Horrified, she stared blindly out the carriage window.
As usual he seemed sensitive to her mood. “You are quiet tonight,” Damien observed, studying her in the dimness of the carriage. “Are you feeling unwell?”
Vanessa forced the semblance of a smile. “Well enough. Just a touch of the headache.”
Shaking herself, she summoned the strength to pretend her world had not just shattered.
She would never allow Damien to know how thoroughly he had fragmented her heart. She didn’t want his pity or, worse, his scorn. When it came time to part, she vowed fiercely, she would never behave so foolishly as his other former mistresses. When they said good-bye, it would be over.
Vanessa had visited Vauxhall Gardens in the past, though not since before her husband’s death. The lavish gardens were as famous for the summer entertainment as for the graveled, tree-lined walkways illuminated by festoons of colored lanterns in crimson and gold. This particular evening, the music concert boasted a sizable orchestra, with vocal performers in two acts interspersed by a magical extravaganza of a cascading waterfall and a brilliant fireworks display.
Vanessa would have found great pleasure in the music had her emotions not been in such agony. Under the circumstances she was glad for the din, for she was spared the necessity of conversing with Damien as they strolled along the grounds.
At intermission he escorted her to a supper box adorned with paintings by Francis Hayman, where they dined on paper-thin slices of ham, sparrow-sized chickens, and pigeon pie, followed by strawberries and cherries and flavored ices.
Trying to conceal her desperation, Vanessa drank more of the potent Vauxhall punch than was wise. Perhaps that was why she felt light-headed when a party of gentlemen passed by their box, accompanied by two females who, from the scandalous cut of their gowns, did not appear to be ladies.
The gentlemen looked as if they had greatly enjoyed the punch, for they were weaving and laughing uproariously at some private joke. As a group they came to a halt when they spied Damien.
“Sin, do come and join us!” one slurred voice called out. “We mean to see what pleasure the Dark Walk can offer.”
Unlike the other unexceptional pleasure walks, the Dark Walk had gained a reputation for infamy. Its shadowed alcoves and romantic hideaways had been designed for lovers but were often used for nefarious purposes, and more than one young damsel’s good name had been ruined there.
“And bring your lady,” another voice said, sniggering.
From the ribald laughter that followed this suggestion, they considered her of the same ilk as their own female companions. But perhaps that was only to be expected, Vanessa acknowledged grimly, when she was being escorted by a rake like Damien.
Disturbed by the bold way she was being eyed, she was glad when Damien didn’t introduce her. Instead, with a dismissive wave of his hand, he declined the invitation and sent his dissolute friends on their way.
They were not the last unsettling visitors to the box, however. Moments later a couple strolled by. Vanessa recognized the gentleman as Lord Houghton, a friend of her late husband. The woman on his arm was a stranger-ravishingly beautiful, with silver-blond hair and a full-breasted figure draped in white satin. Sporting a tasteful hint of paint on her face, she looked the essence of an expensive Cyprian.
Lord Houghton acknowledged Vanessa and Damien with a brief bow and might have moved on but for the woman’s musical voice issuing a mild protest. “Charles, do stop and make me known to your friends.”
He flushed slightly and bowed again. “Lady Wyndham, Lord Sinclair, allow me to present Mrs. Swann, a most superior actress.”
Vanessa felt herself blanch at the name. Suddenly numb, she scarcely heard the actress’s reply.
“Lord Sin and I have met,” Mrs. Swann purred. “I am currently performing at the Haymarket, my lord, and should love to have you in the audience.”
Damien inclined his head in recognition and responded with casual politeness. “I should be pleased to attend a performance if time permits, but I’m in London for only a few days.”
Turning to Vanessa, Mrs. Swann raised a delicate eyebrow. “I was acquainted with your husband as well.”
“I beli
eve you were,” Vanessa choked out the reply. Roger had met his ignominious end dueling over this beautiful actress.
The Silver Swann seemed not in the least abashed by her notoriety. A sly smile curving her red lips, she lifted her hand to her throat to finger an emerald necklace similar to the one Vanessa herself wore. “Sin has excellent taste in jewelry, does he not?”
Vanessa was jolted from her frozen stupor as she realized the implication: the emeralds had been a gift from Damien. “He does indeed,” she said, outraged and bitterly wounded at the same time.
Lord Houghton looked embarrassed that his companion would be so ill-bred as to flaunt her jewelry. Hastily taking his leave, he swept the actress away.
Alone with Damien once more, Vanessa took a long swallow of her punch. When she felt the weight of his gaze, she cast him a bleak, acrimonious glance.
His eyes had grown hooded, while the liquor she’d drunk had loosened her tongue.
“She was one of your former paramours, I gather?”