All Afternoon with a Scandalous Marquess (19 page)

With dismay, she noted that Saint’s friends were in attendance this evening. She had felt the discreet scrutiny from several of the Lords of Vice, but sensed only mild curiosity from the ladies. Oh, she was not concerned that any of them might recognize Catherine beneath Madame Venna’s silken guise. She had been careful to keep her two lives separate. Only Saint had met both women, and she was confident he would never bring the proprietress of the Golden Pearl to the Sinclairs’ town house.

Just as she knew she would not be welcomed if she approached the Sinclairs’ private box. Regan, Isabel, Juliana, and Sophia were prized jewels for the married Lords of Vice, and the men guarded them, knowing their worth. In many ways, Sin, Vane, Dare, and Reign were also living dual lives, but theirs represented the past and the present. These men once had walked proudly in her world, had taken their pleasure with her girls, but now their loyalty was pledged to their ladies, and rightly so. She did not begrudge them their happiness. Not everything was about profit.

“My dear Madame Venna, what an unexpected delight to see you.”

At the threshold of her private box stood Lord Ravenshaw and his brother. She cast a side-glance in the direction where Lord and Lady Rainecourt were seated. It was only recently that she had learned of Sophia’s connection to these gentlemen.

“Comte de Ravenshaw and Monsieur Northam.” Madame Venna regally inclined her head as she extended her hand. “Welcome. I proclaim the bravest men in all of London this evening, no?”

With an engaging grin splitting his handsome face, Lord Ravenshaw eagerly came forward. As she greeted each man in turn, she knew that she was being observed but did not care. Exotic creatures were used to the stares. Besides, there were worse ways to spend an evening while she waited for Lord Mulcaster.

*   *   *

Saint made his way to Sin’s private theater box. Vane and Dare had traveled together, and had arrived fifteen minutes earlier. They were waiting in the narrow passageway near the curtained entrance to the box.

“Where is she?” he asked Vane, sounding slightly winded from his harried pace. “Has she confronted Mulcaster?”

Dare was the first to reply. “She would have to wade through a sea of admirers to reach Mulcaster.”

“Or Madame V is waiting for him to come to her,” Vane said.

It took a few seconds for Dare’s words to sink in. “What admirers?”

The marquess parted the closed drapery with his hand. “See for yourself.”

Saint walked through the opening and crossed the tiny narrow antechamber to another set of crimson curtains. Through the slit he made with two fingers, he could see Reign’s broad shoulders. He shifted his stance to widen the gap in the curtain and noted that Sin was seated beside Reign; the four ladies were seated in front of them.

“You’re not going to see anything from here,” murmured Dare as he parted the drapery and passed through.

“I do not want to draw attention to my arrival,” Saint replied.

Unfortunately, nothing had seemed to go according to plan since he’d figured out that the two women who aroused all his senses were one and the same. Sin and Reign turned their heads at the soft noise. Recognition and affection flashed across his friends’ faces as Dare, Saint, and Vane entered the theater box. The ladies’ gazes switched from the stage below to the activity behind them. Having done their duty, Vane and Dare went to their wives. Saint did not know what excuse his friends had offered to assuage the ladies’ curiosity, but he was certain they had lied.

Instead of joining the couples, he remained where he was in the shadows. Sin murmured to Reign, then left his seat to speak with Saint.

“Where is she?” he said tersely.

Sin yawned and rubbed his jaw. “Lower tier … slightly to the left of us.” He paused. “Did Frost and Hunter join you?”

Saint took a few steps to the right and peered.
There.
Madame Venna sat in the center of her private theater box looking like a resplendent butterfly in her jonquil satin dress. Even from this distance her beauty called to him, and the power she had over him was infuriating. What also was annoying was the small detail that Dare was telling the truth. She was not alone. He counted five gentlemen crowding around her, one of whom happened to be Reign’s brother-in-law Ravenshaw. That news probably was not sitting too well with his friend.

Recalling that Sin was expecting an answer to his question, he said, “No, it seemed best to leave them at Nox. The Lords of Vice have damnable luck when it comes to this theater.”

The marquess’s eyes sharpened on Saint’s face. “Reign and I—all of us want to help Madame Venna. It is the reason why we sent for you. Our”—he cleared his throat—“business arrangement with her has been profitable for all of us. Even so, there is one condition. The ladies are not to be involved. In fact, for all of our sakes, I would appreciate it if our names are not connected to Madame V or the Golden Pearl in front of our wives.”

Considering Sin’s reputation with the ladies, most would be astounded to learn that he was faithful to Juliana. The temptations of his friend’s former life never vanished, but the man, as well as Dare, Vane, and Reign, had changed. When a Lord of Vice committed himself to his lady, that bond was pure and irrevocable. Unfortunately, Nox was still a part of all of their lives. They had become dealers in all sorts of intriguing vices, and there was an unsavory side to their business ventures that might trouble the ladies. Some discussions were avoided at all costs.

“It is another reason why I did not bother bringing Frost along,” Saint muttered, still furious that Frost was planning to tell Hunter the truth about Catherine and Madame Venna. “The gent cannot seem to keep his mouth shut.”

Too observant for his own good, Sin’s hazel gaze narrowed on Saint’s face. “More trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Permanently, if Frost persisted in provoking him. “Has Mulcaster approached Madame V?”

The marquess shook his head. “Not yet.” He tipped his head toward the other private boxes. “Our good friend has been distracted by all the attention she has stirred with this outing.”

Saint gritted his teeth when he noted that the bounder Fothergill had positioned himself so he could look down the woman’s bodice. “I will kill him,” he muttered.

“Who?”

He grimaced, realizing he had spoken the words aloud. “No one. I was just thinking out loud.”

Sin appeared unconvinced. “That kind of thinking usually ends in dawn appointments. What is wrong with you?”

How could he tell Sin that Madame Venna had made fools of them all? Or that he had fallen hard for the devious vixen and her delicate, shy counterpart? His feelings were too dark and volatile to be love. A part of him did not know how he felt about Madame Venna’s deception. Was she merely playing games with the
ton,
or was there a sinister purpose for her dual lives? Until he had answers, he was content to keep her secrets.

“Nothing is wrong,” he replied. “Like you and the others, I am just concerned. I have never trusted Mulcaster. The notion that he sent two men into the Golden Pearl and one of the girls was abused and beaten—”

“Hold.” Forgetting the need for discretion, Sin grabbed Saint by the coat sleeve and pushed him farther into the shadows. “I sensed something was off when Madame V appeared this evening. What does Mulcaster have to do with this? Who were these men? Who was hurt?”

“It’s a long story,” he replied, lowering his voice because Juliana glanced at them. She raised her hand and smiled. Saint returned the gesture. “See here … I have no time for this. Dare and Vane can give you the details, but I have to go to her.”

From the corner of his eye, Saint saw that another admirer had entered Madame V’s private box. It was Lord Greenshield. Christ, what a tangle!

“Forget Mulcaster. We have bigger problems.”

Saint shook off Sin’s grip and ran.

*   *   *

Madame Venna rubbed the small hollow behind her left ear, where her skin prickled as if the temperature in the air had changed. It was ridiculous; really, the theater was as hot as hellfire.

“Madame Venna?”

Seated between Lord Ravenshaw and Lord Golland, she had to twist in her seat to greet the latest visitor who had come to pay respects. With all the attention she was receiving, she was reconsidering her opinion on patronizing the opera house.

Behind a half-mask of hand-painted porcelain that fit the contours of her face as snugly as her own skin, her welcoming smile tightened as she recognized the approaching gentleman.

“
Oui,
have we met before,
monsieur
?” she said lightly, her cheeks hurting from the effort it took to maintain her polite smile. Madame Venna briefly wondered if her cheeks were as pale as the delicate porcelain that concealed half her face.

Although she had never been introduced to the man, she would recognize him anywhere. She saw those gold-flecked light gray eyes every time she gazed into a mirror. Benedict Notfeld, Earl of Greenshield. Her long-lost father. Well, he was never truly lost. She had been the one cast aside.

Unsmiling, the fifty-year-old earl’s gaze swept across the private box, noting the face of every gentleman. He did not seem pleased with her companions, even though it was none of his business. She wondered what had brought this stiff-lipped, disapproving gentleman to seek an audience with the notorious Madame V.

“If I may, I wish a private audience with you.”

She glanced up at Lord Fothergill, who appeared to be amusing himself by staring down her bodice. Shame … shame. “Forgive me,
monsieur,
but I must insist on knowing the name of the man seeking this audience.”

Lord Greenshield grimaced. Whether it was discomfort or pain, she did not know. “My name—I am Lord Greenshield. Now, if you will please indulge me and come with me…”

“Greenshield, you cannot just burst in and steal our favorite lady away from us,” Lord Ravenshaw said, gaining an approving nod from his brother and a few grumbles of agreement from her companions. “We were here first.”

Her hands parted in a soothing gesture. “Now, now …
messieurs.
Please.” Her expression was contemplative as she studied the man who had sired her. “Have you come to ask me to leave?”

The earl seemed startled by the question. “Why, no, why should I? I do not have such authority.” The severity in his expression lessened. “Please. A moment of your time. Then I will take my leave.”

He extended his elbow as if he expected her to acquiesce.

Catherine had rejected all overtures by Lord Greenshield’s solicitor, and Madame Venna was equally wary of the gentleman. Why was it so important to see her? He had never ventured into the Golden Pearl, and a few inquiries had revealed that the earl lived a quiet life. He had never married. If he kept a mistress or two, he was discreet about his conquests.

She could feel the curious and amused stares of the noblemen around her. In light of her reputation, they had already concluded that Lord Greenshield was preparing to make a private offer. It was a revolting notion, even if he was unaware that he was her sire.

Whatever his purpose, she sensed that she would not get rid of him unless she granted him an audience. “Very well,” she said, ignoring the grumblings and objections from her admirers. “Don’t fret. I shall return.”

Madame Venna placed her hand lightly on the earl’s arm, and together they exited the box. “Is this private enough for you,
monsieur le comte
?” she asked, thickening her accent to a low sensual purr.

Astoundingly, Lord Greenshield’s expression darkened and became even grimmer. “I did not come for that.”

“Are you certain?” She coquettishly arched her right eyebrow. Her stomach rebelled, but this was not the first time she had been faced with doing something distasteful. “Do not be shy. There is little you can say that will shock me.”

Lord Greenshield audibly inhaled and exhaled the air through his parted lips. He stared down at her, meeting her polite gaze unflinchingly. “Forgive me, but I could not think of any other way. I need to speak with you, Catherine.”

Chapter Twenty-four

“Wait! You don’t understand.”

Saint’s head came up. The desperate masculine plea echoed from the landing above as he dashed up the stairs. Lord Greenshield. It appeared he was not the only one who had figured out that Madame Venna was Catherine Deverall. If he thought to corner his stubborn daughter, he had sorely underestimated her displeasure.

Right or left, he frantically wondered when he reached the top of the staircase. Madame Venna solved his problem by colliding with him. With her skirt raised, her ankles exposed, and her chin touching her shoulder as she glanced back at her unacknowledged sire, she would have lost her footing and fallen down the stairs if Saint had not been there to catch her.

“Let me go!” she said, blindly struggling in Saint’s arms.

“It’s me,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re safe. No harm will be done.”

“I have to leave this place. Now.” She pounded her fists on his chest. “Now!” She started down the staircase, dragging him with her because he was not prepared to let her go.

Madame Venna was too upset to make much sense, and Saint preferred to speak to her without an audience. She moaned like a wounded animal when Lord Greenshield reached the balustrade and peered over.

“Ca—Madame Venna,” he panted, looking harried and disheveled from his pursuit. “Please. There is no reason—”

Saint caught her by the waist as she recklessly pivoted on the step.

“I have
every
reason. A dozen reasons!” she spat, oblivious to her precarious perch. Her slender body trembled with rage. “You have nothing I want. You are nothing to me!”

“My God.” The earl was taken aback by her hatred. His gaze had a moist glassy cast to it as he stared down at Madame Venna and Saint.

“Do not approach me again. If you persist, I will ruin you.” She turned in Saint’s arms and pressed her face into his shoulder. “Get me out of here,” she whispered, a soft choking request as she shuddered.