Catherine raised an eyebrow at the casual use of her first name. Did he think to disarm her with familiarity? ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Because the opportunities you have in London would be far superior to any you might have been offered in the country. If you were willing to become some shop-owner’s mistress, you would not hesitate to become the mistress of a much wealthier man here.’
The implication stung. ‘You flatter me, Lord Valbourg. Obviously, your opinion of me is very high.’
‘Actually, it is,’ he said quietly, ‘which is why it pains me to have to ask you the question.’
It was surely one of the strangest conversations Catherine had ever had. A gentleman, asking her why she hadn’t become some other man’s mistress...but not because he seemed to have any interest in making her his. ‘For what it’s worth, I choose not to be a mistress,’ she said. ‘Singing is my passion and I am grateful to Mr Templeton for having given me the opportunity to do what I love night after night in his beautiful theatre. And to pay me for the privilege.’
‘Granted, but what of your future? There will come a time when the public tires of you. Or when the work becomes too demanding. What will you do then? Retire? Move away? Marry?’
‘I will never marry,’ Catherine said. ‘I have a career. One I love and that I intend to pursue. If I were to marry, all of that would change. A husband would not allow me to appear in public.’
‘He would if he were a fellow performer.’
‘It has been my experience that actors make poor husbands.’
‘Personal experience?’
‘No. Experience gained from watching those around me.’
‘So you’re not hiding an abandoned husband in some remote country village,’ Valbourg said with a small smile.
Catherine did not return it. ‘I assure you, I am not.’
Thankfully, the carriage began to slow. Catherine turned her gaze towards the window, aware that they had arrived in a part of town she knew well, but that was still a few streets from where she lived...which was exactly what she had intended when she had given the false address. It would have been bad enough for Stubbs to see her arriving home in a nobleman’s carriage. It would have been disastrous had he seen the owner of the carriage sitting in the carriage with her.
‘I take it you’re not going to tell me why you refuse to take a lover?’ Valbourg said, the question dragging her back into the moment.
Catherine sighed. Why couldn’t he just leave it alone? She didn’t want to lie to him, but she could not...would not...tell him the truth. ‘Lord Valbourg, it would be impossible for you to understand what my life has been to this point. Or for me to predict how it will be in the future. I can tell you that events in my past dictate how my future will be lived and it doesn’t matter whether I like it or not. The past is the past. It cannot be changed.’
‘So you’re telling me you did something you regret and your life is now ruled by that event.’
‘Something like that. Now I really must go,’ Catherine said. ‘It has been a long day and I am exhausted.’
He didn’t say a word. He simply looked at her in silence. But when she went to reach for the door handle, he leaned forward and held out his hand.
Confused, Catherine sat back. What was he doing? His expression, while serious, was in no way threatening, leading her to believe he wasn’t about to try to ravish her. So what did he want?
Her gaze rested on his a moment longer and then, with a sigh, she cautiously placed her hand into his.
Valbourg’s fingers closed around hers, warm and reassuring. ‘Thank you for agreeing to perform for my family and guests this evening, Miss Jones. While I regret the unfortunate incident that took place, I do not regret the time we were able to spend together. You are a beautiful and talented woman and I know you will do well in the future. But if you ever have need of my help, you have only to ask and it will be given.’
With that, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
Catherine stared back at him, her thoughts a confusing tangle of emotions. What was she to make of all this? Did he dislike her—or desire her? Was he inviting her in or warning her to stay away? She had no idea. But too tired to figure any of it out, she gathered up her skirts and climbed out of the carriage.
By the time she looked up, it was already pulling away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the darkened street. A few minutes later, it began to rain.
Fortunately, or perhaps miraculously, a hackney came trotting around the corner and Catherine hailed it, relieved she wouldn’t have to travel the rest of the way on foot.
* * *
She was unlocking her front door when a dark figure separated itself from the shadows. ‘Good evening, Miss Jones.’
Catherine gasped, a combination of fear and exhaustion prompting the unguarded response. But when she realised who it was, she closed her eyes and said tersely, ‘Dash it all, Stubbs! You frightened the life out of me!’
‘My apologies, but you’re coming in later than usual and without the ever-watchful Mrs Rankin by your side.’
‘Mrs Rankin is ill. I sent her home and went alone to Lord Alderbury’s house.’
‘The Marquess of Alderbury?’ Stubbs repeated. ‘Well, well, and what would someone like you be doing at a fine house like that until this time in the morning?’
‘Performing.’
‘Oh, aye.’ He smiled and winked suggestively. ‘For a gentleman?’
‘No. For Lord Alderbury and about a hundred of his guests, at a ball to celebrate his daughter’s engagement,’ Catherine said with as much patience as she could muster. ‘I was invited to sing.’
‘Well, ain’t that nice,’ the man said. ‘Expect me to believe that, do you?’
‘I expect you to believe it because it’s the truth,’ Catherine said. Had the circumstances been different, she would have told Stubbs to mind his own business, or at the very least to go away and leave her alone. But it would have been foolhardy to do one and she knew better than to expect the other. ‘You can verify it easily enough, Stubbs. No doubt details of the reception will appear in the society columns tomorrow.’
‘No doubt they will,’ Stubbs agreed, his gold tooth briefly catching the light from the overhead lamp. ‘Enjoy moving with the toffs, do you, Miss Jones?’
‘I don’t move with them, Stubbs. I sing for them. There’s a difference.’
‘But they pay you well for your trouble.’
‘Of course. I wouldn’t do it otherwise.’
‘I wonder you do it at all, a famous actress like you,’ Stubbs said, his cracked leathery face reminding Catherine of one of the gargoyles crouched atop the marquess’s house. ‘Would have thought you already had everything you need. Except your boy, of course. And believe me, money’s no guarantee of ever getting him back.’
Despite the warmth of the evening, Catherine shivered. ‘What do you know about Thomas?’
‘I know the vicar believes he’s watching out for the boy’s soul. And that it would suffer if he were to come to live with a fallen woman like you,’ Stubbs said, leaning against the wall. ‘If Hailey were to hear you’d done something foolish with one of your toffs—’
‘He won’t hear that because I haven’t done anything foolish,’ Catherine said. ‘You know what kind of life I lead, Stubbs. Where I go and who I see. I’ve maintained the same lifestyle for the past five years. Why would I be so foolish as to do something to jeopardise it now?’
‘Who