Nicole Jordan (25 page)

The madam’s jaw seemed to harden for an instant. “Yes, I am acquainted with him,” she said, her tone strangely grim. Then suddenly appearing to collect herself, Venus flashed Diana a sensual smile. “But I won’t say in what capacity. A woman in my position must conceal her secrets, you know.”

Diana suspected Venus was hiding any number of secrets, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that the madam’s acquaintance with Sir Gawain had nothing to do with any past amorous affairs.

Thoughtfully, Diana returned to her painting, eager for the sitting to be over so she could relate her impressions to Thorne.

She reported to him that afternoon as they drove to Hyde Park in his curricle. When she described Venus’s inquisitiveness about Cyrene and Sir Gawain Olwen, Thorne frowned.

“It’s as I feared. She’s trying to pry information out of you,” he theorized.

“What kind of information?”

Thorne’s hesitation was noticeable as he expertly maneuvered his pair of spirited chestnuts through heavy traffic, but finally he sighed. “Matters relating to the Foreign Office. We have a small department headquartered on Cyrene.”

Diana’s eyes widened. “Why there? Cyrene is so far from England.”

“But its proximity to certain European countries is an advantage. In those cases, we can respond much more swiftly to trouble and requests to our government for help than if we relied solely on our agents in London.”

“But why did Venus ask about Sir Gawain?”

“Because he heads our department on Cyrene.”

“Oh,” Diana said dubiously. She waited, wondering if Thorne would be more forthcoming, but he volunteered nothing further. And Diana doubted he wanted to field any more probing questions about his work.

She settled for a bland statement of fact. “I don’t know anything about the Foreign Office, or what you do on Cyrene.”

“Venus can’t be sure what you know, and I suspect she’ll try to discover it. It will be interesting to hear what future questions she has for you.”

“Shouldn’t you tell me something about your work so I can be prepared?”

Thorne shook his head. “The less you know, the less you will have to prevaricate when she questions you.” His mouth tightened. “Venus could very well be a traitor as well as a murderer. I still don’t like having you involved.”

“Well, I am involved now,” Diana replied, “and I am not backing out.”

She was glad finally to be doing something useful. And admittedly it was a bit exciting to be required to pit her wits against a possible traitor, although she doubted Thorne would wish to hear that.

“In any event,” she added, “I think I have enough other topics to discuss with Venus to set her mind at ease and encourage her to open up to me.” Diana couldn’t refrain from smiling wryly when she recalled one specific topic. “The most promising thus far was when I pretended to be concerned about your fidelity after we are wed. I asked Venus for her advice on how to keep your attention so you don’t stray.”

Thorne glanced at Diana sharply before his mouth curved in a grin. “You needn’t worry about my fidelity just now. I have enough trouble dealing with you and our betrothal. I’m not about to complicate matters further.”

Deplorably, Diana felt a strong sense of relief. Thorne seemed to be telling her that he currently didn’t have a mistress.

Not that it should matter to her in the least whether he had ten mistresses, except as it affected the public perception of their betrothal, of course.

Besides, she should cease worrying about Thorne, Diana scolded herself, and concentrate on the task at hand—prying secrets from the notorious Madam Venus while she herself played ignorant of any of the important matters that Venus might try to pry out of her.

The following week proved both intriguing and discouraging for Diana. The Season had begun in earnest, with invitations pouring in for balls and routs, dinners and fetes and Venetian breakfasts. And into this madly busy schedule she fit three more sittings with Madam Venus.

During the course of their sessions, Diana tried to conduct a subtle interrogation—and felt as if she was playing a game of cat and mouse. Venus was extremely reticent to talk about her past, and Diana couldn’t see that her own purposeful loquaciousness was having much result.

She also began to worry about Amy. The girl was having visible success charming the ton, but one afternoon Diana returned from the studio to find Amy flung facedown on her bed, weeping forlornly. When pressed, Amy muttered that one of her beaux had unexpectedly begged off an engagement for the third time in the past week.

Since there was likely only one beau who could affect her emotions that strongly, Diana deduced that her young cousin was distressed because Reginald Kneighly was seriously neglecting her.

On the one hand, Diana could only be relieved that their clandestine romance had sustained a blow, and hopeful that this apparent trouble would lead to an irrevocable parting between the young lovers. But it was all she could do not to gather Amy in a motherly embrace and try to console her. She didn’t honestly believe Amy’s affections were deeply engaged yet still hated to see her suffer.

And observing such misery, Diana couldn’t help but remember her own desperate love so many years ago, her own bitter despair when her life had been shattered by her betrothed’s defection. When she’d embarked on this devious course to separate Amy from her fortune-hunter, she hadn’t realized it would make her relive her own past hurts, her own heartache.

With effort, Diana quelled her despondent reflections and focused her attention on her other chief problem—Madam Venus.

After the second sitting, she no longer had any doubt that Venus was conducting a probing interrogation of her own. In fact, it seemed their conversations had become a delicate duel of wits, with each trying to learn information from the other. It was their fourth sitting, however, before she managed to persuade Venus to discuss her childhood—by asking about her weakness for chocolate.

“When I was a young girl,” Venus wistfully explained, “my governess brought me hot chocolate in bed each morning. It was my fondest memory.” She sighed. “For years afterward I dreamed about enormous, steaming cups of creamy cocoa. In fact, I missed it so much that I vowed when I grew up, I would be wealthy enough to afford to drink hot chocolate every day. I always start my mornings with chocolate in bed now.”

Instantly Diana felt her curiosity piqued. Venus must have come from a wealthy family to have had a governess and enjoyed the luxury of chocolate in bed each morning. And if she missed it during later years, she must have fallen on hard times.

“Did something happen to your governess?” Diana asked, trying to keep her eagerness from her tone.

Venus’s eyes grew distant, as if she was remembering. “I lost my parents at an early age, as you did. The years that followed were…difficult.”

“I’m very sorry,” Diana replied, feeling an immediate tug of sympathy. “I can only imagine the grief you felt—”

“No, you cannot imagine! Your parents were killed in a carriage accident. Mine were murdered right before my eyes.”

Diana couldn’t stifle a gasp.
“Murdered?”

A rasp of dark laughter sounded from Venus’s throat. “You may well be shocked. They died a violent death. To this day I still have nightmares about it.”

“How horrible!”

“Indeed. But perhaps the worst part was losing my brother at the same time.”

Diana felt her stomach lurch. “He was killed, too?”

“No, we both survived. But he might as well have been dead to me. We were separated and put in different charity homes. I was sent to an orphanage for girls, he to a workhouse for boys. It was almost ten years before I saw him again.”

“You must have experienced a harsh life,” Diana said lamely, unable to think of any more adequate response.

Venus shrugged. “Mine wasn’t as unbearable as my brother’s. At our home we were made to work as seamstresses, mostly sewing sails for fishing vessels. They treated us humanely enough, yet I couldn’t wait to leave.”

Not unreasonably Diana found herself thinking about her own situation, and an ache rose in her throat.

“I was very fortunate,” she said softly, “that I had my uncle and aunt to take me in. I’ve always felt grateful that I was spared life in an orphanage. And perhaps a bit guilty,” she added with all honesty. She paused, suddenly struck with an idea. “More than once I’ve thought about making a donation to a deserving home, but I never made the time to search one out, I’m ashamed to say. I know there are few orphanages in existence, and I hear they are always short of funds.”

Venus’s humorless smile held bitterness. “There is never any money to spend on chocolate, certainly.”

“Perhaps I could contribute to the home where you were raised,” Diana said innocently. “Was it private or parish?”

“Parish. The Home for Indigent Girls in Rye.”

Rye was in Sussex. Despite her sympathy for Venus, Diana felt a tremor of euphoria at having elicited this first genuine fact in her investigation. She knew Thorne would be pleased when she reported to him—

Her elation dimmed when she recalled that she wouldn’t see him at all today. But they would both be attending Amy’s comeout ball tomorrow evening, she remembered. She would tell Thorne then.

She considered asking the name of the orphanage that Venus’s brother had attended, but decided that might raise too many suspicions in her quarry’s mind.

Instead Diana steered the conversation safely away from the subject of orphanages by asking her model to lift her chin and turn her head a bit to the right. But she couldn’t help feeling a measure of excitement, knowing that at last Thorne would have a clue to follow in the sinister matter of Nathaniel’s death.

Eleven

F
or their
comeout ball, both Amy and Cecily looked remarkably pretty in their finery, Diana thought with pride. Amy was dressed in pink and white to complement her blond looks, Cecily in pale blue so as not to clash with her red hair. Both girls were nearly giddy with excitement, since this event would mark their formal presentation to society.

Lady Hennessy had planned an elegant dinner beforehand for two dozen couples, with the bulk of the guests to arrive afterward at half past nine. The Duke of Redcliffe had been invited as a dinner guest, by dint of being Lady Hennessy’s brother as well as Thorne’s father.

John Yates was among the first to arrive for the dinner, and the first to compliment Diana on her own gown—a pale gold satin slip with an exquisite overskirt of shimmering gold net.

Thorne was announced shortly afterward, looking carelessly elegant and breathtakingly handsome in his formal evening attire, a black cutaway coat, silver embroidered waistcoat, and white satin knee smalls. The pristine white of his cravat and shirt points contrasted with his strong, richly tanned features and made Diana’s heartbeat quicken alarmingly.

She seemed to have a similar effect on him, for Thorne stopped short when he saw her, his hazel eyes sparking with male admiration.

“I see our talented modiste did you justice, but that gown could be considered a hazard,” he said, eyeing the fashionably low décolletage. “That revealing cut is likely to make a man trip over his own jaw.” Bending over her hand, he raised her fingers to his lips, adding in a husky undertone, “And make him long to strip it from your beautiful body to uncover the provocative secrets beneath.”

Diana felt her cheeks flushing, but she was indeed pleased with her appearance and glad to be wearing the stunning gown when she would again be on display for all of society to see.

She was also eager to request a private word with Thorne later, murmuring that she had some information about Madam Venus to impart—a request that immediately generated Thorne’s keen interest.

Her pleasure was short-lived, however. Moments before they went into dinner, Lady Hennessy drew Diana aside, looking uneasy and a bit guilty.

“I have a confession to make, my dear,” the elder lady said in an apologetic tone. “I have invited Lord Ackland to the ball.”

Diana felt her facial features stiffen. Francis, Baron Ackland, was the nobleman she had loved so many years ago—the titled artist who had jilted her upon being denied access to her modest fortune.

With her wits so scattered, she barely heard what Lady Hennessy was saying. “…his wife’s mother was a friend of mine, and since Lord and Lady Ackland just returned to town, it would look odd to exclude them when I have invited half of London…. I didn’t want to tell you, Diana, in the event they didn’t plan to attend, but I received Lady Ackland’s acceptance just this afternoon. And it probably will be for the best—for everyone to see you in his company, you know, and to show that the past scandal is completely over.” Lady Hennessy grimaced. “Oh, heavens, I am babbling. I feared it might upset you, but I had to warn you so you would not be totally caught off guard upon seeing him.”

With effort Diana managed a smile; she had indeed been caught off guard. “You did right to warn me, Judith, and to invite them to the ball tonight. I will have to encounter Ackland at some point, and it is doubtless better to get it over with now, and in the public eye.”