather stout chest. Kern performed the introductions, then stepped back to watch as Isabel smiled and flirted. To Kern’s unpleasant surprise, Mobrey’s aloofness melted like candle wax, and he asked Isabel to partner him.

The orchestra launched into the opening strains of a quadrille. Kern led Helen toward the long line of ladies and gentlemen assembling on the dance floor. She curtsied before him at the start of the dance, smiling merrily, her cheeks flushed with success.

“Isn’t it grand?” she whispered. “Mr. Mobrey often comes to these affairs and never deigns to squire a lady beneath his social standing. Only our Isabel has been able to catch him.”

“He’s a snob, not a fish. And no doubt he’ll dodge the hook when he finds out the bait has nothing to her name.”

Instead of leaping to Isabel’s defense, Helen frowned thoughtfully. “I’ve been worrying about that very thing,” she said. “I do believe I shall have a word with Papa on the matter.”

Kern only half heard her, glowering as Isabel performed the complicated steps with style and refinement, as if she’d danced at society parties all her life. The candlelight caught the copper strands in her dark brown hair, and the lush green gown caressed her feminine figure. Mobrey no longer looked bored, nor did he stick his nose in the air. His condescending features wore the newfound fervor of a smitten lover. Whenever the dance steps brought them together, she inclined her head toward him in conversation. Her lips were curved into a sultry smile, and her eyes caressed him as if he owned her heart.

A tightness squeezed Kern’s chest. Damn the slut. It only went to prove that expensive clothing and fine manners couldn’t disguise her basic nature. Yet were he a betting man, he would never have wagered on her first conquest being Charles Mobrey.

As he watched, she leaned forward and whispered into Mobrey’s ear. The gentleman clutched his hand to his heart.

God! Was she already arranging an assignation? Surely not even Isabel Darling would be so brazen. So what the devil was she saying to him?

*   *   *

“I never dreamed I’d dance with a man of your rank,” Isabel murmured, injecting a note of awe into her voice. “You must be acquainted with every member of the
ton.
”

“They’re a brood of cackling hens, every last one of them.” Charles Mobrey’s ash-gray eyes flitted to her breasts before returning to her face. “You, on the other hand, are a bird of paradise. A brilliant sun washing away the tedium of this dull assembly.”

Isabel judged it imprudent to point out that he had mixed his figures of speech. “Fie, sir, you’ll have me blushing. I would sooner speak of you than dwell upon myself.”

“Modesty only enhances your beauty. ‘O my luve’s like a red, red rose, / That’s newly sprung in June: / O my luve’s like the melodie / That’s sweetly play’d in tune…’”

A promenade drew him away, granting Isabel a respite from his cloying attentions. Curbing her impatience, she considered how best to find out what she needed to know. As she was pondering, her gaze strayed over the multitude of dancers and clashed with Lord Kern’s keen eyes.

Rest assured, Miss Darling, I don’t intend to let you out of my sight.

His vigilance made her feel flushed and guilty. Drat him. Did he expect her to commit a
faux pas
? She didn’t plan on venturing outside the bounds of propriety.

At least not while he was around.

The dance pattern brought her back to her partner. The instant Charles Mobrey again grasped her gloved hand, she smiled winningly at him. “If I may be so bold as to say so, you’ve been blessed with an amiable nature,” she said. “You must have dozens of admiring friends.”

His portly chest puffed with pride beneath his plum-colored coat. “Many appreciate my finer qualities. Yet you, Miss Darcy … you are perceptive beyond compare.”

A curl of sandy hair rested above his burning gaze, and his fingers clutched at hers. He was ready, quite ready to do her bidding. Her pulse surged at the thought of her goal. Artfully lowering her lashes, she murmured, “How generous you are. Perhaps … oh, I dare not ask you.”

His gloved hand pressed tighter. “What? What is it? Tell me!”

“I would beg a favor of you, but our acquaintance has been too brief.”

“Ask away, my red, red rose. I will fetch a coal from Mount Vesuvius if it pleases you. A jewel from the crown of the tsar. A star from the very heavens—”

“It’s nothing so heroic,” Isabel said hastily. “Being newly arrived in the city, I am at a disadvantage. I wondered—since you know so many members of the
ton,
perhaps you might introduce me to someone.”

His fair eyebrows lifted in distress. “If my company displeases you—”

“Oh, that is not the case at
all!
You are the finest of gentlemen. No, I am merely interested in finding several old acquaintances of my dear departed mother…”

The dance steps separated them for a few moments as they changed partners. Though she was deliberately trying to engage his sympathies, a lump filled Isabel’s throat. Oh, how her mother would have loved dancing at a ball like this one, basking in the attentions of a handsome gentleman and knowing he returned her affections.

But none of her lovers had offered respectability to her. When Aurora had threatened to expose their dirty secrets, one of them had killed her. Quite possibly, Isabel knew, the murderer had been her father.

With each thud of her heartbeat, the old pain battered at her self-control. She wanted to turn and run, to flee this ballroom and return to the familiarity of the brothel.

Coward,
she chided herself. She needed to get this encounter over with and done, like a draught of bitter medicine. She had lived in a dream world for far too long. It was time to confront reality.

Isabel felt a squeeze of her fingers and found herself once again gazing into the ardent, aristocratic face of Charles Mobrey. “My dear lady,” he said, “if you allow me to arrange an introduction to any person here, you’ll make me the happiest of all men.”

Success lay within her grasp. The quadrille was drawing to a close, and she had no intention of waiting around for her dance with Kern. Doubtless he would be glad to rescind that duty.

Rest assured, Miss Darling, I don’t intend to let you out of my sight.

Shaking off her misgivings, she flashed Mobrey a brilliant smile. “Then let us take a promenade to the card room, shall we? I’ve a suspicion the gentleman I wish to meet may be there. But you must promise to let me bring up the topic of my mother in my own way and in my own time…”

As Mobrey led her off the dance floor, she steeled her nerves. If all went as planned, she was about to come face-to-face with her father.

*   *   *

The bevy of dancers milled at the end of the set, blocking Kern’s view of Isabel and Mobrey. He hid his impatience while Helen exchanged greetings with the venerable Duchess of Covington.

It was customary for a young lady to return to her chaperone at the end of a dance. But Hathaway had objected to engaging a chaperone on the grounds that a female relation might scrutinize Isabel’s connection to the family and discover the scandalous truth. For shopping expeditions and social events when Hathaway could not escort his daughter, there was. old Miss Gilbert, who had been Helen’s governess for many years and valued her post too much to ask questions.

Miss Gilbert had remained home tonight. And Hathaway was ensconced with his political cronies in the library. Kern would have liked to have been there, too, had not circumstance left him to act the nursemaid.

The throng dispersed. Other dancers took their places on the floor. He could not see Isabel or Mobrey anywhere. Where the devil had they gone?

Helen and the duchess were debating the proper height of a lady’s plumed headpiece. Flashing his most charming smile at the duchess, Kern made an apology, cupped Helen’s elbow, and drew her away.

“But Justin,” she protested as they wended their way through the crowd. “I wasn’t finished talking. I was just making my point that if the feather worn by a lady is longer than her face, she looks ridiculously out of proportion—”

“The music is starting again. You’ve promised this dance to young Blakey, have you not? Ah, there he is now.” The orchestra struck up a lively reel. Suppressing a twinge of guilty relief, he handed her over to the gangly, blushing Earl of Blakey. “Do excuse me,” Kern said with a bow to Helen. “I must find your cousin for our dance.”