Chapter 20
T he moment Silas turned onto the lane leading away from her home, Arabella rushed back inside and into the breakfast room. She broke the seal on the message from her father that had arrived during her meal and read it, her heart pounding.
You’ve gotten away with this long enough. You will pay. C.
C was for Comerford. Her father hadn’t signed any letter as Father for years. She’d apparently lost that honorific when she ran from him. No great injury—he’d barely performed the duties associated with that name in the first place.
Still, her hands shook as she read the ugly words over and over. There was very little new about them. The letters always contained anything from veiled to direct threats. Usually he called her a whore, so the lack of that slur was at least something.
And yet there was a chill of fear in her.
Something she could normally control, but today it lingered.
Perhaps it was because her emotions surrounding the man were so much more powerful at present thanks to her unintended conversation with Silas.
She’d given over so much of her past to him.
And he’d taken it all with calm and kindness and nothing but support.
She took the letter upstairs and went into her dressing room where the tub she’d shared with Silas was already empty and dried.
She smiled at the memories it now contained and then reached to the top shelf of her wardrobe and retrieved the hat box she used to store the vile letters.
Why she kept them, she could never say, but she felt compelled to do so regardless.
She dropped the newest in amongst the rest and set the box on one of the tables in the big room. She’d put it back later.
She went into her bedroom and smiled at the maid who was making her bed. Smoothing away the evidence that Arabella had spent her night in Silas’s arms. Only it couldn’t be smoothed. His gift of presence and support would linger. Her recognition that she loved him would probably never quite go away.
“That’s why you have to end it,” she reminded herself as the maid left her and she was alone.
Oh, how that stung. But it was better for both of them. Silas would leave soon. She needed to move on now before she couldn’t stop herself from telling him the truth. From ruining them both with what could never be.
But she’d leave him with the last gift she could. She would go to his supper and meet with his brothers and hopefully plant some seed with them. Help them see that Silas was worthy of their love, exactly as he was.
If she could give him that, it would have to be enough.
* * *
A rabella wore her full armor to Silas’s house that night.
Her best blue gown, the one that matched her eyes and had the cut that accentuated her curves without being too showy.
She’d fixed her hair, curling and twisting it, then placed jewels within the locks, both real and paste.
She’d rouged her lips lightly to bring them color and curled her eyelashes carefully.
She was ready to face an army, an invading force.
Or at least a marquess and his brother, who would certainly look at her with judgment.
She smoothed her hands along the silken folds of her gown as her carriage began to slow and turn its way onto Silas’s drive.
She pushed her shoulders back, lifted her chin, ready to become Arabella Comerford, celebrated courtesan, woman who had raised herself to the storied heights of her profession.
Woman who held all the power and could wield it.
Woman who would do anything to protect the man she loved, though that part she would certainly keep to herself. To allow Silas or his family to see that would only cause pain and confusion for all parties.
Her driver came down from the rig and opened the door for her. “Thank you, Ingram,” she said with a small smile for him. “And I’ve no idea how this will go tonight, so stay close, just in case I need to leave in haste.”
He inclined his head. “I’ll be at the ready, Miss Comerford.”
She came up the stairs and the door to the home opened, revealing Poole and his pointed frown. “Miss Comerford,” he said, ice in his tone.
“Poole,” she said, the same in her own as she looked down her nose at him. Let him remember what she’d said weeks ago. Let him sit in the discomfort of it, just as he deserved.
“Mr. Windham expects you. You’ll join him in the parlor.” He motioned her up the hall and she followed him into the room.
Silas was by himself, standing at the fire, gazing off into the distance. He appeared distracted, up until the moment she was announced. Then he turned toward her and relief came over his features.
“You are perfectly on time,” he said as he crossed to her and took her hands. “And perfect in general—my God, you look lovely.”
She leaned up to kiss his cheek. He’d shaved, which only served as a reminder of how important this night was to him. She preferred him scruffy and bed mussed, but here they were.
“When the marquess and Lord Reginald arrive, bring them straight here,” Silas said.
Poole gave her one final disapproving glance and then exited the room. She focused all her attention on Silas. “Your sister won’t join us?”
His expression fell. “I waited too late to invite her. My brothers could make the time, but she had something else to do. Something to do with her daughter, who is coming out next Season.”
She nodded. “So it is just us and them, then.”
“I hope one day it will just be an us , but yes. For now, us and them.”
She leaned up to push a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “You look very formal, Mr. Windham. No one could mistake you for anything but a gentleman.”
He snorted a laugh at that observation. “Heaven preserve us. Would you like a drink?”
“Desperately,” she said. “And that whisky looks lovely, but why don’t you make it madeira? Might as well play at being a lady if you are going to be a gentleman.”
“You are a lady,” he said, and poured her drink. “There could never be any playing about it.”
She shook her head. They were both fooling themselves if they believed that. She took a sip of her drink just as Poole reappeared.
“Lord Pentaghast and Lord Reginald,” he intoned before he stepped away and let the two men into the room.
Of course, Arabella had met Lord Reginald recently, during their unpleasant encounter in this very parlor after her first night with Silas here.
But she hadn’t seen the marquess out in Society in many months, perhaps even a year.
His illness had thinned him, aged him. He looked far more than fifteen years older than Silas.
“Charles, Reginald,” Silas said, extending a hand to each of them in turn.
Arabella was pleased that both men took the offering.
That was something. Silas faced her now.
“May I present Miss Arabella Comerford. Arabella, the Marquess of Pentaghast, and you already know Reggie. I’m sorry, Lord Reginald. ”
“My lord,” she said with a small curtsey to the marquess. “And my lord. A pleasure to see you again.”
Reginald appeared uncertain but he returned her nod briefly.
“Would you like a drink, either of you?” Silas asked. “We have the whisky you used to like, Reg. And you were always a brandy man, weren’t you, Charlie?”
“Yes on both accounts,” the marquess answered for them both. “I think we’ll both have a drink, won’t we, Reg?”
Arabella let her gaze fall to the middle brother. Just as when she’d first met him, she could sense his irritation with this entire exercise. But he nodded. “Thank you.”
As Silas prepared the drinks, Arabella motioned the men to the chairs across from the settee. The marquess raised an eyebrow slightly at her playing of hostess, but he took it and even returned her smile when she gave it as she settled onto the settee.
“I wanted to inquire about your health, my lord,” she said. “There has been worry amongst a great many of your friends. You look well tonight, though.”
“I look like I feel, which is old,” the marquess said with a little laugh. “But I am recovering. The worst has passed, I’m almost sure of it. And I’ll survive.”
“That is good,” Arabella said, and meant it. It was clear Silas had suffered a great deal after the death of his father six years before. She didn’t want him to have to go through that again with his brother. Especially given their estrangement.
Silas joined her and the conversation was stiff and awkward. They spoke of nothing of importance and yet all the important topics still hung in the air between them.
When supper was announced, Silas rose and offered her an arm. She looked at him in surprise. They weren’t in an arrangement and she certainly did not count as a true lady. But he still treated her like one.
She took his arm and they led the other two gentlemen to the dining room. As they took their seats and the first course was laid before them, it seemed Lord Reginald could no longer hold back his feelings.
“I do wonder why you called us here tonight, Silas,” he said. “Our last encounter was anything but pleasant. And given what we requested of you, the fact that you are flaunting your mistress—forgive me, Miss Comerford, but I must speak plainly—could be perceived as an act of pure defiance.”
“Reggie,” the marquess said softly.
“No. He has dragged you from your rest to do this.” There was the slightest crack to Lord Reginald’s tone and then he schooled it away. “I truly wish to know the answer so we can determine if everything is a waste of time.”