Once an Heiress (31 page)

With a harrumph, he gathered his folio and knocked on the cell door, which was opened in short order by the guard.

“Mr. Wickenworth,” Ethan called. The man turned in the doorway, filling it up with his girth. “My warmest regards to Lady Thorburn, if you please.”

The solicitor’s face softened, and he nodded. “Good day, my lord.”

When he’d gone, Ghita took a turn around the little room, with Ethan standing in the center of it — a one-man audience to her display of each turn of her figure. “What a funny little man,” she said with a wave. “Falling over me one second, and ready to scold me the next. You English are a nation of passionate prudes. Did you know? I wonder you do not all drive yourselves mad with the pushing and the pulling against your natures.” She emphasized her words with theatrical gestures, as though she were ripping her own self in two.

Her performance wore thin. Time to end the game. “Why have you come, Ghita?”

She stopped in front of his cot and blinked in surprise. “Is it not natural for a woman of tender sensibilities to visit a dear friend who has fallen upon hard times?” She tilted her pretty head in a close approximation of innocence.

He eyed her warily. “Dear friends, are we?” He shook his head once, uncomfortable with the close confines of the cell, despite there being more open space in the room now with Wickenworth gone. Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, hands braced on opposite elbows.

Ghita rested a hand on his. “Not as dear as I should like.” She stepped closer still, her expensive skirts brushing over his scuffed boots. “We are so alike, you and I. We’re both of us too wicked for good society, but we don’t care.”

His brows snapped together. “You’re mistaken, Ghita. I do care. My wife’s reputation has already suffered through her connection to me. Would that I already got on better in polite society, but from now on, that’s just what I shall strive to do.”

Ghita’s lips pursed. “And where is your Miss Bachman?” She tossed her head flamboyantly. “Is she here, to comfort you in your hour of need? Did she bribe the Keeper, the warden, and the guard to be allowed in to see you? No! I did. Here I am, Ethan. Where is she?” Her eyes burned with feverish intensity. “And I want to do more for you, too, my love. Let me get you out of this awful place. I hate seeing you like this, a man so great and fine as you caged like a toothless bear. You are more than this place! I can have you released today, right now, if only you’ll tell me we will be together.”

Ethan pushed her away, appalled at the proposition. “I told you I won’t keep a mistress.”

Ghita laughed. She reached a hand toward him again, which he avoided by turning to the window. Damn this cell! If he could, he would crawl through the cracks in the mortar to get away from her.

“No, don’t you see?” she continued, her face beatific. “I don’t want to be your mistress, Ethan. No, no, I see now that would never do — not for you.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. This visit had taken a turn for the nightmarish. “You should go.”

“Listen to me!” she cried. “I want only to be your friend, your lover, your companion — a true affair of the heart. I gave up Quillan to be with you. It was all understood between us, Ethan. We’ll be able to support ourselves with that dowry, and soon, I will return to the stage — I spoke true to that silly man. The conductor has already contacted me to come back for a winter production of — ”

A fierce growl tore from his throat as he rounded on her. “I want you to leave.” He wiped the back of his hand down a stubbled cheek as though flicking crumbs to the floor. “I tried to let you down easily before, but let me put it to you plain.” She stepped back toward the door. He stalked onward, driving her. “It’s never going to happen, Ghita. I. Don’t. Want. You.”

Her back hit the door and she swallowed, color rising in her cheeks. Then she straightened and met his glower with a challenging look. “You will regret this, Ethan. More than anything in the world — except maybe marrying your stupid Miss Bachman.”

Ethan’s vision went red at her catty insult. He shook with the force of holding himself in check. His fist crashed into the door two inches to the left of her ear. She jumped with a shriek. “Guard!” he bellowed. He lowered his face to look Ghita in the eye, on the level of kissing her if he’d been so inclined. At present, he’d much rather slam his forehead against hers and see whether she’d bounce off the door or just collapse in a heap. “That’s
Lady Thorburn
,” he seethed. “And don’t you ever,
ever
forget it.”

Ghita trembled all over, and then she grew still. A little too still. Uneasiness seeped up Ethan’s spine as he straightened. The Italian’s eyes glittered dangerously. Behind her, the door opened. She smirked. “Don’t worry, my lord. I won’t forget.”

With one of her dismissive waves, she turned and swept from the room in a swirl of silk and feathers.

Something about her final words haunted Ethan. He paced the room, turning them over and over in his mind. Such a very few words, but they carried an ominous tone. And then it struck him. He stopped and stared blankly at the gray stone wall. Ghita had never once called Ethan “my lord.” In so doing, she had acknowledged the end of their association. She had turned on him, which meant —

“Oh, God, Lily.” His wife was the target of a scorned woman — and she didn’t even know it.

E. Ficken
, Lily read. It was a name with which she was unfamiliar, but she felt gratitude toward the mysterious gentleman, along with a twinge of sadness. Sighing, she pushed her bit of melancholy aside. Ethan would be home soon — in time for supper, she hoped — thanks to the papers bearing Mr. Ficken’s name.

Lily tucked the papers into a drawer, then glanced around the room and smiled. It was a small thing, to be sure, but she hoped her husband would be pleased to discover some of her things into his room — just a few, enough to show she intended to share the room with him at night. Her own decanter of water stood on a bedside table. She’d purchased a new brush set to nestle alongside Ethan’s combs and pots of hair pomade. These last items she smiled at fondly, no pomade succeeded in taming his short, unruly hair. Judging by the variety of containers on the stand, he must have tried nearly every formulation.

The bulk of her things she’d left in her own room. Despite Ethan’s protest, Lily did need a place to keep her clothes, and to dress. “But that will be all,” she pronounced with a toss of her head. She and Ethan could begin anew. Peace and light filled her at the joyous thought; her heart bathed in the golden glow of her growing love for her husband.

Repairing to her own room, she summoned Moira to help her dress for supper. For the occasion of her reunion with Ethan, Lily selected a dress of creamy India muslin with a floral print around the hem and gilt spangles worked into the skirt and bodice. The neckline plunged daringly low to skim across the swell of her breasts, while short sleeves clung to her shoulders, including the expanse of her collarbones in the display. Combined with the tasteful arrangement of her hair — swept back and adorned with a simple bandeau — Lily was quite pleased with the general effect. It suggested, not demanded; it offered, but demurely. It was a sartorial lifting of the brow, a subtle cut of the eye toward a secluded nook. After a separation of nearly two weeks, Lily longed to hide with Ethan in a secluded nook or three.

Just as Moira stepped back from fastening the last hairpin in place, a knock at the front door reverberated through the house. “Ethan!” Lily shot up, a tangle of delight and nerves buffeting her middle. She cast a glance over her shoulder at Moira.

“Go on, Miss Lily,” the maid urged. “Don’t keep his lordship waiting.”

Lily breathed a laugh, and decorum flew out the window. Biting her lip, she raced down the stairs to the foyer. As she rounded the landing, a grin spread over her face. A footman held the door ajar. Lily ran toward it, ready to throw herself in her husband’s arms. “Eth — ”

His name died on her tongue as she skidded to a halt. The smile fell from her face as she stared in disbelief at the person darkening her door. The … liar, the actress, the Italian mistress inclined her head in greeting.

“What are you doing here?” Lily fumed, offended that the very woman who had engineered her social disgrace would have the compunction to approach her at all, much less intrude into Lily’s home.

“My dear Lady Thorburn,” Ghita said, “I apologize for calling at this awkward hour.”

Lily pinched her lips together. Her hands clasped at her waist. “It is, I’m afraid, a most inconvenient time. You see, I expect my husband any moment.” Behind Ghita, at a nod from his mistress, the servant opened the door again. “You will please understand I cannot receive you — ”

Ghita raised a gloved hand. “I beg just a moment of your time, my lady. How happy I was to read in the paper today the news that Lord Thorburn’s release from that dreadful prison had been secured. But it was this which prompted my hasty call. Please, my lady, a single moment.”

Lily’s eyes narrowed. The shorter, fairer woman’s countenance held no artifice, and her large hazel eyes shone with pleading. “Very well,” she relented at last.

Lily led her unexpected visitor to the newly furnished parlor. Gesturing with a hand, she waited until Ghita had settled herself onto the chaise longue, then herself took one of the chairs opposite. There would be no hint of intimacy with this woman, no innuendo of pleasure at her visit.

Ghita looked at Lily, who fixed her caller with a glacial stare. “Your moment is passing,” she snapped.

“I — I’m sorry,” Ghita stammered. “You have every reason in the world to dislike me.”

“Then you cannot take it ill if I do,” Lily rejoined.

Ghita shook her head. “No, my lady, I cannot. Indeed, when I saw that Eth — Lord Thorburn would be happily returned to you this very day, I felt moved to come and offer my apology.” Here she paused and glanced down at her hands knotted together in her lap.

Lily frowned. Could it be this creature had a conscience, after all?

“You see,” Ghita continued, “I wish to apologize for misleading you and your worthy mother both. It was a bit of sport on my part, answering to Lady Umberton’s name when dear Mrs. Bachman called me so. All was intended in fun, and I never meant for you to suffer. Please believe me, my dear Miss — Lady Thorburn,” she corrected herself with a pretty blush, “we Continentals do not have the same rules of decorum as you English. It is no great thing for a woman such as myself to be received everywhere — even into her lover’s wife’s parlor — and no sin to make friends with an unmarried lady. I apologize most sincerely for not remembering the English rules, and for causing you such trouble.” Contrition marked every line of her posture.

Her explanation lacked nothing, and her accented words felt sincere. Grudgingly, Lily’s spine softened a fraction. “That is very generous of you,” she acknowledged. “While your mischief did do me harm, I must allow that my own sense of propriety was sadly lacking that evening.” Recalling the brazen way she’d demanded Ethan’s kiss, she colored and cleared her throat. “And it seems I’m the only person in London not aware of your arrangement with Lord Umberton.”

Ghita relaxed visibly at Lily’s words. Merriment lit her face as she waved a hand. “You must not take any of the blame, my lady. I have missed the stage, and could not resist playing a part. As for Lord Umberton,” she shrugged, “I no longer have any arrangement with him — not since the agreement with Eth — ” Her eyes flew wide and a hand clapped across her mouth.

Lily blinked. Her head tilted in question. What in the world had Ethan to do with Lord Umberton’s mistress? “I beg your pardon?”

Ghita shook her head emphatically, sending golden curls swaying beside her cheeks. “Ah, no, my lady, I spoke wrong. Nothing, nothing at all.” The slight woman started to rise.

“Sit down!” Lily snapped.

Ghita sat.

Cold iron bands tightened around Lily’s chest. “You did not misspeak. Explain yourself, madam.”

Ghita’s hands twisted and she offered a simpering smile. “I would not dream of speaking to you of it.”

Quivering, Lily forced herself to draw a deep breath before continuing. “You came to my home for this purpose, did you not? To tell me what it is you pretend to withhold.”

The other woman’s eyes tightened a fraction, triumph glittering in the irises.

“Say it,” Lily hissed. She pounded the arm of her chair with a fist, her lips curled in a snarl.

Ghita’s mask of false humility crumbled as she smirked and straightened. “Very well; it is a simple little thing,” she said with a breezy wave of her hand. “I encouraged Ethan to marry you. In fact, I quite championed the cause.” She inclined her head again, but there was nothing of the supplicant in the gesture this time; rather, the sharp movement mocked Lily. “That, of course, would allow Ethan and I to come to an agreement of our own, something we have both wished since we met. That is all,” she shrugged, “no more, no less.”

Lily’s eyes moved from Ghita to the fireplace, where the evening’s fire had been laid out but not yet lit. A whooshing sound flooded her ears, threatening a swoon. “I don’t faint,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and pinching the inside of her arm. “I don’t faint!”

The full meaning of Ghita’s words washed over her and through her, filling her mouth with the taste of bile. So Ethan had only married her so he could take Ghita as his mistress! Oh, this was beyond marrying her for her money to pay his debts. What Lily wouldn’t give to have been roped into matrimony with nothing worse than a Leech, rather than this, this …

“Rake,” she muttered.

Hadn’t Naomi warned her so? Hadn’t her friend done everything she could to steer Lily away from Ethan? But like an imbecile, Lily hadn’t listened until it was too late. Bad enough about the money, worse the mistress —
or mistresses,
she thought in disgust, recalling the love letters from the mysterious Vanessa. Had her husband two paramours? But the very worst was the pain tearing through her heart, as deep an agony as her love for him had been a joy.
To love such a man. How could you let this happen?