Page 9 of Temptress in Disguise
Naomi ignored the knots twisting in her stomach.
It was now or never.
“Lydia Fontaine is my sister.”
“Your sister! What the devil. You mean half-sister, surely?”
“No. Lydia insists on using an alias. She has been missing for three days, missing presumed dead.” In truth, Lydia had probably eloped with a degenerate, but the story helped Naomi’s cause. “She retired to her dressing room in the interval and hasn’t been seen since. Because we’re so alike, Mr Budworth had me play the role of Hero. Her disappearance remains a guarded secret, but I’m convinced my stepmother and uncle are involved.”
Naomi had taken a risk remaining at the theatre and their apartment and needed to find somewhere safe to hide. Where better than a thieves’ den? Though if she hoped to survive, she needed the protection of a man as powerful as Aramis Chance.
The man in question sat forward, bracing his large hands on the black leather seat. “Why involve me? I’ve never met your stepmother or your sister. Does your uncle gamble at the club?”
The enquiry agent who told her to seek this man’s help said explaining the connection would be the hard part—along with getting him to the altar. Hopefully, a desire for retribution would be enough of an incentive.
Naomi inhaled a calming breath. “I have it on good authority that you know my stepmother. Though I believe you’ve not seen her for ten years. I’m assured we both have a reason to seek vengeance.”
Like the shadows in hell’s corridors, a darkness swamped his features. He firmed his jaw, though hesitated before asking the damning question. “What is her name?”
Naomi’s pulse galloped. “Melissa Grant. Though you might know her as Melissa Adams. She is currently my uncle’s mistress. Together, they conspired to remove me from the house.”
In truth, she’d had no choice but to flee but knew the scene would strike a chord with him. As children, the Chance brothers had been dragged from their home and dumped in the rookeries. With their parents dead and their inheritance stolen, they’d fought to survive. Like the mythical phoenix, they had risen from the ashes and were born again.
He sat statue-still in the seat, an ominous air swirling between them. “So, you know what that woman did to me? Did she tell you, or did you hear it from the gossips?”
Neither. She’d discovered the truth from another source.
She swallowed hard. “I’ll not lie to you. I heard you were in love with her when you were barely nineteen.”
“Correction. I thought I was in love with her.”
Naomi nodded. How anyone could love such a vindictive woman was beyond her. But he had been young and naive, and now he was simply angry. “Despite being ten years your senior, you didn’t know she was married. Her husband held your arm over a lit brazier. Punishment for the insult.”
Like Lucifer commanding his minions, he cried, “Enough!”
The battle to contain his emotions marred his flawless features. Regardless of his surly manner, her heart wept for him. She wanted to invent a story, tell him Melissa Adams had cared. That she hadn’t used him in the hope he would kill her husband. That he was worthy of love. But he would see through the lies, and the war would be lost before it had begun.
“Sometimes bad things happen so better things can follow.”
She believed that. She had to believe that.
His snort rang with contempt. “As you rightly said, love cannot blossom without trust. I’ll never trust a woman again.”
“I suppose it’s a case of one rotten apple spoiling the cart, though I suspect the person you trust least is yourself.” When his frown deepened, she said, “You fear your judgement is flawed. When lying awake in the darkness, you torture yourself. How could you have missed the signs? How could you have been so gullible?” It’s why the world got to see the dangerous man made of steel, not the vulnerable youth who’d been so easily led.
He averted his gaze to prevent her from seeing the truth in his eyes. “It would seem my first assessment of you was correct.”
“How so?”
“You mean to strip me bare, just not in the way I hoped.”
“Anger never fades. It festers. Removing any emotional attachment to the memory is the only way to rid yourself of a painful past.”
It was easier said than done when one was a victim.
Preachers rarely followed their own advice.
His deep sigh carried the echoes of surrender. “And how do you mean to exact your revenge? I assume you have a plan.”
