Society's Beauties: Mistress at Midnight / Scars of Betrayal. Sophia James

her unusual eyes and, stretching out, he allowed his thigh to touch hers. She moved back as though she had been burned, leaving as much space between them as was possible, her left side plastered tightly against the armrest.

      Her reaction was ridiculous. She knew that it was, but it was as though her body almost sizzled when he touched her. Please God that he might not have perceived her response, that he might not have noticed.

      ‘Your father is looking well, Mrs St Harlow.’ Lady Delamont leant across and spoke loudly. ‘I always thought it a great pity when your mother left him. Sylvienne was very like you to look at, my dear, with her red hair and that quiet air of caution. I hear she lives in Paris now?’

      ‘She does.’

      ‘Surrounded by luxury and various beaus, no doubt? She had every eligible suitor in London after her in the Season, an original with a brain to match. Do give her my regards next time you see her.’

      ‘I shall indeed, my lady.’

      Aurelia’s smile felt as artificial as her words. the last time she had visited Mama, Sylvienne had clung to her like a child needing comfort, the high price of her numerous lovers scrawled in heavy payment across her face. Abandoned by society. When she had asked after Papa the undercurrents of regret could be clearly heard in her question.

      Perhaps she and her mother were more alike than she thought. Her mama had chosen to leave the right man and she had chosen to stay with the wrong one.

      Unlucky in love.

      The tiny phrase clung in her mind and Aurelia took in breath. She could not afford to let her guard down and Stephen Hawkhurst wasn’t a man to be played with. He was dangerous and powerful and menacing. Even here, sitting still amongst a group of women she was aware of a thrumming authority, a man who had fought in wars and lived.

      Aye, survival had a certain note of guilt that isolated one and made mockery of small concerns. It also brought a sadness that was palpable and haunting, the vestige of dark things that were never spoken of again.

      Leonora’s laughter dragged her from her thoughts.

      ‘I should love to come, Lady Delamont, and I am certain my sister would, too.’ Aurelia’s heart sank. ‘A masked ball, Lia. What could be more exciting?’

      ‘The more, the merrier, Mrs St Harlow,’ the old lady continued, ‘and I have a roomful of masks collected over the years. If you should like to choose one with your sister I would be very pleased, for my late husband was a man who had a bent towards the absurd.’

      ‘I have already chosen Nat’s mask, Hawk.’

      Aurelia heard the humour in Cassandra Lindsay’s voice even as Hawk shifted in his seat. He did not look like a man who would enjoy a masked ball at all.

      ‘Your husband used to favour these sorts of occasions, Mrs St Harlow.’ Cassandra’s sister spoke for the first time, her smile so sweet Aurelia knew she could not have meant insult.

      ‘Indeed, it seems that Charles enjoyed anything that was underpinned with joviality.’ At least Hawkhurst did not make the words sound like a compliment, which gave Aurelia a certain satisfaction.

      Joviality. Her world spun for a moment as she was thrust back into her past, clinging to the hope that the man she had married might disappear into the air like a wisp of smoke.

      Foolish, foolish choice.

      The wedding band on her finger seemed to tighten of its own accord, like a noose, an uncompromising punishment that would always be with her.

      She wished she was home, in her bedroom and away from the prying eyes of others, the talk of masked balls and happy times so very far away from all that she had known.

      And endured.

      ‘I hope none of your other sisters have caught your father’s illness?’ Cassandra Lindsay commented and Aurelia shook her head. To say more under the circumstances would be more than deceitful given Hawk’s knowledge of the whole conundrum. Even Leonora looked a little abashed and there was an awkward silence that was filled as Lady Delamont sought advice about a certain plant for her garden which she had been unable to find.

      The conversation gave Aurelia a little time to regather her wits and squash down a rising panic. The tension emanating from Lord Hawkhurst next to her was almost palpable and she was pleased when Cassandra’s husband appeared at the door.

      Hawkhurst stood immediately, giving Aurelia the impression that his desire to be gone was almost as great as her own, and when he gave his farewells he did not look in her direction once.

      With Stephen Hawkhurst departed, however, that particular sense of excitement disappeared with him and, looking at the clock in the corner of the room, Aurelia wondered just how many minutes would need to pass before she could leave, as well.

       Chapter Nine

      Aurelia took a letter to the hospital the next morning, the missive concealed in her reticule under other papers and a wide silk scarf. ‘The last time,’ she said to herself. This would be the last time she took such chances.

      As she walked along the hospital corridor she was aware of a man observing her closely. When she smiled at him he fidgeted with something in his pocket and stood, disappearing around the corner at speed.

      The sight of Freddy Delsarte as she came outside made her stiffen and she wondered what discovery might engender. Treason carried the death penalty and she knew that a defence of blackmail would not save her. She needed to get Sylvienne away from Paris and pay off Delsarte for his silence. Now Leonora’s reputation was at stake, as well, and with the chance of happiness with Rodney Northrup almost coming to fruition…She stopped. Hawkhurst was circling in the Limestone Hole and in the places that society gathered; his connections with the secret service threaded into the verbal warnings he gave her, but for now it was Delsarte who wanted a word.

      ‘You are the talk of the town, Mrs St Harlow, for Hawkhurst’s ball has elevated you to the status of acceptable.’

      ‘I have paid my dues, sir, as far as any legal requirements are concerned. Now I just wish to be left in peace.’

      ‘Sylvienne might say the same.’

      ‘Sylvienne?’ Her voice was harsh even to her own ears. ‘If you hurt even one hair on her head, Delsarte, I shall see to it that the truth about your questionable morality and allegiance is made known and you will be crucified for it.’

      ‘A case of the pot calling the kettle black, Mrs St Harlow.’

      She shook her head. ‘Mama was a fool to have allowed you into her bed and I am even more of one to have been persuaded to deliver your letters. Lord Stephen Hawkhurst has been asking after your movements and it would be very easy to tell him all that I know.’

      ‘Do that and you will be up there in the hanging noose alongside me, my dear. The British Government would have little sympathy for the daughter of a French whore.’

      His anger made Aurelia take a step backwards. She was caught in the game as certainly as Delsarte was, her mother’s welfare taking precedence over any allegiance to King or to country. Unsavoury, she knew, but Sylvienne was walking a knife edge and Aurelia could not let her fall.

      The same man she had seen at the hospital suddenly crossed the street in front of them and Delsarte hurried away. Another player in the game of espionage and secrets? A further threat to the safety of her mother?

      A note came in the late afternoon to Park Street as she was trying to fit in a few hours’ work. The man who brought it had been instructed to wait for an answer and when she read the contents she was very glad Henry Kerslake was out and about.

      Lord Hawkhurst wanted to see her and had asked her to come in the provided carriage to his town house within the hour.