Читать книгу No Place For An Angel - Gail Whitiker - Страница 9

Chapter Two

Valbourg mulled over the significance of his brother’s words as he stood listening to Catherine Jones perform a few hours later. The guests had all assembled in the music room, and when Catherine appeared, elegant in a gown of rose-coloured silk and with pearls glowing at her ears and throat, they had burst into applause, aware that a special treat was in store for them. She had positioned herself beside the piano, waiting for her lady accompanist to begin the opening strains of her first song.

A hush had fallen over the room as Catherine began to sing. In contrast to her petite body, her magnificent voice had swelled to fill every corner of the room, each note crystal clear and perfectly struck. It was as though the music lived within her, the glorious sound bursting forth every time she opened her mouth.

Even her physical appearance changed as she sang. Caught up in the music, her body began to sway, her arms and hands floating gracefully in time. Indeed, there was something decidedly sensual in the way she moved and, judging from the expressions on the faces of most of the men in the room, Valbourg wasn’t the only one who was aware of it.

‘Oh, Val, isn’t she wonderful,’ his sister Mary whispered in his ear. ‘I cannot thank you enough for arranging to have her sing for us.’

‘The pleasure was all mine, dearest. After all, what kind of brother would I be if I did not see to your every wish, especially on a night like this?’

‘You would be like Hugh, who neither sees nor cares about anyone’s desires but his own.’

‘Now, Mary, Hugh is a product of his upbringing,’ Valbourg felt compelled to point out. ‘Third in birth order and second in line to the title, he has always felt the need to compete with me for our parents’ affection and respect.’

‘And never succeeded. At least not with Papa,’ Mary said in a wry tone. ‘Mama spoiled him outrageously, but you were always Papa’s favourite.’

‘Actually, I believe Sarah held that honour,’ Valbourg said softly. ‘Father never spent as much time with any of us as he did with her.’

‘Perhaps because he sensed he wouldn’t have as much time with her as he would with the rest of us.’ Mary sighed. ‘Thank goodness we still have Sebastian. Every time I look at him, I see a little reminder of Sarah in his face. Is he feeling better today? Papa told me you had to have the doctor round to see him.’

‘I did, but thankfully his fever broke last night,’ Valbourg said. ‘He will likely be weak for a few more days, but Tennison said he should make a full recovery.’

‘Thank goodness. I know how worried you were about him.’ Mary hesitated a moment before adding, ‘Still no regrets about having him come to live with you?’

‘Not a one.’

‘Then you don’t mind living the life of a monk? Sorry, dearest. Hugh’s words, not mine,’ Mary said with a smile. ‘But I don’t suppose they’re all that far off the mark. Everyone knows how much you’ve changed your life to accommodate Sebastian’s arrival and I really couldn’t blame you for feeling a little put out. I understand your evening entertainment is now restricted to tame forms of cards and the company of safely married couples.’

‘Dear God, have I truly become so boring?’

‘I’m afraid so. And we all know you’ve Dorothy to thank for that.’

Yes, because when his eldest sister Dorothy had heard that Valbourg was assuming responsibility for Sebastian’s upbringing, she had bluntly called it the most idiotic idea she had ever heard. It didn’t matter that Sarah had asked him, rather than Dorothy or, God forbid, Hugh, to care for Sebastian in the event something should happen to her and her husband. Dorothy maintained it was ridiculous that a man who was only concerned with drinking and whoring should be responsible for the well-being of a child. Even their father had suggested it might be in everyone’s best interests if Sebastian went to live with Dorothy and her husband, given that they already had a son and a daughter in the nursery.

But Valbourg had stood firm. He informed them he had given Sarah his word that he would honour her request and honour it he would. For the most part, he just ignored Dorothy hovering in the background like a dark foreboding cloud.

And then, as though summoned by the mention of her name, Dorothy appeared, drab in a fawn-coloured gown that did nothing for her complexion or her figure.

Not, Valbourg reflected, that his eldest sister had been particularly blessed in either regard. ‘Good evening, Dorothy.’

‘Valbourg,’ she said, adding with a brisk nod, ‘Mary.’

‘Hello, Dorothy. I was beginning to wonder whether or not you were coming.’

‘I was delayed by a crisis below stairs,’ Dorothy said. ‘Some scandal involving one of the maids. Mrs Plinkin came to see me about it just as I was leaving. I told her I had neither the time nor the patience to deal with it and that she should just get rid of the girl.’

‘Compassionate, as always,’ Valbourg murmured.

‘Don’t take that tone with me, Brother,’ Dorothy snapped. ‘I don’t want my children exposed to behaviour like that under my own roof. Speaking of servants, I really must talk to Papa about his new valet. The man is rude and condescending and needs to be taught his place. But I suppose that is what you invite when you hire an Irishman.’

‘I don’t know why you would say that,’ Mary objected. ‘I find Tully very pleasant to deal with.’

‘Of course, because you find everyone pleasant. It is the reason you will fail so miserably as a wife,’ Dorothy stated. ‘Servants need to be taught their place. You do that by maintaining a firm hand. I don’t care if my servants like me. All I require is their obedience and their willingness to work hard.’

‘Which I am sure they do,’ Valbourg remarked. ‘But if Mary’s servants work hard it will be because they like and respect her, not because they are afraid of her. As for her new role, I have no doubt she will make Tyne an excellent wife.’

‘Of course I will,’ Mary said, stung by her sister’s criticism. ‘I love him and he loves me.’

‘Love,’ Dorothy said with a sneer. ‘A highly overrated emotion that serves as no useful foundation for marriage whatsoever. You would have been better off accepting Lord Troon’s proposal.’

‘Troon? The man is sixty if he’s a day,’ Mary said, incredulous. ‘And he is not at all handsome.’

‘Handsome? Of what value are looks when in twenty years’ time they will have vanished, leaving you shackled to a man with whom you likely have nothing in common and with no financial recompense to salve your wounds for being so silly as to accept his proposal in the first place. At least Troon is a worthy catch. He is heir to a dukedom.’

Mary blinked at the harshness of her sister’s reply, but Valbourg simply smiled. ‘I shouldn’t worry about it, Mary. Tyne may not be as wealthy as Troon, but I suspect his looks will last far longer so that even in thirty years’ time, you will have no reason to regret your decision to marry him.’

‘Oh, yes, be sarcastic if you like, but people would do a lot better if they made decisions based on logic rather than emotion,’ Dorothy said. ‘Speaking of which, when do you intend to do your duty and settle down, Brother? You are past thirty now and responsible for the welfare of a young boy. No doubt you would both benefit from the influence of a sensible woman in your lives.’

‘Is that a criticism of the way I am raising Sebastian?’ Valbourg enquired, unwilling to let the remark pass.

‘Not at all. Much to my surprise, you have cast off your dissolute ways and emerged a surprisingly respectable man,’ Dorothy said. ‘But it is past time you gave some serious thought to settling down. You are Papa’s heir, after all.’

Valbourg’s sarcastic rejoinder was lost in the burst of applause that greeted Catherine as she finished her song. He looked up in time to see her execute a graceful curtsy, and though her face was lightly flushed and her blue eyes still sparkled, he could see how weary she was. And why not? It was nearly three in the morning and she had already performed her required six songs as well as three encores. It was time to pay the girl and send her home.

‘Come, Mary,’ Valbourg said. ‘If you wish to meet Miss Jones, now would be the time.’

‘Meet her?’ Dorothy’s pencil-thin eyebrows rose. ‘Why on earth would you wish to meet her?’

‘Because she was kind enough to come here and sing for our guests,’ Mary said.

‘Are you not paying Miss Jones for her time, Valbourg?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then let that be an end of it. One must be careful around women like that, Mary,’ Dorothy warned. ‘Flattery goes to their heads. Gives them airs. Worse, Miss Jones may think Valbourg is interested in her and he certainly doesn’t need that kind of complication in his life. No, tell Harrison to give the girl her money and send her on her way. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go and have a word with Papa. See if I can talk some sense into him before the Irishman robs him blind.’

With a curt nod, Dorothy left, taupe-coloured feathers bending in the breeze.

Mary leaned over and whispered in Valbourg’s ear, ‘Is it truly awful to admit that one doesn’t care much for one’s sister?’

‘Not as awful as it is honest.’

‘It doesn’t seem very charitable.’

‘Honesty seldom is,’ Valbourg said in a wry tone. ‘Come, let us speak to Miss Jones while the Dragon is otherwise engaged.’

* * *

They lined up to speak to her. Knights and their ladies, barons and their baronesses, even a viscount and his viscountess—all took a moment to express their admiration of her voice. Only one crusty old earl and his equally crusty countess left without acknowledging her, but Catherine took the snub in her stride. The majority of guests had been kind enough to speak with her, rendering unimportant the few who were not.

The gentlemen, of course, suffered no such inhibitions. Anxious to convey their compliments, they all rushed forward, asking if they might fetch a plate of refreshments or assist her to a chair. Catherine accepted Mr Brinkley’s offer of a glass of wine and Lord Styles’s insistence on a small plate of food, but the other offers she kindly but firmly refused. All she wanted to do now was go home. She had enjoyed performing for Lady Mary, but the euphoria was wearing off and it was only a matter of time before weariness rushed in to take its place. She wanted to be home in her own bed before that happened. She had to be up again in a few hours.

Suddenly, a path opened and Lord Valbourg, Lady Mary Nelson and her fiancé, Lord Tyne, approached. Valbourg and his sister made a striking pair, Catherine noted. Both so beautiful and blessed with all the good things life had to offer. Oblivious to the darker, more insidious side of human nature—

‘Miss Jones, I cannot thank you enough for coming to sing for us tonight,’ Lady Mary said, taking both of Catherine’s hands in hers. ‘I see why they call you the Angel of London, for truly God’s own choir could not contain a more divine voice.’

‘Thank you, my lady,’ Catherine said, genuinely touched by the woman’s charity. ‘It was a pleasure to sing for you and Lord Tyne, and I am so glad you enjoyed it.’

‘We did. My brother, too,’ Lady Mary said, reaching for Valbourg’s arm. ‘“The True Lover’s Farewell” is one of our family’s favourites. Mama used to sing it to my sister and I before we went to bed.’

‘I’m so pleased. Is your sister here?’ Catherine asked, glancing around the room for a younger version of Lady Mary. ‘I don’t believe we have been introduced.’

She turned back in time to catch the look that passed between brother and sister and wondered if she had said something wrong. Seconds later, she realised she had when Valbourg said, ‘Sadly, my sister is no longer with us. She passed away two years ago.’

Catherine’s eyes widened in dismay. So, all was not blissful in the house of Alderbury. Tragedy had touched this golden family, stealing one of their own and leaving an empty place in their hearts. ‘I am so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I would not have performed the song, had I known.’

‘But you did not and therefore owe us no apology,’ Valbourg said. ‘I doubt there is a song in the world that doesn’t evoke poignant memories for someone.’

That might be true, but it did not take away from the fact that she had been the one to bring those painful memories back, Catherine thought regretfully. She might not know Valbourg well, but she sensed he was a man who betrayed little of his feelings, yet felt them keenly, especially when it came to his family.

‘Will you take some refreshment, Miss Jones?’ Lady Mary asked, forcing a cheery note into her voice. ‘Valbourg told me you came here straight from your performance at the Gryphon.’

‘Thank you, but I’m really not hungry,’ Catherine replied. ‘Lord Styles has gone to fetch a plate, but at the risk of sounding rude, I would rather go home. It is late and I have an early rehearsal in the morning.’

‘Of course. How selfish of us to keep you here talking. Val, have arrangements been made for Miss Jones’s transportation?’

‘Indeed. I shall go and see to the carriage now.’

‘Oh, please don’t bother,’ Catherine said quickly. ‘As I said before, I am quite capable of travelling around London on my own.’

‘And as I said earlier, that will not be necessary. It is late and you have been kind enough to perform at my sister’s betrothal celebration,’ Valbourg said. ‘I suspect Theo Templeton would have something to say if I did not take the very best care of you.’

Catherine lowered her eyes, as much to hide her confusion as to acknowledge the unexpected kindness. What was wrong with her? It had been years since a gentleman’s words had brought colour rushing to her cheeks, but Valbourg had done it several times this evening, and with no effort at all.

She would have to be careful. While he might not approve of her, he nevertheless aroused feelings Catherine thought gone for ever; feelings that had lain dormant since Will’s death. It was unsettling to discover they had simply been...misplaced.

Especially now when she was so close to achieving her goal of regaining custody of her son. To forfeit that now through a careless or unguarded action would be the height of folly and something for which she would never forgive herself.

‘Well, I suppose we should be returning to our guests,’ Lady Mary said to her fiancé.

‘And I shall go and see to the carriage,’ Valbourg said. ‘If you would be good enough to wait here, Miss Jones, I shall make the arrangements and then come back for you. In the interim, please do enjoy some of what Lord Styles brings you. My father really does have one of the finest chefs in London.’

He left with his sister and her fiancé, and moments later, Mr Brinkley returned with the promised glass of wine and Lord Styles with a small plate of food. Catherine was quite sure there was enough on it to feed Mrs Rankin and herself for three days, but smiling her thanks, she took the glass and the plate and sat down at a small table as the room continued to empty and the majority of guests returned to the ballroom. Unfortunately, several of the gentlemen lingered.

‘A delightful performance, Miss Jones,’ Lord Tantemon said. ‘The music is as beautiful as its mistress.’

‘Thank you, my lord,’ Catherine said, avoiding his gaze. Tantemon was one of her more persistent admirers. He had never strayed beyond the bounds of polite behaviour, but neither was he reluctant to make his feelings known.

‘I heard Valbourg say he was going to arrange for a carriage, but mine is already waiting close by,’ he said now. ‘Perhaps you would allow me the pleasure of taking you home.’

‘I say, steady on, Tantemon,’ Lord Styles objected. ‘I brought Miss Jones supper, so I claim the right to take her home.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Styles. This is not a supper dance. Doing one does not entitle you to the other.’

‘I am grateful to both of you for your offers,’ Catherine intervened, ‘but since Lord Valbourg has already gone to the trouble of arranging a carriage, I do not intend to offend him by leaving with someone else.’

‘You are gracious, dear lady, but Valbourg won’t care,’ the ever-dapper Mr Brinkley said. ‘He is only seeing to your welfare because his sister asked him to. I, on the other hand, would welcome the opportunity of spending time alone with you.’ He leaned down and whispered in her ear, ‘My offer still stands. You have but to say the word.’

‘Thank you, Mr Brinkley, but so does the answer I gave when first you made it.’

Catherine heard a guffaw from one of the other gentlemen. ‘I told you you were wasting your time, Brinkley. The lady has better taste than that.’

‘Obviously,’ the barrister snapped. ‘She refused you!’

‘Now, gentlemen, you are unkind to pester Miss Jones in this manner,’ Lord Hugh Nelson said, strolling across the room to join them. ‘Can you not see that the poor girl is trying to eat? I suggest you all go away and leave her alone.’

‘What, so that you can proposition her with no one around to listen?’

‘You malign me, sir,’ the gentleman said, affecting a look of injury. ‘My intentions towards Miss Jones are strictly honourable.’

‘Fustian, you’ve never had an honourable thought in your life,’ Styles said. ‘And standing so close to the Angel, I doubt you’re having one now!’

Ribald laughter followed the inappropriate comment, and knowing it would only get worse, Catherine put down her glass and stood up. ‘Well, gentlemen, if you will excuse me—’

‘Oh, no, sweet angel, you cannot leave yet,’ Lord Tantemon objected. ‘We so seldom have the opportunity of enjoying the pleasure of your company in such a private setting. Surely you would not be so cruel as to deprive us of it now?’

‘I’m afraid she would,’ Valbourg said coldly from the doorway. ‘Miss Jones, are you ready to leave?’

It wasn’t really a question and, grateful for the timeliness of Valbourg’s return, Catherine stood up. ‘I am, my lord.’ She wanted nothing more than to turn her back on every one of the powerful men gathered around her, but aware that she was still performing and that it would not be in her best interests to alienate any of them, she added with forced affability, ‘Though the company is very pleasant, I am exceedingly weary.’

A number of polite objections and expressions of sympathy greeted her remark, but Valbourg merely stepped forward and offered his arm. For a moment, their eyes met...and Catherine’s widened in surprise. He knows. Despite his chilly demeanour, he knows how uncomfortable I am and he is offering me a dignified escape.

Humbly, she placed her hand on his arm, gratitude warring with pride as she lifted her chin and walked out of the room with him. She had no wish to feel indebted to him. Valbourg had made his feelings about her quite clear, both by his attitude and his remarks. But at the moment, his position and authority offered her the protection she needed and for that, Catherine was grateful.

At the top of the staircase, she swept up her skirts and, with one hand on his arm, gracefully began to descend. Heads turned in their direction. Some guests even called out to them, but Valbourg did not stop. He just kept on walking, leading her towards the front door and freedom.

It seemed, however, that her departure was to be delayed further.

‘My apologies, Miss Jones. I thought the carriage would have been here by now,’ Valbourg said after a glance outside assured him that such was not the case. He hesitated, then led her into a small chamber that opened off the hall. ‘If you would be good enough to wait here, I will go and see what is keeping it.’

Catherine nodded, suddenly too weary to do much more. Lily was right. Two performances in one night were exhausting, especially given the emotional overtones of the latter part of the evening. She wasn’t used to dealing with men like Valbourg and having to pretend a lack of interest drew heavily on her emotional reserves. How fortunate that after tonight, she would have no reason to see him again.

The room in which she waited was beautifully decorated. Silk wallpaper festooned with exotic flowers and birds covered the walls, while more birds were painted on the domed ceiling. Catherine walked around, stopping to admire an exquisite tapestry hanging on the far wall when an all-too-familiar voice said, ‘Well, well, what’s this? A beautiful bird trapped in a gilded cage. How...appropriate.’

Catherine turned around, not at all pleased to see one of her more troublesome admirers leaning against the now-closed door. ‘Good evening, Lord Lassiter.’

His eyes widened. ‘You remember me?’

‘How could I not? You made quite an impression when you appeared at my dressing-room door with a diamond the size of Gibraltar dangling from your fingers.’

‘Sadly, it did nothing to tempt you into my bed.’

‘It would have taken a great deal more than a diamond to do that, even if I had been interested,’ Catherine said. ‘Which I was not.’

‘Feisty Miss Jones,’ Lassiter said, pushing away from the door. ‘Still playing hard to get. But I rather like that in a woman. It makes the eventual capitulation all the more exciting, don’t you think?’

‘I couldn’t say.’ Catherine’s smile was cool. ‘I don’t play hard to get because I am not interested in being caught. By you or anyone else.’

‘Really. So you prefer to live alone, scraping by on the pittance you earn on stage rather than being able to enjoy the many pleasures life has to offer.’

‘I enjoy life well enough,’ Catherine said. ‘As I told you at the time, I’ve no need of help from you.’ She wasn’t afraid of Lassiter, but neither did she wish to cause a scene in Lord Alderbury’s house. Pity she hadn’t seen him come in. She could have made a dash for the door—beyond which the sounds of the reception were now decidedly muted. As, no doubt, would be any sounds that might emanate from this room.

‘I fail to see why you persist in playing this ridiculous game, my love,’ Lassiter said, beginning to circle her like a hungry wolf stalking its prey. ‘I am a wealthy man and a generous one. You could have anything you wanted. Jewels, gowns, a carriage at your disposal day or night. All yours simply for the asking.’

‘If I agree to become your mistress.’

‘Of course. One must be prepared to give in order to receive,’ Lassiter said, narrowing the distance between them. ‘And surely giving yourself to me would not be such a hardship. I am not unattractive, nor nearly so old as Crosby, whom I understand you also sent away.’

‘Yes, with the same answer I gave you,’ Catherine said, backing up until she felt the edge of the credenza against her lower back. ‘At least he was gentleman enough to accept my decision.’

‘Only because he found another mistress.’ Lassiter leered at her in a way that made him look even more like a wolf. ‘I, however, have not and I am willing to overlook your earlier error in judgement. So, what do you say? Is it to be your bed tonight...or mine?’

He was so close Catherine could see the network of veins on his nose and smell the staleness of his breath as he opened his mouth, his tongue flicking suggestively, obscenely, over yellowed teeth. ‘Come, sweet angel,’ he murmured, ‘give me but a taste of those honeyed lips.’

He placed his palms against the wall on either side of her head, his body angled in such a way that if Catherine brought her knee up and connected in just the right place, he would drop like a felled tree, giving her the time she needed to bolt for the door. It wouldn’t have been the first time she had employed such methods, but she had learned that success was all in the timing. If she didn’t get it right, she would find herself in an even worse predicament.

She closed her eyes and counted it down in her head. Three...two...one...

Suddenly, there was a muffled curse, a screech, and the weight of Lassiter was gone—but not because of anything Catherine had done. She opened her eyes to see the viscount sprawled on the floor on the other side of the room, while a few feet away, with his legs firmly planted and his arms crossed over his chest, stood Valbourg.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Lassiter demanded. ‘I wasn’t accosting the wench.’

‘Mind your language, Lassiter. There is a lady present.’

‘Lady? She’s no—’

‘Miss Jones, are you unharmed?’ Valbourg interrupted, all the while keeping his eyes on the fallen peer.

Catherine swallowed. The question, like the threat, had been quietly spoken, but there was no mistaking the rage simmering just below the surface. ‘I am. No harm done.’

‘How fortunate for you, my lord,’ Valbourg murmured. ‘Otherwise you would have found yourself in a very unpleasant situation. Now remove yourself from my father’s house before I forget I am a gentleman and give you the thrashing you so richly deserve.’

Lassiter blanched. The threat, all the more dangerous for the silken tone in which it had been uttered, left no room for discussion. He clambered to his feet and bolted, leaving the door open behind him.

Valbourg walked over and closed it. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

His back was towards her, giving Catherine a moment to regain her composure. She was shaken—because she hadn’t expected to be attacked in a house like this by a man whose upbringing should have prevented it. ‘I am, my lord, though I don’t think I was in any real danger. I was about to give Lord Lassiter his comeuppance.’

‘You were?’ He turned around. ‘You will understand if I say it didn’t look that way from where I was standing.’

‘No, I suppose not. But in truth, I was just waiting for...the right moment.’

‘The right moment,’ Valbourg repeated with a smile. ‘So despite the fact he had you pinned against the wall so tightly the outline of his fob is likely imprinted on your skin, you still felt there was going to be...a right moment.’

‘Yes.’ Catherine raised her chin. ‘I can explain how if you like. I can even show you—’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said, holding up a hand to forestall the demonstration. ‘It’s time we got you home. Your carriage awaits, my lady.’

My lady. Valbourg’s words brought the blood rushing to Catherine’s cheeks far more than Tantemon’s innuendos or Lassiter’s advances. If his intention was to humiliate her, he had more than succeeded. She was not a lady and never would be. She was an unwed mother and actress. And tonight she had been on stage, just as when she was performing at the Gryphon. She had appeared in costume and walked into Valbourg’s world as though she belonged there—but she did not. The fairy tale had come to an end. It was time to go home, where there were no costumes to hide behind or masks to disguise who and what she really was.

She walked out to the carriage in silence, a few steps ahead of Valbourg. It wasn’t the magnificent barouche in which she had arrived, but a smaller, more intimate carriage drawn by two gleaming black horses and with a single driver up top. A carriage that was still very much the property of a gentleman.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said, turning to face him. I had...a most enjoyable evening.’

‘I doubt that, but it is kind of you to say so.’ Valbourg handed her an envelope. ‘I hope this makes up for what you suffered tonight.’

Catherine took the envelope, but did not open it. She had no reason to suspect the marquess of short-changing her. Instead, she climbed into the carriage and immediately became aware of the lingering scent of lavender, making her wonder who had been in the carriage last. Lady Mary, perhaps, or another equally elegant lady of commendable family and high birth? The sort of lady Valbourg would be expected to marry.

Chiding herself for allowing her thoughts to drift in that direction, Catherine turned to bid him goodnight—only to gasp when she realised he was climbing into the carriage after her. ‘My lord?’

‘Don’t worry, Miss Jones, you are perfectly safe with me,’ Valbourg said, settling on to the seat opposite and pulling the door closed. ‘But if you think I intend to let you drive through the streets of London alone at this time of night, you are mistaken.’

‘But I am perfectly safe in a closed carriage!’

‘That was what I thought when I left you in the music room and then again in the Chinese Salon,’ he said drily. ‘I will see you safely home if for no other reason than to assure myself a good night’s sleep.’

* * *

They travelled without speaking for a time, Valbourg keeping his attention on the street, his expression remote, his eyes as dark as the night that surrounded them. Catherine took advantage of his distraction to study him. When she had first seen him walking towards her on the steps of Alderbury House, she had thought him older. But now, having spent time in his company, she realised he couldn’t have been more than thirty, despite the fine lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes—

‘Why haven’t you taken a lover?’

The question made her jump. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘A lover. Forgive me if you find the word offensive, but I doubt the topic is one with which you’ve not had some experience.’

Catherine bristled. ‘If by experience you mean I have been approached about such things, you’re right. If, however, you refer to my having accepted such offers—’

‘I do not...because I know you have not. But let there be honesty between us, Miss Jones,’ Valbourg said. ‘You admit the subject has been raised in the past, in which case I hardly expect you to suffer a fit of maidenly outrage when I bring it up.’

No, she wasn’t likely to do that, Catherine acknowledged. But the fact he felt free to talk to her about the subject told her exactly what he thought of her...and that did bother her.

‘I fail to understand why you would ask such a question, my lord. What possible interest can it be of yours?’

‘I should think what happened to you this evening would be a more than sufficient explanation.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘If you were under someone’s protection, you would not have been taken advantage of the way you were earlier.’

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Catherine retorted. ‘Being someone’s mistress would entitle me to a greater degree of respect than what I currently enjoy.’

‘Come, Miss Jones, we both know being a gentleman’s mistress earns you no more respect than being an actress does,’ Valbourg said. ‘But it does come with certain advantages. For one, you would be better taken care of.’

‘Indeed. I would be given food and lodging in exchange for pleasures owed to my keeper whenever and wherever he chose to exact them,’ Catherine was stung into replying. ‘Forgive me if I do not find that preferable to the situation in which I currently find myself. Now, if you don’t mind, I would rather not continue this conversation. As surprising as it may seem, I find it...degrading.’

Valbourg shook his head. ‘I do not find that surprising at all. And it was not my intention to offend you, Catherine. I know you haven’t taken a lover, and while I do not know what your circumstances were before you arrived in London, I doubt they were all that much different from what they are now.’

Catherine raised an eyebrow at the casual use of her first name. Did he think to disarm her with familiarity? ‘Why would you say that?’

‘Because the opportunities you have in London would be far superior to any you might have been offered in the country. If you were willing to become some shop-owner’s mistress, you would not hesitate to become the mistress of a much wealthier man here.’

The implication stung. ‘You flatter me, Lord Valbourg. Obviously, your opinion of me is very high.’

‘Actually, it is,’ he said quietly, ‘which is why it pains me to have to ask you the question.’

It was surely one of the strangest conversations Catherine had ever had. A gentleman, asking her why she hadn’t become some other man’s mistress...but not because he seemed to have any interest in making her his. ‘For what it’s worth, I choose not to be a mistress,’ she said. ‘Singing is my passion and I am grateful to Mr Templeton for having given me the opportunity to do what I love night after night in his beautiful theatre. And to pay me for the privilege.’

‘Granted, but what of your future? There will come a time when the public tires of you. Or when the work becomes too demanding. What will you do then? Retire? Move away? Marry?’

‘I will never marry,’ Catherine said. ‘I have a career. One I love and that I intend to pursue. If I were to marry, all of that would change. A husband would not allow me to appear in public.’

‘He would if he were a fellow performer.’

‘It has been my experience that actors make poor husbands.’

‘Personal experience?’

‘No. Experience gained from watching those around me.’

‘So you’re not hiding an abandoned husband in some remote country village,’ Valbourg said with a small smile.

Catherine did not return it. ‘I assure you, I am not.’

Thankfully, the carriage began to slow. Catherine turned her gaze towards the window, aware that they had arrived in a part of town she knew well, but that was still a few streets from where she lived...which was exactly what she had intended when she had given the false address. It would have been bad enough for Stubbs to see her arriving home in a nobleman’s carriage. It would have been disastrous had he seen the owner of the carriage sitting in the carriage with her.

‘I take it you’re not going to tell me why you refuse to take a lover?’ Valbourg said, the question dragging her back into the moment.

Catherine sighed. Why couldn’t he just leave it alone? She didn’t want to lie to him, but she could not...would not...tell him the truth. ‘Lord Valbourg, it would be impossible for you to understand what my life has been to this point. Or for me to predict how it will be in the future. I can tell you that events in my past dictate how my future will be lived and it doesn’t matter whether I like it or not. The past is the past. It cannot be changed.’

‘So you’re telling me you did something you regret and your life is now ruled by that event.’

‘Something like that. Now I really must go,’ Catherine said. ‘It has been a long day and I am exhausted.’

He didn’t say a word. He simply looked at her in silence. But when she went to reach for the door handle, he leaned forward and held out his hand.

Confused, Catherine sat back. What was he doing? His expression, while serious, was in no way threatening, leading her to believe he wasn’t about to try to ravish her. So what did he want?

Her gaze rested on his a moment longer and then, with a sigh, she cautiously placed her hand into his.

Valbourg’s fingers closed around hers, warm and reassuring. ‘Thank you for agreeing to perform for my family and guests this evening, Miss Jones. While I regret the unfortunate incident that took place, I do not regret the time we were able to spend together. You are a beautiful and talented woman and I know you will do well in the future. But if you ever have need of my help, you have only to ask and it will be given.’

With that, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Catherine stared back at him, her thoughts a confusing tangle of emotions. What was she to make of all this? Did he dislike her—or desire her? Was he inviting her in or warning her to stay away? She had no idea. But too tired to figure any of it out, she gathered up her skirts and climbed out of the carriage.

By the time she looked up, it was already pulling away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the darkened street. A few minutes later, it began to rain.

Fortunately, or perhaps miraculously, a hackney came trotting around the corner and Catherine hailed it, relieved she wouldn’t have to travel the rest of the way on foot.

* * *

She was unlocking her front door when a dark figure separated itself from the shadows. ‘Good evening, Miss Jones.’

Catherine gasped, a combination of fear and exhaustion prompting the unguarded response. But when she realised who it was, she closed her eyes and said tersely, ‘Dash it all, Stubbs! You frightened the life out of me!’

‘My apologies, but you’re coming in later than usual and without the ever-watchful Mrs Rankin by your side.’

‘Mrs Rankin is ill. I sent her home and went alone to Lord Alderbury’s house.’

‘The Marquess of Alderbury?’ Stubbs repeated. ‘Well, well, and what would someone like you be doing at a fine house like that until this time in the morning?’

‘Performing.’

‘Oh, aye.’ He smiled and winked suggestively. ‘For a gentleman?’

‘No. For Lord Alderbury and about a hundred of his guests, at a ball to celebrate his daughter’s engagement,’ Catherine said with as much patience as she could muster. ‘I was invited to sing.’

‘Well, ain’t that nice,’ the man said. ‘Expect me to believe that, do you?’

‘I expect you to believe it because it’s the truth,’ Catherine said. Had the circumstances been different, she would have told Stubbs to mind his own business, or at the very least to go away and leave her alone. But it would have been foolhardy to do one and she knew better than to expect the other. ‘You can verify it easily enough, Stubbs. No doubt details of the reception will appear in the society columns tomorrow.’

‘No doubt they will,’ Stubbs agreed, his gold tooth briefly catching the light from the overhead lamp. ‘Enjoy moving with the toffs, do you, Miss Jones?’

‘I don’t move with them, Stubbs. I sing for them. There’s a difference.’

‘But they pay you well for your trouble.’

‘Of course. I wouldn’t do it otherwise.’

‘I wonder you do it at all, a famous actress like you,’ Stubbs said, his cracked leathery face reminding Catherine of one of the gargoyles crouched atop the marquess’s house. ‘Would have thought you already had everything you need. Except your boy, of course. And believe me, money’s no guarantee of ever getting him back.’

Despite the warmth of the evening, Catherine shivered. ‘What do you know about Thomas?’

‘I know the vicar believes he’s watching out for the boy’s soul. And that it would suffer if he were to come to live with a fallen woman like you,’ Stubbs said, leaning against the wall. ‘If Hailey were to hear you’d done something foolish with one of your toffs—’

‘He won’t hear that because I haven’t done anything foolish,’ Catherine said. ‘You know what kind of life I lead, Stubbs. Where I go and who I see. I’ve maintained the same lifestyle for the past five years. Why would I be so foolish as to do something to jeopardise it now?’

‘Who knows? Stronger women than you have given in to temptation. Women who do everything they can, but still can’t make ends meet.’

‘Well, I can and Reverend Hailey knows it. And when the Gryphon shuts down in a week’s time, I intend to go and collect Thomas.’

‘Do you now? Well, let me give you a word of advice. The vicar ain’t your only worry when it comes to the boy. His wife’s taken a real fancy to him and all. Takes him with her wherever she goes. Treats him like her own son.’

‘But he’s not her son. He’s mine!’

‘Damn it, woman, keep your voice down!’ Stubbs said, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder. ‘You’ll have the whole bloody street awake. And there’s no point blowing up at me. I’ve got nothing to do with it.’

No, he didn’t, and belatedly, Catherine realised she would gain nothing by lashing out at him. Stubbs was only a pawn. Her real fight was with the man—and now, by all accounts, the woman—for whom Stubbs worked. ‘So, are you going to report my evening’s activities to your master?’

‘Depends. How much is it worth to you that I not say anything?’

Catherine clenched her teeth and pulled out the marquess’s envelope. This was always how the game was played and it was the reason she continued to give private concerts. Stubbs threatened to send a false report back to Hailey and she paid him not to do so. In short, blackmail. It didn’t matter that she had nothing to hide. Stubbs was in the position of power and he didn’t hesitate to use it. ‘I trust this will help convince you that nothing worth reporting happened tonight.’ She handed him his usual stipend. ‘Do we have an accord?’

Stubbs made a pretence of counting the money before stuffing it into a small leather pouch he carried for the purpose. ‘A pleasure doing business with you, Miss Jones.’ He doffed his battered beaver and scurried away like a rat into the night.

Catherine unlocked the front door and went inside. It had been an unpleasant end to the evening, but in truth, she had been lucky to escape as lightly as she had. If Stubbs had seen her getting out of Valbourg’s carriage—with Valbourg still inside—it would have taken a lot more than five pounds to guarantee his silence. Worse, it could have been Moody, the other man Hailey employed to keep an eye on her, in which case she would have been forced to hand over a great deal more of her night’s earnings. Moody was a nasty piece of work; a man who had been in and out of prison and who seemed to have no conscience whatsoever.

Sell his own kid for a bob, Stubbs had once told her. And with someone like that hanging around, Catherine knew she couldn’t risk stepping out of line. Any association, no matter how innocent, between herself and a man of wealth or title would be turned into something sordid and dirty. Between Moody and Stubbs, she had more than enough reasons for avoiding any kind of involvement. With Lord Valbourg or anyone else.