No Place For An Angel

And so she climbed out, trying to appear nonchalant as she stepped into the crowd of richly dressed women and their elegant escorts. A few of the ladies raised well-groomed eyebrows while others just whispered and smiled behind their fans.

Catherine smoothed out the folds in her gown and pretended not to notice. She wanted to tell them she had been specifically invited by the Marquess of Alderbury to perform at this evening’s soirée, but if that was the case, why had no one been sent to meet her? Had his lordship forgotten she was coming—?

‘Good evening, Miss Jones. Welcome to Alderbury House.’

The voice, polite, reserved and as smooth as warm honey, came from somewhere to her left and, turning around, Catherine saw a gentleman walking towards her. He wasn’t old enough to be the marquess, but neither could he be mistaken for a member of the household staff. Tall, dignified and impossibly handsome in exquisitely tailored evening clothes, his self-sufficient air suggested a man who was at home in his surroundings. One who had been born to the role. Another member of the family, perhaps? ‘Thank you, Mr...?’

‘Valbourg,’ he said. ‘My father is engaged elsewhere, but asked that I be on hand to greet you. I apologise for having kept you waiting.’

‘My apologies, Lord Valbourg,’ Catherine said, belatedly aware that she was addressing the marquess’s eldest son. ‘I hope you will convey my gratitude to your father for having been so kind as to send a carriage to collect me from the theatre.’

‘Actually, that was my doing,’ Valbourg said. ‘Since I asked you to come immediately after your performance, I thought the least I could do was provide comfortable transportation to bring you here. A carriage will also be made available to take you home at the end of the evening.’

‘Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,’ Catherine said, well aware that the infamous Stubbs would be watching for her arrival and preferring not to have to pay him extra to forget what he had seen. ‘I am able to make my own way around London.’

‘I’m sure you are, but you will not be required to do so this evening.’ He indicated the stairs. ‘Shall we?’

There was nothing in his tone to indicate disapproval of her response, but Catherine felt it none the less. Obviously Lord Valbourg did not deem it appropriate for a woman to travel around London on her own and had no doubt formed an opinion as to her character and morals as a result. Pity. She didn’t like being judged on appearances, especially when those appearances were misleading.

The truth was, she seldom went anywhere on her own because Mrs Rankin, the lady who had been with her since her arrival in London and who acted as both companion and chaperon, made sure she did not. It was only as a result of the lady being so dreadfully ill—and Lily being otherwise engaged—that Catherine had come on her own tonight. However, suspecting there was little she could say that would change his opinion, she gathered her skirts and started up the stairs beside him. She would deal with the issue of the ride home later.

They entered the hall, a magnificent room sumptuously furnished and sprinkled with priceless artwork and gilt-edged mirrors. Guests were directed up the white marble staircase and to the left, where Catherine assumed the marquess and his family were receiving.

She was taken up the stairs and to the right.

‘I thought you would like to see where you will be performing,’ Valbourg said politely. ‘Refreshments, if desired, will be brought to you there.’

Catherine inclined her head. ‘Thank you, my lord.’ As kind as Valbourg’s offer was, she knew what he was saying. She was the paid entertainment; not an invited guest. Strange how that still had the power to hurt. ‘Actually, I never eat before a performance,’ she added in a voice as remote as his. ‘I find it affects my voice.’

‘Then I wonder at you having the stamina to perform so magnificently in Promises night after night.’

Her head came round sharply. ‘You’ve seen the play?’

‘Indeed. I was curious to know what all of London was talking about.’

‘Really.’ She resented having to ask, but curiosity got the better of her. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Very much.’ Valbourg glanced briefly in her direction. ‘And you were...exceptional.’

His gaze lingered for no more than a moment, but it was long enough for Catherine to form an impression of sculpted cheekbones, dark eyes and a firm, sensuous mouth. Lord Valbourg was an elegant and powerful man; one whose slightest glance would bring women flocking to his side in the hopes of securing his affection.

How fortunate she was not one of those women.

‘Thank you,’ she said, returning her gaze to the stairs. ‘I would not have thought Promises the type of play a man like you would enjoy, but I shall certainly pass your comments along to Mr Templeton.’ She flicked another glance in his direction. ‘I cannot recall having seen you in the audience.’

‘Why would you? I am but one of the many thousands who stare at you every night,’ Valbourg said. ‘In such crowds, all faces blur into one, none of them distinguishable or particularly memorable.’

And yet, yours would be, Catherine found herself thinking. In fact, as she glanced at Valbourg again, she realised there was something familiar about his features. The black, wavy hair, the dark slash of eyebrows above expressive eyes and a slender, aristocratic nose. And that mouth, capable, no doubt, of humbling a man with a few carefully chosen words, or of bringing a woman to ecstasy with a lingering kiss—

‘I say, Brother, what gem have you brought into the house tonight?’ A very different voice cut into her musings. ‘Can it be the Angel of London come to grace us with her presence?’

Valbourg stopped and turned around, causing Catherine to do the same.

‘Ah, Hugh, I wondered when I would be seeing you. Miss Jones, allow me to introduce my brother, Lord Hugh Nelson. Hugh, Miss Catherine Jones.’

Brother. Yes, Catherine could see the resemblance. Though he looked to be younger than Valbourg, Lord Hugh shared his brother’s dark hair, sculpted cheekbones and slender, aristocratic nose. But where Valbourg’s eyes were a warm chocolate brown, Lord Hugh’s were the cool clear grey of a winter morning. His clothes were more dandified than Valbourg’s, and where the latter’s build suggested a man who enjoyed outdoor pursuits, Lord Hugh’s was already tending towards corpulence.

But it was in their attitudes towards her that Catherine saw the biggest difference. Valbourg’s regard was polite but uninterested. Lord Hugh’s was engaged and appreciative, leaving her in no doubt as to the nature of his thoughts.

‘So, we are to be treated to a performance by the Angel of London,’ he murmured, reaching for her hand. ‘How honoured we are.’

His words were as flattering as his regard, but Catherine suspected honour had very little to do with them. ‘Thank you. I was delighted to be asked and look forward to performing for your father’s guests.’

‘Not nearly as pleased as we are to have you. I say, Val, why don’t you leave Miss Jones in my care until Mary is ready for her to sing?’ Lord Hugh said, his hands pressing moist heat into hers. ‘I’m sure you have more important things to do.’

‘As a matter of fact, I do not,’ Valbourg said, pointedly freeing Catherine’s hand from his brother’s. ‘Mary charged me with the responsibility of looking after our guest and that is what I intend to do. Come, Miss Jones, the music room is just ahead. I’m sure you would like a chance to rehearse before the guests start arriving. One of the footmen will keep watch outside.’ He levelled a warning glance in his brother’s direction. ‘I have left instructions that no one is to be admitted until you are ready to begin.’

With that, he placed his hand in the middle of Catherine’s back and gently propelled her forward.

Catherine was not sorry to walk away. She was familiar with Lord Hugh’s type: men who had been indulged since birth and were used to having what—and who—they wanted. He no doubt enjoyed the company of actresses and ballet dancers, many of whom were, for the most part, elegant prostitutes, and while Catherine did not think of herself in that way, she was realistic enough to know that others did.

For that reason, she was surprised when a few minutes later, Valbourg said, ‘I apologise for my brother’s behaviour, Miss Jones. There is nothing he likes better than to find himself in the company of beautiful women, and while I cannot say he would not have made an improper advance, he would certainly have tried to monopolise your time.’

Catherine slowed, her expression thoughtful. Valbourg thought her beautiful? ‘Thank you, my lord, but there is no need to apologise. I have encountered your brother’s type before and am perfectly able to take care of myself.’

‘Are you?’ A glint of amusement warmed the brown eyes that suddenly turned to meet hers. ‘Have you a bronzed Nubian bodyguard you call upon at such times?’

Catherine allowed herself a small smile. ‘No, but I do know a few techniques that can come in useful. Ways in which to deflect a gentleman’s unwanted amorous attentions.’

‘If force is required to put distance between you and an admirer, he can hardly be called a gentleman.’

‘Ah, but he can,’ Catherine said. ‘A man will always treat a lady with respect, but he is not obliged to show the same consideration when in the company of an actress.’

‘He is when in this house,’ Valbourg said. ‘If you are treated with anything less than the respect you deserve, you are to find me at once and I shall deal with it.’

There was no trace of amusement in his voice now and Catherine was flattered by his concern. For all her fame, actresses were seldom accorded such consideration. It was refreshing to know there were still decent men in the world and that Lord Valbourg was one of them. What a pity their situations in life would prevent her from having a chance to know him better.

‘Thank you, my lord, but I doubt any of your father’s guests would be so inconsiderate as to misbehave beneath his roof. It would be a poor repayment of his hospitality.’

‘It would indeed, Miss Jones,’ Valbourg said. ‘And for everyone’s sake, I hope they remain aware of it.’

* * *

After making sure that Miss Jones was safely ensconced in the music room, Valbourg left her alone to practise, insisting she lock the door as soon as he left. The lady might believe herself wise to the ways of the world, but Valbourg knew there was very little she would be able to do against a man who had serious seduction on his mind. For that reason, he waited until he heard the click of the lock falling into place before making his way back to the ballroom.

Not surprisingly, his brother was waiting for him; a drink in his hand and a scowl on his face. ‘I say, Val, I didn’t care for the way you spoke to me back there. You had no right to be so dismissive in front of Miss Jones.’

‘And you had no right to move in on her the way you did. Dear God, Hugh, she is a guest in our father’s house,’ Valbourg said tersely. ‘Could you not have restrained yourself?’

‘She is an actress, not a guest,’ Hugh informed him. ‘One no doubt possessed of the same questionable morals as all the rest. She is only here to sing for her supper, and you can be damn sure she’ll be looking for a wealthy man to take her home. For a hefty price, of course.’

‘Which just goes to show how little you know about her. Catherine Jones hasn’t been any man’s mistress since she arrived in London,’ Valbourg said. ‘Her reputation is spotless. Would that the same could be said of yours.’

‘I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,’ Hugh said, securing a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter. ‘Just because you choose to live like a bloody monk doesn’t mean I have to.’

‘No, but something resembling restraint would be nice for a change,’ Valbourg drawled. ‘Speaking of conduct, watch what you say around Sebastian in future. I’d rather not have him thinking your conduct with women is one worth emulating. As for Miss Jones, keep your distance. She is here for our sister’s enjoyment. Not for your own personal pleasure.’

His brother’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why so protective, Valbourg? It’s not like you to warn me away from a woman. Can it be you’ve a mind to bed the wench yourself?’

Valbourg manufactured a smile for the benefit of a passing guest. ‘I won’t dignify that with a reply, but I trust we understand one another, Hugh.’

‘Miss Jones is off limits.’

For a moment, it was as though they were boys again; each determined to emerge the victor in an ongoing battle of wills. Hugh, three years younger and always the more competitive, still felt the need to prove himself, even though it was usually the elder brother who triumphed. Valbourg refused to allow emotion to cloud his judgement and took the time to weigh the pros and cons of a situation before deciding how to act. Logic trumped anger; reason suppressed passion. It was the only way of making intelligent and rational decisions.

Not that reason or intelligence had anything to do with how a man behaved when it came to a woman, Valbourg reflected narrowly. ‘I want your word on this, Hugh. Miss Jones is a guest in this house. Whatever her occupation or background, she is to be treated with respect while she is here. I will not allow you to harass or embarrass her.’

It was a hollow threat and they both knew it. Catherine Jones was an actress and as such, fair game for any man who wanted her. Indeed, for many actresses, becoming an aristocrat’s mistress was the far more desirable career. By ordering Hugh to behave like a gentleman, Valbourg had all but thrown down the gauntlet—and his brother had never been slow to pick it up.

Surprisingly, however, Hugh only shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘Very well, I won’t try to take advantage of Miss Jones. While it galls me to have to play the part of the gentleman, neither do I have any desire to be raked over the coals by you, or by Father after you trumpet your knowledge of my conduct to him. But mind you watch all the others, Brother,’ Hugh said, lowering his voice. ‘You can’t protect her from every red-blooded male who walks through that door, nor from the thousands who go to see her at the theatre every night. Catherine Jones is a beautiful and desirable woman. And you and I both know there’s nothing a man wants more than a woman someone tells him he can’t have.’

Chapter Two

Valbourg mulled over the significance of his brother’s words as he stood listening to Catherine Jones perform a few hours later. The guests had all assembled in the music room, and when Catherine appeared, elegant in a gown of rose-coloured silk and with pearls glowing at her ears and throat, they had burst into applause, aware that a special treat was in store for them. She had positioned herself beside the piano, waiting for her lady accompanist to begin the opening strains of her first song.

A hush had fallen over the room as Catherine began to sing. In contrast to her petite body, her magnificent voice had swelled to fill every corner of the room, each note crystal clear and perfectly struck. It was as though the music lived within her, the glorious sound bursting forth every time she opened her mouth.

Even her physical appearance changed as she sang. Caught up in the music, her body began to sway, her arms and hands floating gracefully in time. Indeed, there was something decidedly sensual in the way she moved and, judging from the expressions on the faces of most of the men in the room, Valbourg wasn’t the only one who was aware of it.

‘Oh, Val, isn’t she wonderful,’ his sister Mary whispered in his ear. ‘I cannot thank you enough for arranging to have her sing for us.’

‘The pleasure was all mine, dearest. After all, what kind of brother would I be if I did not see to your every wish, especially on a night like this?’

‘You would be like Hugh, who neither sees nor cares about anyone’s desires but his own.’

‘Now, Mary, Hugh is a product of his upbringing,’ Valbourg felt compelled to point out. ‘Third in birth order and second in line to the title, he has always felt the need to compete with me for our parents’ affection and respect.’

‘And never succeeded. At least not with Papa,’ Mary said in a wry tone. ‘Mama spoiled him outrageously, but you were always Papa’s favourite.’

‘Actually, I believe Sarah held that honour,’ Valbourg said softly. ‘Father never spent as much time with any of us as he did with her.’

‘Perhaps because he sensed he wouldn’t have as much time with her as he would with the rest of us.’ Mary sighed. ‘Thank goodness we still have Sebastian. Every time I look at him, I see a little reminder of Sarah in his face. Is he feeling better today? Papa told me you had to have the doctor round to see him.’

‘I did, but thankfully his fever broke last night,’ Valbourg said. ‘He will likely be weak for a few more days, but Tennison said he should make a full recovery.’

‘Thank goodness. I know how worried you were about him.’ Mary hesitated a moment before adding, ‘Still no regrets about having him come to live with you?’

‘Not a one.’

‘Then you don’t mind living the life of a monk? Sorry, dearest. Hugh’s words, not mine,’ Mary said with a smile. ‘But I don’t suppose they’re all that far off the mark. Everyone knows how much you’ve changed your life to accommodate Sebastian’s arrival and I really couldn’t blame you for feeling a little put out. I understand your evening entertainment is now restricted to tame forms of cards and the company of safely married couples.’

‘Dear God, have I truly become so boring?’

‘I’m afraid so. And we all know you’ve Dorothy to thank for that.’

Yes, because when his eldest sister Dorothy had heard that Valbourg was assuming responsibility for Sebastian’s upbringing, she had bluntly called it the most idiotic idea she had ever heard. It didn’t matter that Sarah had asked him, rather than Dorothy or, God forbid, Hugh, to care for Sebastian in the event something should happen to her and her husband. Dorothy maintained it was ridiculous that a man who was only concerned with drinking and whoring should be responsible for the well-being of a child. Even their father had suggested it might be in everyone’s best interests if Sebastian went to live with Dorothy and her husband, given that they already had a son and a daughter in the nursery.

But Valbourg had stood firm. He informed them he had given Sarah his word that he would honour her request and honour it he would. For the most part, he just ignored Dorothy hovering in the background like a dark foreboding cloud.

And then, as though summoned by the mention of her name, Dorothy appeared, drab in a fawn-coloured gown that did nothing for her complexion or her figure.

Not, Valbourg reflected, that his eldest sister had been particularly blessed in either regard. ‘Good evening, Dorothy.’

‘Valbourg,’ she said, adding with a brisk nod, ‘Mary.’

‘Hello, Dorothy. I was beginning to wonder whether or not you were coming.’

‘I was delayed by a crisis below stairs,’ Dorothy said. ‘Some scandal involving one of the maids. Mrs Plinkin came to see me about it just as I was leaving. I told her I had neither the time nor the patience to deal with it and that she should just get rid of the girl.’

‘Compassionate, as always,’ Valbourg murmured.

‘Don’t take that tone with me, Brother,’ Dorothy snapped. ‘I don’t want my children exposed to behaviour like that under my own roof. Speaking of servants, I really must talk to Papa about his new valet. The man is rude and condescending and needs to be taught his place. But I suppose that is what you invite when you hire an Irishman.’

‘I don’t know why you would say that,’ Mary objected. ‘I find Tully very pleasant to deal with.’

‘Of course, because you find everyone pleasant. It is the reason you will fail so miserably as a wife,’ Dorothy stated. ‘Servants need to be taught their place. You do that by maintaining a firm hand. I don’t care if my servants like me. All I require is their obedience and their willingness to work hard.’

‘Which I am sure they do,’ Valbourg remarked. ‘But if Mary’s servants work hard it will be because they like and respect her, not because they are afraid of her. As for her new role, I have no doubt she will make Tyne an excellent wife.’

‘Of course I will,’ Mary said, stung by her sister’s criticism. ‘I love him and he loves me.’

‘Love,’ Dorothy said with a sneer. ‘A highly overrated emotion that serves as no useful foundation for marriage whatsoever. You would have been better off accepting Lord Troon’s proposal.’

‘Troon? The man is sixty if he’s a day,’ Mary said, incredulous. ‘And he is not at all handsome.’

‘Handsome? Of what value are looks when in twenty years’ time they will have vanished, leaving you shackled to a man with whom you likely have nothing in common and with no financial recompense to salve your wounds for being so silly as to accept his proposal in the first place. At least Troon is a worthy catch. He is heir to a dukedom.’

Mary blinked at the harshness of her sister’s reply, but Valbourg simply smiled. ‘I shouldn’t worry about it, Mary. Tyne may not be as wealthy as Troon, but I suspect his looks will last far longer so that even in thirty years’ time, you will have no reason to regret your decision to marry him.’

‘Oh, yes, be sarcastic if you like, but people would do a lot better if they made decisions based on logic rather than emotion,’ Dorothy said. ‘Speaking of which, when do you intend to do your duty and settle down, Brother? You are past thirty now and responsible for the welfare of a young boy. No doubt you would both benefit from the influence of a sensible woman in your lives.’

‘Is that a criticism of the way I am raising Sebastian?’ Valbourg enquired, unwilling to let the remark pass.

‘Not at all. Much to my surprise, you have cast off your dissolute ways and emerged a surprisingly respectable man,’ Dorothy said. ‘But it is past time you gave some serious thought to settling down. You are Papa’s heir, after all.’

Valbourg’s sarcastic rejoinder was lost in the burst of applause that greeted Catherine as she finished her song. He looked up in time to see her execute a graceful curtsy, and though her face was lightly flushed and her blue eyes still sparkled, he could see how weary she was. And why not? It was nearly three in the morning and she had already performed her required six songs as well as three encores. It was time to pay the girl and send her home.

‘Come, Mary,’ Valbourg said. ‘If you wish to meet Miss Jones, now would be the time.’

‘Meet her?’ Dorothy’s pencil-thin eyebrows rose. ‘Why on earth would you wish to meet her?’

‘Because she was kind enough to come here and sing for our guests,’ Mary said.

‘Are you not paying Miss Jones for her time, Valbourg?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then let that be an end of it. One must be careful around women like that, Mary,’ Dorothy warned. ‘Flattery goes to their heads. Gives them airs. Worse, Miss Jones may think Valbourg is interested in her and he certainly doesn’t need that kind of complication in his life. No, tell Harrison to give the girl her money and send her on her way. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go and have a word with Papa. See if I can talk some sense into him before the Irishman robs him blind.’

With a curt nod, Dorothy left, taupe-coloured feathers bending in the breeze.

Mary leaned over and whispered in Valbourg’s ear, ‘Is it truly awful to admit that one doesn’t care much for one’s sister?’

‘Not as awful as it is honest.’

‘It doesn’t seem very charitable.’

‘Honesty seldom is,’ Valbourg said in a wry tone. ‘Come, let us speak to Miss Jones while the Dragon is otherwise engaged.’

* * *

They lined up to speak to her. Knights and their ladies, barons and their baronesses, even a viscount and his viscountess—all took a moment to express their admiration of her voice. Only one crusty old earl and his equally crusty countess left without acknowledging her, but Catherine took the snub in her stride. The majority of guests had been kind enough to speak with her, rendering unimportant the few who were not.