Unmasking the Duke's Mistress (Gentlemen of Disrepute #1)(27)

He fetched them two glasses of punch and filled two plates with a selection of food to tempt her and found them a small table in a spot that was not so crowded. He made a little conversation, polite pleasant words, nothing that touched near anything that was sensitive for them both. Something of her fears for the evening faded.

Afterwards they watched some boats, miniature replicas of the great Lord Nelson’s, being sailed down the river, and then there were the fireworks, a burst of rainbow lights that exploded to shower the dark canvas of the sky. And she wished that Archie and her mother could see the spectacle.

Dominic was standing behind her, both of their necks craned back as they stared up at the sky. He bent his head forwards and said something to her, but the explosions all around were so loud that she could not hear. He stepped closer, easing her back against him so that he could whisper in her ear.

But she still could not make out his words, so she turned in his arms and all of a sudden she was looking into his face and he was looking into hers. And she could see the flash of the firework bursts reflected in the darkness of his eyes. But she was no longer thinking of the fireworks, and neither was he. They stared at one another. Alone in the crowd. Silent and serious in the midst of the riotous carnival.

‘Arlesford?’ The voice smashed the moment apart like a cannon. ‘Your Grace, I thought it was you.’

Dominic turned, shifting his stance to manoeuvre Arabella slightly behind him so that he was partly shielding her with his body. ‘Misbourne,’ he said in his usual emotionless voice and faced the man.

Lord Misbourne was dressed in a domino the like of Arabella’s and even wore a mask across his eyes. But there could be no doubt over the owner of the face that was beneath it, with its curled grey moustache and neatly trimmed beard. Misbourne’s arm was curled around the waist of a woman young enough to be his daughter and whose large breasts were in danger of imminent escape from her bodice. The girl cast Dominic a libidinous glance and licked her tongue suggestively around her lips before taking a sip of punch from the glass she was carrying.

Misbourne did not notice; he was too busy staring at Arabella. ‘Gentlemen must have their little distractions, Arlesford,’ he said. ‘Nothing wrong with that—as long as they are discreet, of course.’ And Dominic understood the message that Misbourne was trying to send him—that his having a mistress would be no barrier to courting Misbourne’s daughter.

The earl leered at Arabella and Dominic felt his fists bunch in response. He forced himself to stay calm. Brawling with Misbourne would only draw the wrong kind of attention to her.

‘If you will excuse us, sir. We were just leaving.’

‘But not before you have introduced me to your lady friend. Could this be the delectable Miss Noir about whom I have heard so many whispers?’ He peered around Dominic at Arabella.

Dominic felt the rage flow through his blood. He could smell it in his nose and taste it upon his tongue. Every muscle was primed and ready. Every nerve stretched taut. His loathing of Misbourne flooded him so that he would have knocked the man down had he not felt Arabella’s fingers touch his arm in the gentlest of restraints. Only then did he recollect his senses.

‘Goodnight, Misbourne,’ he said in a tone that brooked no refusal, and when he looked at the man’s beady, glittering dark eyes behind his mask he saw that Misbourne understood. The older man took an involuntary step back from the threat.

Dominic took Arabella’s arm in his and he was so grateful that she had stopped him.

She did not utter one question, nor throw so much as a glance in Misbourne’s direction. She just held her head up and waited.

They walked away together, away from Misbourne and the fireworks. Away from Vauxhall and the wonderful night.



The carriage wheels were rumbling along the road carrying them back to Curzon Street and still Dominic had not spoken.

Arabella could sense the tension emanating from him, the echo of the anger she had seen directed against the man, Misbourne, in Vauxhall. All illusions had vanished the moment Misbourne and the woman had appeared.

‘Does everyone know that you bought me from Mrs Silver?’ The words would not be contained for a minute longer.

The carriage rolled past a street lamp and in the brief flicker of light she saw his face through the darkness—handsome, hard edged, dangerous—before the night’s darkness hid him again.

‘How na?ve of me not to have realised.’ She shook her head and looked away, feeling sick at the thought. ‘What else do they know, Dominic?’ What else have you told them? she wanted to ask.

‘Nothing, I hope. I paid Mrs Silver very well for her silence. And I trust my friends, who were with me that night, enough to make no mention of Miss Noir.’

‘You did not tell them?’

‘Of course I did not tell them, Arabella! My affairs are my own, not tittle-tattle for the amusement of others.’ His voice was hard and angry. ‘Do you think I would have gone to such lengths to hide you were it otherwise?’

‘You guard your own reputation well.’ This was all about protecting himself. How foolish to think it could ever have been about her.

‘I am guarding what is left of yours,’ he said grimly. Then his tone softened slightly. ‘I am not unaware of the…sensitivity of this issue.’

She looked across at the shadowed man through the darkness and was not sure she believed him.