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‘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.
