He stopped in front of her, a fingertip starting at the base of her throat and spiraling slowly downward until it rested on the top edge of her dress. She colored, an alluring reaction for a courtesan.
"Your voice is beautiful. You had everyone in the room captivated. I am surprised you haven’t made a career as a singer. " He said it in an offhand manner, before adding, "Where did you learn to sing so well?"
She turned and walked to the back of the chair, putting it between them. "From my mother."
James stuck his hands in his pockets. "You mentioned her at Covent Garden. Did she have a trained voice?"
She looked at him speculatively. She didn’t speak for a few seconds, as if reaching a decision. "My mother was Lillian Minton."
"Lillian Minton, the opera singer?"
Calliope nodded as she absently picked at the fabric on the back of the armchair.
Carefully stored pieces of random information coalesced in the deep recesses of his brain. Not only had Lillian Minton been one of the pre-eminent opera divas and great beauties of her time, but she had also been the permanent and very public mistress of… "Lillian Minton, the Viscount Salisbury’s mistress?"
Calliope’s eyes narrowed. They glittered in the firelight. "Yes."
James frowned. Something niggled the back of his mind. Hadn’t Salisbury ’s daughter died in the same blaze as the mother? He remembered the only time he had seen the man drunk.
They had been at White’s and Salisbury had cried out, "Nothing worse than losing someone you love. Lost my only child and the woman I loved." James had always remembered the look of pain on the viscount’s face. At the age of twenty-one it had served as a powerful reminder of what love did to people.
"I recall Lillian Minton and her child died in a house fire. If my memory serves me, she had only one child," he said cautiously, carefully noting the expression on Calliope’s face.
"I’m surprised you would even know she had a child," Calliope remarked dismissively.
"It was important news for many weeks that the noted diva and mistress of the viscount had perished with their only child in a fire. I remember well. I knew Salisbury. He was a father figure to many of us and was so distraught it affected us all."
Calliope looked at him sharply, her fingers clawing into the chair’s fabric. "How wonderful for you. Can we go back to the party now?"
"No, not until I have some answers. What game are you playing, Calliope? Why do you claim to be Salisbury ’s daughter?"
"No game," she enunciated clearly. "I am his daughter."
" Salisbury had one daughter and he believed his only child to be dead. He would have known if she were still alive. He would have moved heaven and earth."
She shrugged, but her jaw was set and her shoulders were rigid. " He knew I survived the fire, and he chose not to acknowledge me."
Chose not to acknowledge her? Salisbury? The man who had kept Stephen and he, hot-headed and straight from Oxford, out of trouble?
" Salisbury was an honorable and generous man. The man was inconsolable about the loss of Lillian and his daughter. After their deaths he threw himself into his work with an abandon verging on obsession. He took the most dangerous cases and placed himself in harm’s way on more than one occasion."
Pain washed her features. "Then he was a fine actor and fooled all of you."
"Why should I believe your story and doubt the word of a man whose reputation is unblemished? Stephen was one of Salisbury ’s closest confidants. Do you think he was fooled by the viscount?"
"Stephen knew Salisbury?"
"He knew him very well. Stephen was present when Salisbury was killed."
He saw her eyes glisten as she quickly lowered her head. There had to be more to the story than met the eye. He couldn’t credit Salisbury for being duplicitous, and instinct said she was telling the truth. At least, the truth from her point of view.
James cursed inwardly and his voice turned gruff. "Does Stephen know your real name?"
Calliope nodded, head down.
"Did you ever talk to him about Salisbury?"
She gave a quick jerk of her head in the negative and he received a glimpse of emotional upheaval.
Was it coincidental that Stephen was squiring Calliope Minton about town and had set her up in his townhouse? There was obviously more to their relationship than he had divulged to James. What was Stephen doing with Salisbury ’s daughter? And how did she fit into the equation?
Question after question was raised and supplanted by another.
Calliope’s haunted expression was distressing. He wanted to erase it. "I believe you. Now believe me, Calliope. Salisbury didn’t know you were alive. He was devastated by your loss."
"James, he had to know. I limped to his townhouse the night of the fire and was threatened and thrown out." Her voice was bitter. "I thought I had nowhere else to turn. I was thirteen."
"You went to Salisbury ’s townhouse that evening?"
"Yes, although I’d never been inside before. My fa-" she stopped herself and then continued. " Salisbury visited us each week at our home. But when Mama and I strolled by his townhouse, she sighed too often for me to not be aware of the reason."
"I can’t believe he would have thrown you out."
"His mother did a nice job of it for him. She screeched in no uncertain terms I was unwelcome." Calliope scooted around the chair in her anger, her limp showing itself slightly. "She stated Salisbury knew of the fire and was glad to be rid of us. That we were naught but a trial. She even threatened to send me to Newgate for stealing. How she would have accomplished that, I’m not sure. But I believed her at the time."
Pieces started to come together. "So you went to the townhouse and spoke to Lady Salisbury? She threatened you, and then she turned you out? Where did you go?"
Calliope didn’t answer.
"Why did you believe her?"
Calliope looked directly at James, her eyes full of anger and pain. "She made it very clear I was not wanted there. I’ll never forget her eyes when she told me my mother would burn in hell if I ever returned. I couldn’t sleep for months worrying about my mother’s soul."
"Calliope, Lady Salisbury was notorious for being unpleasant when anything stood between herself and her son. Salisbury undoubtedly knew the animosity she held toward your mother and you, and throughout the years he probably tried to keep you separate from her enmity. "
"I am sure you are right, my lord. But it’s in the past and it matters little. May we leave now?" The cool, guarded look was sliding over her features once more.
"Let’s get a few things straight here." He pushed her into the chair and plunked his hands down on the side arms. She looked up at him, tight-lipped.
"Why didn’t you tell me your connection to Salisbury when we found the list?"
"I didn’t know you well enough. I had no idea how you would react to the information. I couldn’t take the risk that you wouldn’t let me participate. I need to find out what happened to the man who abandoned me."
"Your father lived in hell nearly every day for the rest of his life grieving for you. Would he have done that if he knew you were alive?" He nearly shouted.
James saw the tremor go through her.
He relaxed his pose and gently lifted her chin. "Why didn’t you try to speak directly to Salisbury at some point after your altercation with Lady Salisbury?"
A painfully bitter look crossed her features. "I planned on confronting him. Plotted exactly what I’d say. He was never in the country and I wanted to do it face-to-face. He died before I had the chance." She paused and drew in a ragged breath. "I thought I had plenty of time."
"I’m very sorry, Calliope."
She drew herself up. "Spare me your pity. A wonderful family adopted and loved me. I’ve done a lot better than I might have. I have no regrets."
Challenge and pride made her rigid in the seat. In that moment he truly believed she was Salisbury ’s daughter.
A clock struck eleven.
He straightened and allowed her to rise. "There are definitely some misunderstandings that need to be cleared, but it’s obvious you won’t accept them from me. When Stephen reappears, he will help."
He saw her wobble slightly as she headed toward the dressing table. She had mentioned limping to the Salisbury estate the night of the fire. He wondered if the house fire had been the cause of the slight limp that was noticeable only when she was visibly stressed.
James let her compose herself for a few tense minutes before changing the subject. There were too many unanswered questions in his mind. It seemed unbelievable she had met Stephen upon his return and become his mistress so quickly. There were too many ties to the past.
"The name Calliope suits you. Your mother was one of the most adored opera singers in Europe. She was amazingly talented. "
An acidic look crossed her face in the mirror. "Yes, and she had scores of illustrious admirers, wealthy, successful, high-placed men and women, but was still considered beneath the social strata that adored her."
James paused. "You really hate us, don’t you?"
She vigorously stroked the red silk dress. He couldn’t see her eyes when she responded. "Not all of you, just most."
He didn’t ask if he was included in that group.
He lightened his tone. "Why do you frequent the ton in so many guises? Are you a masochist? Or do you have an ulterior motive to wreak havoc?"
"Enough of this." She turned and moved toward the door. Her movements were jerky. "We’re here to find information that will help us locate Stephen."
"I’ll let it drop for now, Calliope, but rest assured we’ll discuss it another time."
She gave him a disgruntled look and changed the subject again. "Other than Pettigrew, who do you think was in the room with us?"
"Whoever it was, he didn’t sound particularly adept, wouldn’t you agree?"
There was a slight easing in her tense features, and she nodded.
"We have to assume Pettigrew took whatever he was after, so we are going to have to continue our search later tonight. Together."
She lifted an eyebrow, her features relaxing more.
He continued, "That way we can explain ourselves if we are caught. We’ll just say we weren’t able to reach our own rooms in time."
He held out his arm and felt the slight shiver run through her as they made contact. It caused an equal reaction in him.
This whole debacle was becoming increasingly tangled. Arm in arm, they headed back to the party.