No Place For An Angel. Gail Whitiker

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      Unfortunately, it was not only her voice that had captivated Valbourg. When at the end of that first performance, she had stared out into that vast auditorium, raised her sapphire-blue eyes to the first row of boxes, and her gaze had connected with his—and she had smiled. From that moment on, Valbourg had been lost. The thought of holding Catherine in his arms kept him awake at night, while the desire to lose himself in the softness of her body made him ache.

      Quite simply, the woman was intoxicating; more seductive than the finest wine, more addictive than the strongest opium. And like an addict, Valbourg kept returning to the Gryphon Theatre night after night, simply for the pleasure of watching her. She never glanced in his direction again, but it didn’t matter. The die had been cast. Valbourg became her greatest admirer...and she didn’t even know his name.

      But she would after tonight, because tonight, she would be singing at his sister’s betrothal celebration. Mary had specifically asked him to engage Miss Jones to entertain their guests, and his father had asked him to look after the young lady while she was in his house.

      Not an onerous responsibility. Indeed, Valbourg could think of a hundred men who would have jumped at the opportunity. But not him. For him it would be an exercise in frustration. A test of will-power...because the day he had become Sebastian’s guardian was the day he had vowed to lead an exemplary life. One that gave no one any room to criticise his behaviour or a reason to take Sebastian away—which a liaison with Catherine Jones would most certainly do. That meant he had no choice but to keep her at arm’s length. He would greet her when she arrived at his father’s house and introduce her to his sister and her fiancé at the appropriate time. If called upon to do so, he would even talk to her as though she was any other woman and not the bewitching creature who charmed with her music and ensnared with her beauty.

      He had a reputation to uphold and a six-year-old boy to take care of. Not even the glorious Catherine Jones could be allowed to jeopardise that!

      * * *

      The Marquess of Alderbury’s town house was an imposing Georgian edifice graced with five levels of windows, a row of sculpted Gothic columns and a fringe of grinning gargoyles that glared down on unsuspecting visitors. A house built to impress and intimidate.

      Catherine was not intimidated. She might have been when she had first arrived in London five years ago, but so much had changed in her life since then she no longer gazed with open-mouthed wonder at such things. Her employer, Theo Templeton, owned an exceedingly gracious residence just a few streets away, and she had often been invited to attend receptions given by the former actor and his flamboyant wife, also a former stage actress. Together, they had introduced Catherine to an eclectic group of actors, writers, artists and entrepreneurs, few of whom would have been made to feel welcome in the drawing rooms of polite society, but all of whom were accepted and embraced in the Templetons’.

      Catherine had been similarly welcomed, because in that gloriously ornate room, no one knew about the scandals in her past. No one knew about Will Hailey, the young man with whom she had fallen in love and committed that one terrible mistake, or about Thomas, the beautiful, golden-haired child who had resulted from it. No one knew about Will’s father, the Reverend James Hailey, who had ripped Thomas from her arms when he was but a baby and then told her to leave. A man whose hard-hearted actions had necessitated the dramatic changes in her life.

      No one knew any of that because here she was just Catherine Jones, the much-admired singer who had taken London by storm; a woman celebrated for her talent rather than looked down upon for her sins.

      A woman who had buried her pain so deep no one even knew it existed.

      Catherine glanced down at her gloved hands and sighed. She must be talented indeed to be able to fool all of London into believing she was happy.

      The marquess’s carriage rolled to a stop at the bottom of the stone steps and one of the liveried footmen jumped down to open the door. He was too well trained to peer inside, but Catherine knew he was waiting for her to disembark...something she knew better than to do. Actresses were not deposited at the front door of elegant residences. They were admitted through the servants’ entrance and taken up the back stairs, hopefully without being seen by any of the guests. No doubt, the butler would soon come out and instruct the driver to move on.

      But to her dismay, no such direction came. And when a shout rang out from one of the carriages in line behind them, the footman finally poked his head in and said, ‘Excuse me, miss, but we have to move on.’

      Catherine bit her lip, wondering who was responsible for the mistake. She glanced at the crowds milling beyond the carriage door and knew exactly what they would think if she were to emerge from Lord Alderbury’s carriage now. Unmarried women of good birth did not arrive unescorted at evening events and certainly not in the carriages of their hosts. That suggested an association well-bred people chose to ignore. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t sit in the carriage all night.

      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 СКАЧАТЬ