He tugged on the knot of his cravat. ‘And if I make the payment?’

His genuine fear and the hard way she pressed on made her stomach churn. This wasn’t who she was or who she wanted to be and with each step down this path she felt herself becoming more like her stepmother, or worse, Lord Edgemont. ‘I will maintain my silence.’

‘How do I know you won’t come to me at some future date and demand more?’

‘You don’t.’ She wished she could give him some assurance, toss aside this callous mask and walk away from the ugliness of it all, but she couldn’t, not with Andrew’s fate hanging in the balance. ‘Nor are you to discuss the matter with anyone, not your man of affairs or your mother.’

Enough people already knew about the register, the wrong sort like Rafe and Lord Edgemont. She didn’t need the Earl wailing his woes about town and having more people learn of the book.

‘Of course I won’t tell my mother,’ he spat. ‘The shock of it would kill her.’

Given the number of scandals she’d already weathered, she doubted the Dowager Countess would die of shock, but Cornelia was happy to know the threat carried weight with her son. ‘Then we have an agreement. You will pay the specified sum and no one, not even your mother, need ever know the register exists.’

He turned a large sapphire ring on his thick forefinger, his lips lengthening with his frown. ‘I’ll arrange to secure the money at once.’

‘Good.’ She opened her parasol again and laid it over one shoulder. ‘Then I expect to receive it at my town house in Golden Square by Friday morning.’

‘Yes, you’ll get it.’ He whirled on the heel of one highly polished boot and stormed off across the grass.

Cornelia waited until he was nearly over the bridge before she let out a long breath of relief. By Friday, she’d have the money and Andrew would be safe. She’d even pay Mr Higgins a few extra pounds to ensure Fanny didn’t do anything to Andrew without Cornelia knowing about it first. She felt sure the kind vicar would help.

In the meantime, there was one more man to put the screws to.

Lord Edgemont.

She closed the umbrella and swung it once, then a second time, eager to see Lord Edgemont suffer for everything he’d done to her. It was a far more savoury endeavour to look forward to than this morning’s nasty business.

* * *

Rafe entered the theatre lobby, looking over the sea of feather-bedecked turbans for Cornelia. He guessed she might be in attendance tonight, an old habit left over from their first months together in London when they used to sneak into unoccupied boxes and stand in the shadows while Rafe pointed out all of London society. In the beginning, she’d known nothing and no one knew her, accepting their fabricated story of her brief country marriage and subsequent widowhood. While the actresses on stage titillated the audience in their breeches roles, he’d tutored Cornelia on who was lacking in funds or who couldn’t hold their wine at the tables. She’d proved an eager student with a sharp memory. It’d served them well in Paris, where almost all of London society had rushed during the brief peace between France and Britain.

He wound his way through the crowd, grumbling at the new craze for long trains. They lay all over the floor like wrinkled rugs and Rafe toed more than one out of the way to keep from tripping. Avoiding the new fashion distracted him from searching for Cornelia. He peered over the heads of the crowd, recognising many former opponents from Madame Boucher’s, but not seeing Cornelia. Hopefully, she wasn’t already seated. With the Comte’s money, she could hire a box and take advantage of the semi-privacy to look over society and choose her victims.

At last he spied her on the staircase. Her black silk dress shot with red swayed with her hips as she took each step, teasing Rafe with just a hint of the round derri`ere beneath. While he admired the curve of her long back and the white flesh of her shoulders above the dark silk, she paused on the centre landing to look over the assembled guests.

He ducked behind Lady Treadaway and the tall ostrich feather protruding from the top of her turban.

‘Is there something I may help you with?’ Lady Treadaway turned, scrunching her eyes at Rafe, the wrinkles in her thin face hardening with disapproval.

He offered her a low bow and a rakish smile. ‘No, my lady, your plumage has benefited me enough this evening.’

Her pinched expression softened into an amused smile. ‘Lord Densmore, you are too much.’

He took her hand and clasped it to his chest, warming the thin skin with a small squeeze. ‘And you, Lady Treadaway, are perfect just as you are.’

He pinched her cheek and she swatted him away, her faded eyes twinkling with the playfulness of a green girl after her first stolen kiss. ‘A tease, just like your father.’

‘I assure you, I’m serious in all my compliments.’ With a wink, he released her and bowed back into the crowd before making for the stairs.

At the top he paused, looking up and down the long hallways before catching the black train of Cornelia’s dress as it disappeared into the third box from the end.

He followed her, the actors’ voices echoing through the hallway as he pushed open the curtain and stepped inside. ‘Good evening, Cornelia.’

She whirled in her chair to face him, her full lips forming a tantalising O before tightening into a scowl. ‘What are you doing here?’