Tarnished Amongst the Ton Part 17

He grinned at her good-naturedly. 'Harriet likes it. Which brings me to why I am here. You and I have been invited to a family dinner party tomorrow evening, I'm afraid.'

'Afraid? But I thought you got on very well with Harriet's family.'

'I do, but a long-lost uncle has appeared back in town. He's Mrs Millington's brother and a bit of a black sheep, apparently. He's been safely off in Jamaica working as a land agent or some such thing and I suspect they all hoped he'd stay there. Anyway, we've been invited to dilute the family tensions a bit, I suspect. There's a couple of cousins and a great-aunt coming as well.'

'It will be very awkward if he decides to stay, won't it? Or perhaps he has reformed,' Sara remarked. 'Would you care to pour yourself a gla.s.s of sherry or Madeira, Lord Fransham?'

'Thanks, I will. Millington was all for showing him the door, apparently, but Mrs M. wants to give him another chance, hence the dinner party.' Gregory went to the decanters while Sara poured tea.

'I will have to ask Lady Eldonstone if it would be convenient. She may have plans for the evening,' Phyllida said. It sounded an awkward situation, but if she could help the Millingtons, she would. Everything was back on course for the wedding and she felt nothing but grat.i.tude to them for their tolerance.

'We aren't doing anything tomorrow night,' Sara said. 'I know because Papa is going to a lecture at the Royal Society and Mama said this morning that it would be good to have an evening at home recovering from all our gadding about.'

Phyllida asked her hostess's leave and, when her brother had gone, went back to removing the lace from the neckline of her dark-green dinner gown. That would do nicely for the Millingtons' dinner. It was a little formal, perhaps, but formality was sometimes a help in sticky social situations.

Ashe was rather less obliging about her plans than the marchioness. 'I had hoped to spend the evening with you in Jermyn Street,' he murmured in her ear later.

'I wish we were,' Phyllida whispered back under cover of a singularly dreary piano sonata. Lady Eldonstone had insisted on attending a musicale that evening. 'I will miss you.'

At seven o'clock the next evening Phyllida emerged from the Eldonstones' carriage outside the Millingtons' house.

She mentally squared her shoulders for a fraught dinner party and wished Ashe was with her. Gregory was concerned for Harriet and she suspected that she would have to spend the time making vacuous small talk to the other relatives, all bristling with disapproval over the return of Mr Phillip Wilmott.

'Oh, do wait a moment, ma'am, that cloak isn't quite fastened.' The maid Lady Eldonstone had lent her was poised in the carriage doorway just as a dark figure strode out of the shadows into the pool of light cast by the door lantern. 'Here, take care, you!'

The man barged into Phyllida, pus.h.i.+ng her back against the carriage. A footpad, so brazen, to attack right on a Mayfair doorstep? Too shocked to feel fear, she grasped her reticule, ready to strike out at him. The cloak slithered off her shoulders to the ground.

For a moment she thought him a stranger, then, as the light caught his face, she knew him. Harry Buck.

''Ello, darling,' he said on a coa.r.s.e chuckle. 'Thought there was something familiar about you.' She flinched as his eyes went from her face to her bosom exposed by the plain, low neckline of her newly altered gown. 'I remember that. Thought I couldn't be wrong.' Her hand flew to the birthmark, but it was too late, he had seen it.

The maid was screaming for help, the front door flew open as the driver swung down from the box seat, whip in hand. Buck vanished, as abruptly as he had come.

If the carriage door had not been under her hand, she would have fallen, for all the strength seemed to have vanished from her legs. It was her worst nightmare made real. Harry Buck, the man who had bought her virginity, had recognised her, tracked her down.

And then, just as she thought she would faint, the butler was hurrying down the steps. 'Miss Hurst! Are you all right?

Phyllida forced herself to stand straight and think. 'Yes. He must have been drunk. Most unpleasant, but no harm done. Please do not alarm Mrs Millington by saying anything.'

Somehow she reached the house, was announced, greeted. Somehow she managed to get to a sofa and sit before her legs gave way. Apparently her horror and fear were not imprinted on her face, for no one paid her any heed, other than to introduce her to the dubious relative, Mr Wilmott. She kept her face rigidly expressionless and inclined her head, hoping Mrs Millington would simply think her shy in the presence of an acknowledged black sheep.

Mrs Millington had abandoned all correct form for her table setting, apparently anxious to separate the young ladies from her brother. Phyllida found herself making conversation on one side to an elderly cousin who turned out to be a stockbroker and on the other to Mr Millington. She must have made some sense in what she was saying, and apparently she ate and drank in a normal manner, for no one asked her if she was all right.

On sheer will-power she got through the endless meal and back to the drawing room. Gregory, in a brave attempt to support his future in-laws, engaged Wilmott in conversation. Phyllida felt fainter and fainter until eventually she could not stand it any longer. She got up and went to Gregory's side. 'Gregory, I am sorry, but I think I must go back now.'

'Yes, of course. I'll just say goodnight to Harriet.'

She turned on her heel and almost fled to Mrs Millington. 'I am so sorry, ma'am, but I have such a headache. Would you think me very rude if Gregory took me home? I am sorry to drag him away, but-'

'My dear, I will send for your carriage at once.' Fussed over, wrapped up, Phyllida drove back through the darkened streets, shaking with horror.

Ashe was crossing the hallway as she came in, a book in his hand. He grinned at her. 'Good evening. Was it as sticky an evening as your brother feared?'

'Worse.' She looked at him standing there. The man she loved, her lover. The man who still intended to marry her because she had been too weak to end this when she should have done. 'Ashe, I must speak with you.'

'Of course.' He opened the door of the library for her. 'There is no one else at home. What is wrong?'

'I cannot marry you.' As soon as she said it she knew she was right and she should have refused from the first. Now Buck had recognised her she knew she dare not marry and try to keep this a secret from Ashe.

She could not tell him what she had done, could not bear to see his expression change, the liking and the desire ebb away to be replaced by revulsion when he discovered she had not been the victim of some predatory man but had deliberately sold herself. Made herself a wh.o.r.e. She had heard him speak of those Haymarket wh.o.r.es, knew what he, what any man, would think of a woman who did what she had done.

She would have to do what she had always planned once Gregory was settled: leave London altogether and retire to the Dower House.

Ashe became very still as he stood in front of the cold grate. Then he put down the book he had been holding. 'Why not? Is it because of what you told me the other night? Or what happened between us?'

'No,' she lied. 'I was wrong to accept your plan to rescue me from the scandal. I only agreed thinking I would refuse in the end, but I allowed myself to become... more involved than I intended. I can see there is no need for you to protect me any more. The gossip has died down, no one will be the slightest bit surprised if your interest in me wanes. We are completely unsuited to each other and it is foolish to condemn ourselves to a lifetime of an indifferent marriage.'

'Unsuited and indifferent. I see. I had not realised I could be so wrong in my perceptions of either my own feelings or of yours.' He looked as though he was listening to a dry political speech, his face a mask of concentration with no emotion to be seen. 'So making love with me was a way of overcoming your fears?'

'The bad memories. Yes,' she agreed. If he believed she was simply using him, then he would be less inclined to fight, more convinced that he must not marry her.

'I am happy to have been of use.' He raised his eyes to her face and she saw with a shock just how angry he was. Angry, rigidly controlled and dangerous because of it. If she had been a man and had made him this furious he would have struck her, she realised, but she felt no fear, just total misery. Ashe would not hurt her even though he thought she had used him, used his body, in a calculated attempt to deal with her nightmares.

'I will go home first thing in the morning,' she said, striving for a control to match his. 'I will explain to Lady Eldonstone that I realised we would not suit. She can only be relieved.'

'She will be disappointed to have been mistaken in you,' he said. 'As I am.'

'I did warn you, right from the start, that I am unsuitable for you.' Best to make certain, to sever the fragile bond that had grown between them out of desire and liking and what she knew, on her part, to be love. But Ashe did not love her, thank G.o.d. He would not fight for her beyond all reason.

'But you had to be n.o.ble about it, had to do the honourable thing, even if that overrode your duty to your family,' she added with the intention of throwing oil on the flames.

It worked. Ashe stalked forwards as she retreated before him, until she was backed up against the door with nowhere to go. 'Attempting to do the honourable thing is part and parcel of my duty to my family, to my name,' he ground out. 'And I had thought that I had found a woman worthy of that name, one who would stand by me and my family and fight to bring it, and the lands, back to where they should be. I was wrong.'

He stood back and Phyllida turned before he would see the tears or read in her eyes that her heart was breaking. She left the room without a word and climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. Some foolish part of her was straining to hear the door open behind her, Ashe's voice calling her back. But, of course, it did not happen.

It was quite extraordinary, how much a breaking heart hurt, Phyllida thought as she stood pa.s.sive while the maid unpinned her hair and removed her gown. Mama, loving foolishly and too well, had died of a broken heart. Her daughter was not going to have even that release, she was going to have to live with the wounds for the rest of her life.

Chapter Twenty.

Lady Eldonstone was kind and regretful and exceedingly courteous when Phyllida made her difficult confession that she did not think she and Ashe were suited and that it would be best if they did not meet again. Phyllida was certain that beneath the tranquil poise the older woman was concealing considerable anger that her son was being spurned by someone who had every reason to be grateful to him.

She took herself off before breakfast, back to Great Ryder Street and the news that Gregory was staying with the Millingtons for a few days, presumably to bolster the family while they decided what to do about the return of their prodigal relative.

'You all right, Miss Phyllida?' Anna asked, peering closely at her as she took her valise. 'You look as if you've been awake half the night crying.'

'Nonsense, of course not.' Just all night, alternating between tears and frozen indecision. What to do? Where to run? 'I have got a cold coming or something, that is all.'

'I'll make you up my remedy,' the maid said. 'Oh, and there's a letter for you. I was just about to get Perkin's boy to take it over to you.'

Phyllida picked it up. Not a hand she recognised, ordinary paper, thick, clumsy writing. She trailed into the drawing room and sat down, opened it with no curiosity. A bill, she supposed.

A large engraved card fluttered out and she picked it up from the floor.

Mr Harry Buck's House of Pleasures for the Discerning Gentleman.

Below that was printed in the heavy black handwriting. Three o'clock this afternoon. Come back to work. Don't be late. I'll need a little sweetener to keep this secret all to myself.

Phyllida dropped the card as though it had moved in her hand. It lay at her feet, as dangerous as an adder. Overcome by nausea, she staggered to a bowl on a side table and was violently sick.

'Lord love us! What's the matter now?' It was Anna, fussing and anxious.

Phyllida closed her eyes and dragged her hand across her mouth. 'Don't know, something I ate perhaps. I'm sorry, I'll wash the bowl, you shouldn't have to.' In a minute, when she could think, when she had stopped shaking.

'Nonsense. You come up to bed now, my lamb, and I'll send for the doctor and his lords.h.i.+p.'

'No! Not Lord Clere!'

'Your brother, I meant. Now come along, you lean on me.'

'All right. Thank you, Anna. Don't send for the doctor, I will be all right presently. And don't worry Gregory, Miss Millington needs him. But I will lie down for a while, then I have to go out this afternoon.'

'In this state? You'll do no such thing, Miss Phyllida. It's bed for you.'

Ashe ate his breakfast wearing his best diplomatic face while his family pretended valiantly that nothing was wrong, that they'd never had a houseguest and that they were not desperate to know just how affected he was by Phyllida's defection.

He then strode off to Brooks's club, mentally kicking himself when he realised he was averting his eyes from the turning off St James's Street into Jermyn Street.

He already knew enough members to make negotiating the entrance hall and finding a quiet corner to bury himself behind a newspaper a trial, but the club was used to gentlemen seeking peace and quiet after a hard night and no one seemed offended by his curt nods of greeting.

The newsprint swam in front of his eyes, the words meant nothing. d.a.m.n the woman. He had lost a night's sleep alternating between anger and aching arousal.

Phyllida didn't want him, she thought marriage to him would be a life sentence to unhappiness and she didn't even desire him. Their love-making had simply been an exercise in getting over a traumatic incident in her past.

It was only hurt pride, of course, this sick ache inside. That and unsatisfied l.u.s.t. He had been used. Used to get her out of a scandal, used to conquer her fears, and now she no longer needed him so she simply walked away. It seemed that her disinclination to marry him overcame his t.i.tle, his wealth and his prospects.

Ashe folded the newspaper with savage precision and slapped it down on the table beside him. He needed to hit someone. He didn't care if they hit him back, he just needed the outlet of violence.

A waiter came at the crook of his finger. 'Are there any boxing salons near here?'

'Yes, my lord. Quite a few. Gentleman Jackson's is the prime one, of course. I'll give you the direction, shall I, my lord? Or any cabby will take you there.'

'I'll walk.' Ashe took the slip of paper and gave the man a coin. 'Thank you.'

He spent an hour pounding h.e.l.l out of a punch bag, then sparred with one of Jackson's a.s.sistants, the great man being booked for the day. It was some help, the ache of the bruises where punches had landed were a distraction from the internal ache. He ate a hot pie and drank porter in the Red Lion down an alleyway off Pall Mall, making himself focus on the taste and texture of the food as he had on the mechanics of the bout he had fought.

When he had finished he walked north with no fixed idea of where to go, just needing to move.

'My lord!'

He stopped dead and turned. A woman in a plain gown and cloak was hailing him. A maid by the look of her. Then he saw it was Anna, Phyllida's woman.

'Oh, my lord, I was coming to find you.' She panted to a halt beside him. 'Then I saw you cross St James's Square...'

Ashe looked around him and found he was almost in Haymarket. 'What do you want?' he asked curtly.

'It's Miss Phyllida. She came home this morning looking as if she'd been crying her eyes out, but she said it was just a cold coming on. Then she'd no sooner opened her post than she was casting up her accounts and shaking like a leaf.

'I got her to bed, but she said she had to go out later and off she went, wearing those awful clothes she puts on to go down east. And she'd said she wasn't doing that any more.' Anna took a deep breath and looked him in the face with something very like accusation in her eyes. 'Something's wrong, my lord, and I'm betting it's to do with you because she told me you wouldn't be round any more and bit my head off when I asked why. So what have you done to her?'

'Nothing. Your mistress has decided she wants nothing more to do with me.' He turned on his heel and walked away. He'd be d.a.m.ned if he was going to be interrogated by some maidservant in the public street.

Two yards. Phyllida crying her eyes out. Well, she rejected me, not the other way round. Five yards. Sick, shaking. She deserves it. I feel sick. Ten yards. Going east. Into the slums, into the dangerous world of Harry Buck and his ilk.

Ashe looked back. Anna was standing where he had left her, but when she saw him stop she ran to him. 'My lord?'

'What post?'

'Just one letter. She didn't say who from.'

'Where is it?'

Anna screwed up her face in concentrated thought. 'Don't know. She didn't have it when I took her upstairs. I'll be guessing she dropped it in the drawing room when she took ill.' She put her hand on his arm. 'Please, my lord, do you think there was something in the letter?'

'I don't know, but it is the only clue we have. Come on.'

Anna found the card under the sofa. Ashe read it, once in stunned disbelief, the second time in cold anger. Come back to work. She hadn't been raped, she'd been a wh.o.r.e. Phyllida had lied to him, she had hidden this disgraceful secret and only the danger of exposure had forced her to break off their relations.h.i.+p. He could have ended up married to her-and then what would have happened when one of her former clients turned up?

To h.e.l.l with her, she deserves everything she gets. Ashe ripped the card in half, then made himself look at it again, made himself start thinking with his head and his heart about the real woman, the woman he knew and not the one who had wounded his pride.

Phyllida had been genuinely inexperienced and nervous when he had made love to her. This creature Buck had most likely used her only once. And now he was blackmailing her to get her back to his brothel, into his power.

It would not just be money he'd be after. Phyllida might not realise it, but Ashe could read between the lines and the danger she was in made him cold with fear for her. How she had ended up in this mire could wait for later.

'Have you heard of Harry Buck?' he demanded.

'Yes.' The maid went pale. 'He's a dangerous thatch-gallows, is that one.'

'Where's his brothel?'

She gawped at him, then seemed to realise he was serious. 'He's got half a dozen of them, so I've heard, but I don't know where they are.'

How long would it take him to scour the slums of the East End of London without help, without local knowledge? Even if he found her brother and explained all this, there was no guarantee Gregory would know where to go. He seemed to have visited the gaming houses, but there was no hint he habituated brothels in such a rough area.