The Complete Regency Bestsellers And One Winters Collection. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.
which gave Aurelia a certain satisfaction.
Joviality. Her world spun for a moment as she was thrust back into her past, clinging to the hope that the man she had married might disappear into the air like a wisp of smoke.
Foolish, foolish choice.
The wedding band on her finger seemed to tighten of its own accord, like a noose, an uncompromising punishment that would always be with her.
She wished she was home, in her bedroom and away from the prying eyes of others, the talk of masked balls and happy times so very far away from all that she had known.
And endured.
‘I hope none of your other sisters have caught your father’s illness?’ Cassandra Lindsay commented and Aurelia shook her head. To say more under the circumstances would be more than deceitful given Hawk’s knowledge of the whole conundrum. Even Leonora looked a little abashed and there was an awkward silence that was filled as Lady Delamont sought advice about a certain plant for her garden which she had been unable to find.
The conversation gave Aurelia a little time to regather her wits and squash down a rising panic. The tension emanating from Lord Hawkhurst next to her was almost palpable and she was pleased when Cassandra’s husband appeared at the door.
Hawkhurst stood immediately, giving Aurelia the impression that his desire to be gone was almost as great as her own, and when he gave his farewells he did not look in her direction once.
With Stephen Hawkhurst departed, however, that particular sense of excitement disappeared with him and, looking at the clock in the corner of the room, Aurelia wondered just how many minutes would need to pass before she could leave, as well.
Aurelia took a letter to the hospital the next morning, the missive concealed in her reticule under other papers and a wide silk scarf. ‘The last time,’ she said to herself. This would be the last time she took such chances.
As she walked along the hospital corridor she was aware of a man observing her closely. When she smiled at him he fidgeted with something in his pocket and stood, disappearing around the corner at speed.
The sight of Freddy Delsarte as she came outside made her stiffen and she wondered what discovery might engender. Treason carried the death penalty and she knew that a defence of blackmail would not save her. She needed to get Sylvienne away from Paris and pay off Delsarte for his silence. Now Leonora’s reputation was at stake, as well, and with the chance of happiness with Rodney Northrup almost coming to fruition…She stopped. Hawkhurst was circling in the Limestone Hole and in the places that society gathered; his connections with the secret service threaded into the verbal warnings he gave her, but for now it was Delsarte who wanted a word.
‘You are the talk of the town, Mrs St Harlow, for Hawkhurst’s ball has elevated you to the status of acceptable.’
‘I have paid my dues, sir, as far as any legal requirements are concerned. Now I just wish to be left in peace.’
‘Sylvienne might say the same.’
‘Sylvienne?’ Her voice was harsh even to her own ears. ‘If you hurt even one hair on her head, Delsarte, I shall see to it that the truth about your questionable morality and allegiance is made known and you will be crucified for it.’
‘A case of the pot calling the kettle black, Mrs St Harlow.’
She shook her head. ‘Mama was a fool to have allowed you into her bed and I am even more of one to have been persuaded to deliver your letters. Lord Stephen Hawkhurst has been asking after your movements and it would be very easy to tell him all that I know.’
‘Do that and you will be up there in the hanging noose alongside me, my dear. The British Government would have little sympathy for the daughter of a French whore.’
His anger made Aurelia take a step backwards. She was caught in the game as certainly as Delsarte was, her mother’s welfare taking precedence over any allegiance to King or to country. Unsavoury, she knew, but Sylvienne was walking a knife edge and Aurelia could not let her fall.
The same man she had seen at the hospital suddenly crossed the street in front of them and Delsarte hurried away. Another player in the game of espionage and secrets? A further threat to the safety of her mother?
A note came in the late afternoon to Park Street as she was trying to fit in a few hours’ work. The man who brought it had been instructed to wait for an answer and when she read the contents she was very glad Henry Kerslake was out and about.
Lord Hawkhurst wanted to see her and had asked her to come in the provided carriage to his town house within the hour. Worrying about the implications of such a summons, Aurelia wiped the sweat from her palms on the skirt of her gown and looked up at the waiting servant.
Should she take a risk and go? She had heard rumours that Stephen Hawkhurst worked for the British Service though nothing had ever been confirmed. Perhaps he had come snooping because of the money she sent to France. Or perhaps he had something to tell her about the entailment of Braeburn House? The cold fear of discovery was choking and she knew it would be better to face him in private and alone than in some crowded soirée.
‘I will need ten minutes before I could accompany you.’ Aurelia was glad her voice sounded steady.
‘Very well, ma’am.’
When he left she stood, the ridge of fur on Caesar’s back raised in warning, his growls subsiding at his departure. ‘I wish you could come…’ she whispered and threw him a bone from a box beneath her desk. As the hound set down to the task of gnawing on it Aurelia crossed to the mirror in the small back room.
In the silvered reflection she looked both tired and shocked, her eyes uncannily like those of her mother’s. Pinching her cheeks to try to produce some colour, she reached in habit for the pendant at her throat and stopped. No, it had gone, too, in the pretence and the deceit. There was nothing left to protect her family with but her wiles and her willpower.
Her coat hung on a hook by the door and as she pulled each button through she counted. Eight buttons. One for every year since she had met Charles St Harlow at the Redmonds’ ball in Clarence Street. Eight years since she had been truly happy. Eight years since she had slept all through a night and woken in the morning with dreams that had made her smile.
The peal of the bells from the nearby church were loud as she came into the wind and with her head held high she allowed Hawkhurst’s man to help her into the conveyance.
He should not see Aurelia St Harlow alone and so late in the day, but he wanted to look into her eyes as he asked her his questions, and know the truth. She had been seen today in the company of both the French doctor and Freddy Delsarte. He knew that if Shavvon were cognisant of such associations she would have already been brought in for questioning, such was the power of the Government’s uneasiness over foreign collaborators.
His own desires and needs were another factor entirely, though he had never been a man to put himself first. But he was disconcerted by the blood in him that raced with possibility when everything about such a reaction was wrong.
He heard the carriage and stood, cursing a rising need.
‘Mrs St Harlow, my lord,’ Wilson introduced her and left, shutting the door behind himself firmly. Hawkhurst had already given orders that he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances and their relationship was such that he knew his instructions would be obeyed to the letter.
The heat from a well-stoked fire fell across the room and he watched as she unbuttoned her coat, her fingers shaking with the effort. After the heavy outer shell was discarded she carefully laid it upon the sofa beside her. In the silken lining he caught the same rows of stitched repair that seemed evident in all of her apparel.
‘Thank you for coming.’