He shrugged. Perhaps he didn’t know. He was trying to impress her. She’d not believe it.
Smugly he announced, “Sir Aubrey is a Spencean. A man who plots with the enemy to overturn society and plunge us into revolution like the French. He was involved in th
e attempted assassination of Lord Castlereagh.”
Hetty shook her head. Clearly he interpreted this as shock rather than denial for he went on, his tone intimate, “His late wife had evidence that has gone missing, for indeed it was my uncle who saw the incriminating letter with his own eyes. It is his mission to find that letter so that justice will be served and Sir Aubrey and his like no longer threaten the values we uphold.”
Hetty realized she was gaping like a fish. In less than an hour she’d been given two wildly varying stories. She knew who she wanted to believe but…
“Miss Henrietta, I would ask you to keep your ears and eyes open. If your sister reveals anything to you—”
The music faded away and Hetty broke apart to see Araminta coming toward her, Cousin Stephen in her wake. She wondered if Mr. Woking and Cousin Stephen had shared their concerns.
“It’s time to go home, Hetty.” Araminta patted her sister’s shoulder condescendingly. “You’re only just out and you’re not used to such excitement.”
Excitement? Hetty wondered if she’d ever enjoy such excitement again and wished she felt more filled with shame.
Confusion, fear and doubt, she felt in abundance.
But not shame over what she’d done tonight.
Perhaps that would come.
Chapter Four
It was a beautiful evening for a night of revelry at Vauxhall Gardens, warm and sultry, with a blaze of stars just starting to twinkle in the twilight.
Although Araminta had declared that Hetty would benefit from an early night “so the shadows under her eyes might be less in evidence” and “in the hope that her skin might look brighter”, as she told Cousin Stephen, her loyal cousin had gallantly responded by saying Hetty was on the way to becoming a beauty like their mother. He didn’t say she already was, but it was sufficient to bolster her spirits so that seeing her sister’s nose put out of joint was almost as enjoyable as being made a party to such an exciting event, albeit one that included their deadly dull cousins Seb, who was in the army, and his two turkey-necked sisters, Mary and Amelia. They were distant family members from the country and, their dress and manner immediately proclaiming them country bumpkins, of complete disinterest to Araminta, who barely concealed her distaste at being forced to entertain them.
Hetty was not surprised when Araminta seized upon the first opportunity to separate from them. The crowd was now a roiling mass of humanity within the hub of the gardens. Hetty had visited Vauxhall before and was familiar with the layout but the crowds were disconcerting. It would be easy to become lost.
Peering past a floral-festooned headdress, Araminta cried out in feigned surprise, “Oh goodness, Cousin Stephen, why, isn’t that Miss Cordelia Entwistle and her brother? Don’t you remember what a jolly time we had together playing charades at Lady Wainright’s house party last summer?” With a falsely pitying smile, she grasped Cousin Seb’s wrist, murmuring, “They lost their dear brother at Waterloo. Anything to remind them of the army sends poor Miss Cordelia in paroxysms of grief. Perhaps it’s best if you didn’t accompany us to offer our greetings, for they have seen us in the crowd and we must go to them.” Already she was moving on, her grip now transferred to Cousin Stephen’s wrist as she said over her shoulder, “I propose we meet in an hour in the supper room we’ve bespoken in the Druid’s Walk.”
Hetty started to follow, stopping with dismay as her sister called across the lengthening distance that now separated them, “Hetty, you must keep company with Cousins Amelia and Mary. They can chaperone you until we meet again.”
Grumbling, Hetty turned. Her cousins were a lackluster trio. Yet when none of them could be seen amidst the roiling throng, their company was suddenly never more desirable. Especially when, dashing after Araminta, Hetty discovered that every single member of her original party appeared to have vanished into thin air.
Breathless, she came to a junction of pathways, her terror increasing when she still could see no sign of them. What if she was observed, alone? Her reputation would be in tatters.
“Mayhap sweet Cupid pursues me once more?”
Hetty swung ‘round at the sound of the familiar low growl, covering her mouth as she found herself staring into the handsome, smiling face of…well, the man who’d seduced her only days before. “Sir Aubrey!”
He flashed her a sardonic smile as he clapped her on the shoulder. It was such a familiar gesture from a gentleman…
And yet not nearly as familiar as they’d enjoyed. And while she’d relished every single moment, it had been so wrong. Of her, Hetty. She’d led him to believe something that wasn’t true and compromised herself as a result. She’d been as wicked as a young woman could be but she’d got away with her actions. Now if she were discovered alone with Sir Aubrey in such a public place, she’d be ruined. She’d have no choice but to retire quietly to the country, where she’d be destined to live out her days. Survival in every sense depended upon withdrawing into the shadows, evading him so he’d never set eyes upon her again and she could do what she had come to London to do—make a good marriage and start her own independent life.
That would never be possible with Sir Aubrey.
She contemplated her alternatives while her heart performed strange contortions in her chest and warm, molten liquid seemed to pool in her lower belly. Her body was betraying her while her mind cried out for reason to prevail.
Perhaps she should scream. No, that would draw attention to what should not be observed as anything out of the ordinary. She should definitely find some way of slipping out of his grasp and simply disappearing into the crowd. It could be done, yet…
The truth was, there was something so compelling in the weight of his hand and so desirable in the genuine pleasure she saw in his eyes that she was incapable of doing anything other than murmuring, inanely, “What a surprise to see you here, Sir Aubrey.”
His grip tightened as he pulled her closer. “The investigative prowess of your abbess is to be commended. Perhaps I should employ her myself. Come, my angel, I shall spirit you away in my carriage—”
“No, sir…no, I mean, it’s not possible right now.” The extraordinary thing was that even though Hetty’s acquaintance with this man was so limited—and then only to an encounter of the most shocking, carnal kind—she couldn’t think of anything more tempting than exploring the other surprises he had to offer in the privacy of his own home.