Mistress at Midnight (14 page)

‘Everyone says Lord Hawkhurst is a dangerous man, Lia.’

‘I do not need a warning to stay away from him, Leonora, if that is what you fear.’

Her sister frowned. ‘There is something about him that reminds me of you.’ When Aurelia stayed silent with shock Leonora went on to explain. ‘He cares not a whit for the good opinion of others whilst shepherding what little that remains of his family out of the range of any unkindness, and he has a certain menace that is…beguiling. All of the women in society are half in love with him, of course, even given his wildness, but the men admire him, too.’

‘Then I cannot see much that is alike between us.’

‘He holds secrets and keeps others out.’

‘You think that of me?’

‘Sometimes I wish you would allow us to help you more. There are things we could do, after all, if only you would let us.’

Turning away, Aurelia nodded. Leonora had grown up over the past few weeks and was no longer the girl she had been. Rodney’s influence, she supposed, and was grateful.

‘We could help at the warehouse sorting silks and Prudence could do your books. She is most adept at figures, after all, and seldom makes any mistakes. Besides, when I am married to Rodney I can bring the girls out…’

‘He has asked you?’

‘Not yet, but I think that he will, Lia, I really do.’

An image of herself eight years earlier came to mind. She had told her father of Charles’s offer and of her wish to accept it and had been startled by his lack of joy. If only she had listened to his caution and cried off.

‘Things will be better, Lia, I know they will be. Soon we will have money to buy the things we need and a proper nurse for Papa. I shall have pin money and servants and a house that is so very beautiful—’

Aurelia stopped her, the frozen ache of her own mistakes marking her next query. ‘But would you still love Rodney if he possessed none of these things?’

The smile stayed in her sister’s blue eyes. ‘Of course I would. If we lived in a tiny cottage with only a single table and two chairs, I should be happy.’

Unlike me
, Aurelia thought. So easy to see the stupidity in your own blunders from a distance in time, a hapless eighteen-year-old with the promise of freedom close. Any other suitor would have done her better; a dozen swains and she had taken the one man whose words were empty and whose character was flawed. Decisions held consequences that changed the circumstances of every year that followed. Of all the people in the world she was the one to know this; a wilful debutante who could not be told.

In her mistakes a lack of confidence had crept in; an uncertainty over any choice involving relationships had kept her a prisoner ever since.

At Medlands there had been friends of Charles who had made advances which she had refused—even in London men had come calling. Good men, respected men, men that
did not listen to the rumours that swirled about her. But she had never been interested, not even slightly, because as her first freely given choice had been such a mistake it had left her…wary. Yes, that was the exact word. Until Stephen Hawkhurst had kissed her at Taylor’s Gap and she had known to the very bottom of her heart that she wanted more.

Fanning her hand, she enjoyed the cold air upon her face. How ironic it was that just when she was beginning to feel in control of her own destiny it might all be taken away.

He knew it was Aurelia St Harlow even from a distance and dressed in a gown that made every other woman in the room pale into insignificance—bright emerald silk, the colour of the sea in the south of France in summer. Her hair this evening was piled into curls, an artful coiffure of living flame, and her lips were full and sensuous beneath the line of the mask.

‘Why the hell would Charles’s widow wear black for so long when with only a bit of colour she can turn out like that?’ Nat’s voice held an uncertain admiration.

‘Perhaps because she no longer mourns her husband?’ Cassie offered and looked directly
at Hawkhurst. ‘It seems that startling beauty can overcome even a ruined reputation. Word is much of the
ton
has abandoned their dislike of her after the touching show of familial solidarity at your ball.’

‘O Fortune, all men call thee fickle…’ Hawkhurst recited, watching as a bevy of young and old suitors lined up to speak with Aurelia St Harlow.

‘Lady Allum does not look like she has been swayed by public opinion, though is that not her youngest son amongst those awaiting an audience?’

Nathaniel laughed at his wife’s remark. ‘The sons of half the
ton
seem to be queuing up, and with Mrs St Harlow’s charms so generously on display I can see why.’ He laughed even more as Cassie swatted her fan across his arm, catching her hand as she did so and bringing it to his lips.

Hawkhurst looked away. Both of his friends had found women who completed them, strong women with their own sense of place and backbone.

Women like Aurelia St Harlow
.

Tipping up his glass, he watched her, the ornamental trees placed in careful rows and bedecked in lights, giving his cousin’s
widow the appearance of an angel held in an unearthly grotto.

He was glad Elizabeth Berkeley and her family were not in attendance, for he did not wish to endure their eyes upon his back. No, tonight in a room of stars and trees and colour he felt the sort of anticipation he couldn’t remember sensing for a very long time, the promise of something magical and bewitching. Drawing his mask away from his face, he laid it on the top of his head, pleased for the cold air and freedom.

‘Your brother and Leonora Beauchamp seem cosy, Cassie,’ Nat said as the young couple swirled by.

‘She is a very sweet girl and most loyal to her sister. From general conversation it is said that Mrs St Harlow was virtually a prisoner in your cousin’s northern property, Hawk, for all the years of her marriage. Servants talk and the word is Charles was an offhand sort of husband.’

‘Offhand?’

‘Seldom there. He had other pursuits that kept him occupied, by all accounts’

Shaking his head, Hawkhurst pushed back his hair. ‘I was in Europe for much of that time…’ He left it there.

‘Well, we all knew your cousin had a temper and Alfred said Mrs St Harlow was melancholy. At your ball, remember. He said that it was good to see her happier.’

Biting down on a growing frustration, Hawkhurst hailed a passing waiter. This time he chose a non-alcoholic fruit punch because he had a feeling that he might need all his wits about him in the coming hours and the men around Aurelia St Harlow seemed to be multiplying by the second.

If only she could get away from the crush about her she might be able to stalk Lord Hawkhurst and ask him outright just what action he was going to take. She was sick of all this worrying and the champagne that she had been plied with was also beginning to make her understand exactly what it was that she needed to do.

The dress was uncomfortable, as was the mask. Leonora and Rodney were still dancing and away in the distance she got a small glimpse of Hawkhurst and the Lindsays watching her as if she were a…leper.

Freddy Delsarte was here, too—she had seen him when she had first arrived—though he was nowhere in the numbers of those
around her and for that she was grateful. Opening her fan, she made an effort to listen to an earl who stood directly beside her.

‘I knew your husband at school, Mrs St Harlow. He was a friend of mine.’

‘Indeed.’ The warning bells had begun, clanging away in the bottom of her consciousness. This was exactly what it was she did not want: reminders of a past life that was shamefully submissive, reminders of her powerlessness and her compliances.

‘If it is a protector you now have a need of—’

She stopped him before he could go further. ‘I need nothing from anyone, my lord.’ She hated the shake of her voice and the roiling sickness that was beginning to build. She hated the colour of her hair and the way this dress emphasised the curves of her body. She hated that she had come here tonight expecting…She could not name it, though her glance again returned to the tall form of Lord Stephen Hawkhurst.

This was all his fault. If he had taken her at her word and exacted the promises she had given him, all would be settled by now and she would not be standing here surrounded by men who looked her up and down as if
she were some delicious morsel to be devoured at will.

Well, she had had enough of it all and if her reputation allowed the gentlemen of the
ton
to act as they were doing here, then it could presumably also work the other way around.

Excusing herself from their company, she opened her fan fully and glided out of the circle of admirers.

She knew he saw her coming, the stillness in him magnified with every step she took as he placed the glass he had just emptied on a table behind him.

‘Lady Lindsay, Lord Lindsay.’ She gave the words formally because she had no knowledge of whether they would deign to reply, and his name followed. ‘Might I have a word in private with you, Lord Hawkhurst?’

Cassandra Lindsay’s smile lit up her face and Aurelia felt her tightness ease. ‘Indeed, Mrs St Harlow. Why, we were just about to dance, were we not, Nathaniel?’

‘Were we? I do not usually…’ her husband began, but as his wife’s gloved hand gripped his arm he stopped. ‘But I suppose if you wish to…’

When they were gone a silence settled, neither comforting nor easy.

‘Emerald suits you,’ Hawkhurst said unexpectedly after a good amount of time, alluding to the colour of her gown. The edged gold in his eyes was brittle sharp.

‘My other dress needed some repair.’ She should not have uttered such a thing, of course, but the night in question simmered between them with every step and breath and she could no longer pretend that it had not happened. Besides, two weeks of thinking about what she might or might not say the next time they met had left her strained and tense.

‘I will send another gown to replace the one I ruined.’

‘No, you will not,’ she whispered tightly, glad for the covering of a mask. ‘I realise, of course, that things were left unsettled between us, my lord, last time we met. And that the letter I promised has not been sent—’

He stopped her with a movement of his hand.

‘Don’t write it. There is danger in anything on paper.’

Protection. For her. It was in his eyes as he looked about them. Always checking.
The very knowledge made her move towards him, a shelter amidst turmoil, a refuge from everything that was strange. Here in the very heart of society was a lord who would guard her despite a self-given confession that named her guilty of covering up a crime. She felt the warmth of him against her sleeve in the small place where their arms touched and was glad of it. Just them against the world. What would it feel like if it were a forever thing?

‘Delsarte is here tonight.’

‘I know. He has not approached me, though.’

‘He is dangerous, Aurelia. Dangerous and cunning. You were seen in St Bartholomew’s Hospital in his company and that of a French doctor. Touillon, I think is the name.’

‘And the British Service knows this?’

‘Not yet. I thought to tell you first in the hope that you might offer an explanation.’

‘My father is sick, my lord. Doctor Touillon is an expert in the field of elderly mental health.’

‘So you visit him without taking the patient?’

For a moment Aurelia longed to tell him everything, to simply open up and tell him
all of it here in a crowded room; tell him of her mother’s downfall and of Delsarte’s threats, tell him of the letters and her dread in delivering them under the cold hard ache of an impossible duty.

Sylvienne. Mama. There was nothing to do but protect her even if it meant sacrificing herself.

‘Papa finds travelling anywhere difficult.’ The lie was bare on her tongue, the taste of betrayal bitter. The anger in his eyes turned the gold a darker amber.

‘I can only protect you to a certain extent, Aurelia. If you cross too many lines, others will be involved…powerful others, too powerful even for me to stop the consequences that will follow.’

When she turned to him, any answer melted away as the promise of masculine sensuality scorched through her. Her whole body throbbed, the twist of delight leaving her momentarily breathless.

He was trying to protect her despite all the odds
.

Laying her hand across his arm, she would have said more, but the music about them wound down into silence allowing a passage of people to push their way from the floor.

‘I told you that I don’t like to dance.’ Nathaniel Lindsay’s voice held irritation and when Aurelia turned she saw his wife rubbing gingerly at her left foot.

‘He won’t take lessons. That is the trouble. I have tried and tried to hire a teacher, but he refuses to even consider it.’

Hawkhurst was silent, standing back as Leonora and Rodney completed the group, her sister telling Rodney how she had enjoyed the waltz.

‘I was dancing on air, Lia, gliding on a cloud.’ Her gaze rested firmly on Northrup, the young man blushing in reply.

Endearing
, Aurelia thought, the ardour inside him so honestly expressed. She could not in a million years imagine Hawkhurst showing that sort of embarrassment.

‘You went to dance lessons at Eton, Nat. Why did you not progress with them?’ Cassandra Lindsay’s blue eyes held a wicked twinkle as she addressed her husband, but he did not seem unduly worried by the criticism.

‘It wasn’t that difficult to feign ill health, and as Mrs Greene, one of the teacher’s wives who helped with the dancing, had a
soft spot for Hawk and Luc and me she often allowed us to sit it out.’

So Hawkhurst had been schooled at Eton, too? Alongside Nathaniel Lindsay and Lucas Clairmont. She had seen the three of them standing at his ball and talking, the same air of menace and power pervading each of them.

‘Hawk was the one who made the most progress even with such little practice. You stood up with him, Mrs St Harlow. Did you float on air?’

Drawing apart instantly, Aurelia saw a look that went between the two men. A look she found hard to interpret because whilst she was certain that Nathaniel Lindsay was teasing her she was also as certain that Stephen Hawkhurst wished that he would not. She was glad Leonora, Rodney and Cassandra were speaking amongst themselves to one side, thus leaving the comment unnoticed.