Read Online Beyond Rubies (Daughters of Sin Book 4) by Beverley Oakley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Beverley Oakley
Tags: Espionage, Sibling Rivalry, secret baby, Traitors, courtesan, Regency romantic intrigue, rubies
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gasped with discomfort as the child kicked within her and Debenham sent her an enquiring look, though he didn’t actually ask if she were all right.
The child. Whose child? Of course, Sir Aubrey chose to pretend the whole ghastly business had never occurred. No, he simply offered her a bland smile and inane pleasantries whenever they met—no agonized apologies for his brutishness whispered in private as he despaired over having chosen the wrong sister. Lord, it was as if it had never even occurred to him that both Hetty and Araminta were carrying his child, and likely to give birth within a few weeks of each other, if Araminta’s calculations were correct.
So there the two couples sat in Debenham’s box at the theater, pretending they all rubbed along so well.
It was a relief when some gentleman across the stalls beckoned Debenham over, and then Hetty and Sir Aubrey made their own excuses to leave just before the interval. Generally, Araminta didn’t like being on her own but tonight was turning into a nightmare. She put her hands to her belly as the wretched child refused to be still. Dear Lord, what was she going to do? It was one thing to tell Jane she had a plan or would make a plan, but what plan could she possibly make?
“Good evening, Lady Debenham. Should you flaunt yourself in public when you are so advanced?”
Shocked at the familiar tone uttered with uncharacteristic condemnation, Araminta jerked her head up and beheld in the gloom a tight-lipped Roderick Woking. It was the first time her erstwhile suitor had spoken to her since she’d eloped with his uncle, Lord Debenham, shortly after Mr. Woking had publicly announced his delight over his unexpected betrothal to Araminta. She supposed he had every reason to feel uncharitable toward her, yet it was his uncle to whom he should direct his ire. Debenham had used some very underhanded tactics to seduce Araminta at Miss Hosking’s celebration ball.
Still, it was better not to give any ground. Araminta tilted her chin and sent him a frosty look. “My husband is not far away, Mr. Woking, and I know you detest him very much. Perhaps you should leave.” Yes, Araminta really didn’t need Mr. Woking creating a scene to make her evening worse than it already was.
Usually, Mr. Woking did as she told him. It was the one reason she’d thought he’d make an acceptable husband when she was desperate to have any husband after her predicament with the wretched baby needed solving.
Instead, he advanced a couple of steps and, to her utter horror, put his hand out to touch the great protuberance beneath her high-waisted evening gown. Hidden from the rest of the audience in the theater by the red velvet curtain, his face loomed close, his lips a tight, angry line, his eyes stormy with recrimination. Even in such poor light, Araminta shuddered to think of what her desperation had led her to do with this ghastly creature. Had Debenham not forced her into marriage, she’d have been saddled with this inferior specimen with his weak chin and turkey neck, bad teeth and worse breath—for life. Yet would that have been such a bad thing if she’d found herself able to wield more power over him than she managed in the case of his commandeering uncle? It had nearly killed her to learn the undeserving Mr. Woking had been elevated to the peerage upon the unexpected death of two relatives in quick succession. Yes, indeed, if Debenham hadn’t all but kidnapped her, blackmailing her into marriage, Araminta would now have everything she could have wished for—a wedding ring on her finger and an indulgent, if spineless and unattractive, husband.
That didn’t make her feel any more charitable toward the chinless peer looking at her with such condemnation.
To her horror, he now asked in a low voice, “Have you told Debenham that it’s my child you’re carrying? Or shall I tell him?”
“How dare you insult me?” Araminta tossed her head and turned in her chair so she
The child. Whose child? Of course, Sir Aubrey chose to pretend the whole ghastly business had never occurred. No, he simply offered her a bland smile and inane pleasantries whenever they met—no agonized apologies for his brutishness whispered in private as he despaired over having chosen the wrong sister. Lord, it was as if it had never even occurred to him that both Hetty and Araminta were carrying his child, and likely to give birth within a few weeks of each other, if Araminta’s calculations were correct.
So there the two couples sat in Debenham’s box at the theater, pretending they all rubbed along so well.
It was a relief when some gentleman across the stalls beckoned Debenham over, and then Hetty and Sir Aubrey made their own excuses to leave just before the interval. Generally, Araminta didn’t like being on her own but tonight was turning into a nightmare. She put her hands to her belly as the wretched child refused to be still. Dear Lord, what was she going to do? It was one thing to tell Jane she had a plan or would make a plan, but what plan could she possibly make?
“Good evening, Lady Debenham. Should you flaunt yourself in public when you are so advanced?”
Shocked at the familiar tone uttered with uncharacteristic condemnation, Araminta jerked her head up and beheld in the gloom a tight-lipped Roderick Woking. It was the first time her erstwhile suitor had spoken to her since she’d eloped with his uncle, Lord Debenham, shortly after Mr. Woking had publicly announced his delight over his unexpected betrothal to Araminta. She supposed he had every reason to feel uncharitable toward her, yet it was his uncle to whom he should direct his ire. Debenham had used some very underhanded tactics to seduce Araminta at Miss Hosking’s celebration ball.
Still, it was better not to give any ground. Araminta tilted her chin and sent him a frosty look. “My husband is not far away, Mr. Woking, and I know you detest him very much. Perhaps you should leave.” Yes, Araminta really didn’t need Mr. Woking creating a scene to make her evening worse than it already was.
Usually, Mr. Woking did as she told him. It was the one reason she’d thought he’d make an acceptable husband when she was desperate to have any husband after her predicament with the wretched baby needed solving.
Instead, he advanced a couple of steps and, to her utter horror, put his hand out to touch the great protuberance beneath her high-waisted evening gown. Hidden from the rest of the audience in the theater by the red velvet curtain, his face loomed close, his lips a tight, angry line, his eyes stormy with recrimination. Even in such poor light, Araminta shuddered to think of what her desperation had led her to do with this ghastly creature. Had Debenham not forced her into marriage, she’d have been saddled with this inferior specimen with his weak chin and turkey neck, bad teeth and worse breath—for life. Yet would that have been such a bad thing if she’d found herself able to wield more power over him than she managed in the case of his commandeering uncle? It had nearly killed her to learn the undeserving Mr. Woking had been elevated to the peerage upon the unexpected death of two relatives in quick succession. Yes, indeed, if Debenham hadn’t all but kidnapped her, blackmailing her into marriage, Araminta would now have everything she could have wished for—a wedding ring on her finger and an indulgent, if spineless and unattractive, husband.
That didn’t make her feel any more charitable toward the chinless peer looking at her with such condemnation.
To her horror, he now asked in a low voice, “Have you told Debenham that it’s my child you’re carrying? Or shall I tell him?”
“How dare you insult me?” Araminta tossed her head and turned in her chair so she
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