Unmasking the Duke's Mistress (Gentlemen of Disrepute #1)(54)
‘Is it Dominic come to see me again?’ Archie asked. ‘I hope so for I do like him, Mama.’
‘I am glad of that,’ said Arabella and she truly was, no matter how matters lay between her and Dominic, for as the days passed she was coming to see that even if Dominic did not love her, he loved his son.
‘Is it Dominic? Are we expecting him at this time of the morning?’ Mrs Tatton rubbed at her eyes and sat up straight. ‘Dear Lord, I do not know why I am so very tired these days.’
‘Too many late nights, Mama,’ said Arabella with a smile. ‘And, no, we are not expecting Dominic or any other visitors at this hour. Gemmell will deal with it.’
But less than five minutes later Gemmell appeared in the drawing room. ‘Excuse me, madam, but there is a gentleman at the door who is most insistent that he speak with you, a Mr Smith.’ Quite what Gemmell thought of a gentleman caller bothering his mistress, particularly at this time of the morning, was written all over his face, as if she were the respectable Mrs Marlbrook she was pretending to be. Arabella felt a rush of affection for the elderly butler.
‘I tried to send him away but he is refusing to leave until I pass you a message. I could have him thrown down the steps on to the street, but I thought that such a drastic action would attract attention of an undesirable nature.’
‘You are quite right to come to me, Gemmell.’ Arabella did not know any gentleman by the name of Smith, and, moreover, she was anxious not to receive any gentleman callers other than Dominic, but neither did she wish to be creating gossip and scandal by having the caller manhandled from her front door. ‘And the message is?’ she asked Gemmell.
‘The message is…’ She saw Gemmell’s cheeks colour in embarrassment. He cleared his throat. ‘Miss Noir.’
The name seemed to echo in the silence that followed his words. Arabella could not prevent her eyes widening in horror. Her heart’s steady rhythm seemed to stumble and stop and she felt a chill of dread spread right through her.
Miss Noir. An image of herself as she had stood before the looking glass in Mrs Silver’s house flashed in her head. Of the black translucent dress that showed hints of what lay beneath, of the indecent way it clung to her every curve. Of the black-feathered mask that hid the top of her face.
Someone had seen her.
Someone knew.
‘Miss Noir?’ Mama repeated and looked confused. Fortunately Archie was playing with the cards, oblivious to what else was going on in the drawing room.
Arabella’s heart began to beat again, each beat resounding after the other in a series of rapid thuds so heavy that she could feel them reverberate in the base of her throat.
‘I will deal with this, Mama, then the gentleman will leave us in peace.’ Then to Gemmell, ‘Show him into the library.’
Gemmell cleared his throat awkwardly as if even he had heard of the infamous Miss Noir.
Arabella rose, smoothed out her skirts, checked her appearance briefly in the peering glass to ensure that she did not look as frightened as she felt, and then, taking a deep breath, she walked out to face the gentleman caller.
She closed the library door quietly behind her.
The man was standing by the bookshelves, with his hat and gloves dangling from one hand, browsing the titles of the leather-bound books arranged upon it, and when he looked up at the sound of the door she saw at once who he was.
He was of medium height with a lithe lean build, and the lazy loose way he was holding his hat and gloves belied the tension that seemed to ripple through the rest of his body. His hair was a raven black against a face that was of pale olive complexion. But it was his eyes that she noticed the most, for they were black and dangerous and filled with fury. And he was looking at her with cold dislike, just as he had looked at her from his place upon the crowded floor beside the Earl of Misbourne on the night of Dominic’s ball.
‘Mrs Marlbrook,’ he said in a smooth voice. ‘I thought that you would see the sensible course and respond to my message.’
‘Mr Smith.’ She gave the smallest inclination of her head and attacked first, hoping to call his bluff with a confident assault. ‘I will speak bluntly and with the same lack of consideration that you have shown in coming to my door bandying such a name. I do not know who you are, or why you have come here on such a malicious mission, but I will tell you, sir, that if you are seeking to make mischief between the Duke and myself, then you are wasting your time. I am a widow, sir, and not completely ignorant of the workings of the world. What his Grace has done in the past and with whom is no consideration of mine. You have had a wasted journey, Mr Smith. So, if you will be so good as to leave now.’ She kept her head high and her gaze level with his.
Mr Smith clapped his hands together in a slow mockery of applause. ‘A performance worthy of Drury Lane, Mrs Marlbrook,’ he said.
‘How dare you?’ Her cheeks warmed from his insolence. ‘I shall have my butler escort you out.’
‘Not so fast, madam. Unless you want it known that the respectable widow to whom Arlesford is betrothed is the same woman who visited his house alone at night a matter of weeks ago. And the same woman who bears a startling resemblance to the whore that he bought from Mrs Silver’s bawdy house and took with him to the masquerade at Vauxhall. I guarantee you that I can have the story published in more than one of London’s newspapers. People will draw their own conclusions, but I would warrant that you will not be so warmly received then, for all of Arlesford’s connections.’