Page 25 of Venus in Disguise

“That’s not true,” Narcissa said, her temper rising.

“Do you know what his Indian brethren call them, those that are half-Indian, half-English? Kutcha butcha,” she said with relish, apparently savouring the strange-sounding foreign words. “It means half-baked bread,” she said, laughing now.

“Stop that!” Narcissa cried angrily, tears springing to her eyes. “You spiteful creature.”

“Spiteful? Me? Oh, that’s nothing. Can you imagine if you married him, assuming he has even considered the idea—which I strongly doubt—but all your children would be like him. They wouldn’t fit, Narcissa, just as he doesn’t. They’ll always be on the outside looking in.”

Anger of the kind Narcissa had never felt before burned through her veins, chasing away fear. “If the world they are looking in at contains people like you, I shall be glad to remain on the outside of it with them,” she said savagely, the rage in her voice making Maud take a step back.

The woman glared at her but looked a little less certain of herself. “I give you one week to come up with the money, Narcissa. Pay me, and I’ll keep my mouth shut. Otherwise, you’ll find yourself on the outside a deal quicker than you may have bargained for.”

With that, Maud went out, closing the door.

Narcissa stood staring at it for a long moment after she had gone as the simmering rage dissipated, leaving her weary and terribly frightened. It was one thing to be brave and face down a creature like Maud. The Duke of Beresford had the power to imprison her for the rest of her days or cast her into the streets without a farthing to her name and that was quite another matter. She stumbled back and sat heavily down on the bed, a sob of despair rising to her throat.

Oh, lord, whatever was she to do now?

It was three interminable days before Ash saw Narcissa again, despite his best efforts. Having paid his valet to befriend Mrs Chandler’s staff and find out where they would be each night, his luck had been poor. The first night they had attended a musical, but the affair had been oversubscribed and not only had Mrs Chandler and her companion been stuck close to Narcissa like glue, but they had left immediately after the concert. The second night, they had attended a dinner party to which he had not been invited. Ash had almost written today off as a bad job too, when his valet had rushed home to tell him they were attending a photographic exhibition that very afternoon and only Mrs Chandler and Narcissa were attending for her companion had fallen ill.

It was not an ideal opportunity, but he was willing to chance it when the alternative was slowly climbing the walls. Try as he might, he could not keep his mind from Lady Narcissa Ponsonby. He was a damned fool to have allowed his compassion for her to have tempted him into arranging that meeting last night. Before that, he had desired her, but he had kept his feelings in proportion, knowing she was out of reach. Now, however, he knew she had values that were akin to his own, he knew too how she felt in his arms, the taste of her mouth against his, and he was crawling out of his own skin with the need to put his hands on her again.

With belated clarity, he realised his initial animosity towards her had been because of her father. As she was Beresford’s daughter and on the face of it, a complete henwit, he had assumed she would despise him as the duke did. As he began to suspect her intelligence matched her beauty, his interest in her had intensified alongside his frustration. Though he knew it was ridiculous, he’d had the feeling the duke had dangled the one woman in the world Ash might lose his head over in front of him, with the sole purpose of tormenting him.

That night at the ball, the things she had said, her admission she admired his father for his climb out of the gutter, her assertion of how lucky he was to be loved by such people, had surprised and touched him. She was not what he had expected her to be, and the desire to know more was tantalising.

He knew it was a pointless affair. There was no future for them, for he knew well enough the duke would see him dead in a ditch before he contemplated a marriage between them, not that he was thinking of such a thing. But she would be, and rightly so, for she courted ruin with this madness. If he had an ounce of sense, he ought to tell her not to seek him out again, he ought not be here now. It would cause them both nothing but trouble. It had been his intention to tell her that night. He ought to have said it and almost had, but he could be a stubborn devil and the idea of doing something to avoid the duke’s wrath had smacked of cowardice. Yet it would be Narcissa who would suffer if they were caught. But then she had told him she wanted to see him again, and he had wanted her to want that so much he’d not done what he should and denied her. He must, however, for her own sake. She was an innocent and had not the slightest idea how an affair could escalate into something unwieldy and out of control when passions ignited, and his desire for her was already driving him distracted. He would end things today, he promised himself, but he could not do so if he couldn’t speak to her.

Now Ash stood outside Mr Mayall’s photographic gallery on the Strand, determined to speak to the woman he could not keep his mind from, no matter how briefly. It was not an especially large establishment and in normal circumstances, he would have not attempted to see her here, for he doubted there was a quiet corner to be found. But the added information that Lord Fotherington had escorted the ladies made Ash hope he might manage a few moments of conversation with Narcissa without Mrs Chandler noticing. An article about the gallery and Mr Mayall’s wonderful photographs had been printed in the past week, so the crush of people swarming to view images of the famous and the fashionable was greater than Ash had dared to hope for.

Joining the throng pushing inside the gallery, Ash wasted no time on the photographs but scanned the crowd, his view impeded by a vast array of bonnets which hid the wearer’s hair and face. To his astonishment, Ash discovered his heart racing with anticipation. Never in his life had he got himself in an emotional state over a woman. He’d experienced lust, certainly, and the excited anticipation of a new love affair without doubt. Though he admitted to himself now that the feelings of excitement a new lover usually engendered in him had been lacking of late, the sensation of going through the motions and treading the same old path, one that had been increasingly depressing.

Ash threaded his way through the crowd, trying his best to be discreet as he peered around bonnets, hoping to find the beautiful face he sought. A brittle laugh caught his ear, and he turned, following the sound and unsurprised to discover Mrs Chandler on Lord Fortherington’s arm. Ash lingered behind them, out of their eyeline until he was certain Narcissa was not with them. Though it suited him perfectly, he felt a swell of anger towards Mrs Chandler for neglecting her charge at such a public gathering where any lout could importune an innocent girl. Still, a bird in the hand was not to be sniffed at and he pushed on, determined to track her down.

He found her in the next room, regarding a photo of Charles Dickens, her lovely face pensive. She wore a grey-lilac satin robe with a darker lilac velvet three quarter length pardessus over the top. Her bonnet was lined with the same grey-lilac satin as her gown, her pale blonde curls shining brightly against the soft colour. A large bow was tied jauntily under her chin and plumes of pale grey feathers draped becomingly about her face from the bonnet.

Ash stopped for a moment, unable to take his eyes from the picture she made, from the kind of beauty that made your heart hurt to look upon. He moved closer, perceiving close up that she looked a little pale, before bending to whisper in her ear.

“I would have a thousand photos of you if I could.”

She gasped, her gaze flying to his, and the pleasure in her eyes upon seeing him, the wide curve of her lovely mouth, made all his good intentions fly out the window. How could he tell her he would not see her again, and dim the happiness he saw in her face, never mind the sensation of loss that stung his own heart whenever he thought of it?

“Mr Anson!” she exclaimed, and to his regret, the happiness in her eyes dimmed and she darted an anxious look around.

Still, he could not keep the smile from his lips at her startled surprise, and her evident pleasure in seeing him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked nervously, staring at the people around them.

“What do you think?” he replied, his tone dry. “Come with me. Don’t look so anxious, Mrs Chandler is still in the first gallery, flirting with his lordship.”

“Yes,” she said, sounding breathless. “Indeed, I shall, for I must speak with you,” she said urgently.

He nodded, a little alarmed by the tenor of her voice, the fear in her eyes, but they could not speak here, so he offered her his arm. “Come, then.”

Obediently, she took it, following him down into the next room, though she became visibly agitated as he guided her down a corridor and through a door that led them outside to a small courtyard.

“That’s better,” Ash said as he closed the door on the noise and bustle inside. He turned to her with a smile that died on his lips as he realised just how anxious and unhappy she was. “Whatever is the matter?”

She took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself. “Maud—that is, Miss Pinkerton—saw us last night.”