“Don’t be afraid, Mama. All will be well. You’ll see.” Grace’s voice didn’t even quiver at the lie. “We’re here, Mama, and we’ll always be here.”
At least until the debt collectors threw them onto the streets.
********
Alex pressed his fingers to his lips and slouched onto the settee. The flames in the marble hearth flickered and danced a seductive melody, but he barely noticed their warmth.
He swore he could still taste her. When most women tasted of sherry or wine, she had tasted of peppermint, as if she’d had a sweet before meeting with him. Her scent, her touch, even her taste reeked of innocence. He reached into his pocket and pulled out her forgotten glove. The leather was worn smooth, soft as butter.
The look on her face when he’d told her where she was…Lord, he hadn’t laughed so hard in…he didn’t remember when. Unease settled like a boulder in his gut. She’d made him feel. First attraction when he hadn’t felt lust in years and then amusement when there were so few things to laugh about. Something that felt oddly like anticipation hummed beneath his skin. Restless, his fingers stretched, then wrapped tightly around the glove.
He was intrigued, despite himself. Why? Why this woman… this incorrigible, completely unattainable woman? He rubbed his lips once more, thinking of that heated kiss. She was lovely, surely, but it wasn’t her looks. He’d been surrounded by beautiful women for most of his life. A veritable mystery and he loved a good mystery. Not that it mattered as she most likely wouldn’t return. And that thought quickly soured his mood.
“That good, eh?”
He stuffed the glove back into his pocket and glanced over his shoulder. James stood near the door, dressed impeccably as ever in his pressed jacket and trousers. Not a blond hair out of place. He took his position seriously. Too seriously. He wasn’t attending a meeting at the House of Lords, for God’s sake.
“Good?” Alex chuckled wryly, studying the painted canaries that flew across the walls. “More…interesting.”
He raised a brow. “Hmm. Well, I’ve finished my discussion with Lady Lavender. She said she’d be calling on you shortly.”
Alex nodded and stretched, crossing his legs at the ankles as James moved to the sideboard for a drink. At the end of every night, in the wee hours of the morning, Ophelia called them one by one into her office in order to discuss the day’s work. And she wanted details. It was insane, really, and at first he’d been horrifyingly embarrassed.
Those piercing lavender eyes watching him. “Do you think you did well, Alex?”
He’d shrug, heat traveling up his neck.
“Did she enjoy her experience? Did she reach ecstasy?”
He’d stutter out a response and she’d be pleased with him, or pleased with the fact that she’d embarrassed him thoroughly. Which, he wasn’t sure. Now, hell, she could ask him pretty much anything and he wouldn’t even flinch. Still, she insisted on seeing them. The problem was he wasn’t sure what to say about this latest woman. Grace, was her name. A pretty name. A name for an innocent. A lady. For some reason he didn’t feel like discussing this woman with Ophelia.
“Have a good day,” James said, making his way toward the door.
“James.” Alex surged to his feet, pushing aside thoughts of a hazel-eyed innocent. He had a chance to talk to the man when he might not again for days.
James turned, a look of wariness crossing those green eyes. “Yes?”
They didn’t talk often. James didn’t trust Alex and Gideon, and had never hidden that fact. He couldn’t understand why they weren’t honored that Lady Lavender had chosen them. They couldn’t understand why he couldn’t see the truth, that Lady Lavender was nothing more than a demon in a beautiful woman’s body.
“You’re…content here?”
James shrugged. “What do you mean? I’m fed, clothed and housed much better than I could have ever been.” A clouded looked crossed his features, a painful past memory. “Truth is if I’d continued on the way I was, I’d probably be dead by now. Either from a brawl or from starvation.”
He painted a bleak picture and Alex remembered the thin, underfed lad he’d been. A street rat. It gave Alex second thoughts about leaving. “I understand. I understand why you feel loyalty toward the woman, but James, think on it. You, Gideon and I, brought here together under blackmail.”
James bristled, his jaw working. “Not blackmail.”
Alex released a harsh laugh. “She told you if you didn’t do as she said, your family would starve to death.”
James crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive position that told Alex he was wearing thin the man’s patience. “And she was right, we would have. No one gets anything for free, Alex. She expected me to work.” He smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “There could be worse ways to make a living you know.”
“Indeed,” Alex said softly, although he could think of a hundred different things he’d prefer. But he didn’t have a choice. She and her henchmen made sure of that. He resided in a gilded prison, but a prison all the same.
“She’s ready.” Wavers appeared in the doorway, imposing, threatening in his silent way. Alex couldn’t help but wonder if the man had overheard their conversation. If he had, Ophelia would find out soon enough and there’d be hell to pay.
“Brilliant.” He swept by the man, feigning nonchalance. “Wavers, you’re an arse.” He gave the man a brilliant smile.
The huge bull didn’t even flinch. No matter how he ridiculed, the man pointedly ignored him. It drove Alex mad.
With a sigh, Alex moved down the hall, the massive double doors at the front of the entryway beckoned freedom. How he wished he could walk down those front steps. Walk away from this insanity. Thoughts of freedom sent his mind spinning, his gut clenching. The men standing on each side of the door weren’t butlers. The moment he started toward those doors, they’d make sure he was promptly turned around. It didn’t mean he couldn’t find a way out…if he wanted. So why, in the twelve years he’d been here, had he never tried to escape? Because the thought of freedom, for some reason, made him scared as hell.
He paused at the second door on the right. A white painted panel. Like every other door. There was a knick on the bottom left corner. A scratch at the top. He raised his hand and hesitated. A hard wood that rubbed against his knuckles in an irritating way. How many times had he stared at this door? He’d intentionally lost count. He let his fist fall, thumping softly once before pushing the door wide.
“Come in, Alex.” Ophelia was sitting. She pushed aside some papers and waved him forward with a delicate hand. There, behind her massive desk, she looked like a fairy child pretending to be an adult. Insignificant. Yet to them— he, Gideon, and James— she held their lives in her pale palms.
“Sit.” She waved dismissively toward the chair across from her desk. “Do tell. I heard she left rather early.”
Of course she’d heard because she heard everything. “There was a … misunderstanding.”
She frowned. “How so?”
“She was not informed she was in a house of ill repute. She thought she was here for a book.”
“A book?” She shook her head and stood, her skirts rustling with the movement. “Ridiculous. Someone jesting with her then?”
At Alex’s nod she skirted around the desk.
Alex slowly rubbed his jaw, watching her, attempting to uncover something, anything about the woman who’d destroyed his life. There had to be a reason why she’d picked him. “Her brother, I believe.”
“Men are odd creatures.” She moved to the fireplace and stared into the flames. For one long moment she seemed lost in thought, memories, actual emotion. But just as quickly as the flash of humanity had come, it disappeared leaving him to wonder if he’d imagined the softening of her face. She turned, her lavender skirts flaring from her trim ankles.
“You’ve been requested for tomorrow evening. Mrs. Breur’s daughter. Make sure she leaves happy.”
&nbs
p; It was a threat; a threat he didn’t dare dismiss. He’d lost one client already, he couldn’t lose another. Alex stood and bowed low. “Of course.”
Chapter 4
She was an academic.
She studied culture, history, antiquities.
This was just like studying the ancient Egyptians…or…or the medieval castles of Europe….or David. Yes, the statue of David, in all his naked glory. Oh no…no, that wouldn’t do at all. She blinked rapidly, forcing the picture from her mind.
Yes, she was a scholar and she would treat this as she would any subject to be studied.
But then, she’d never studied in her bloomers while a man touched and stroked areas not meant to see the light of day.
That did pose a problem.
“Are you coming in our not?” The dark-haired God standing before her in his shirt sleeves and trousers quirked an impatient brow. His gaze reeked of annoyance and the dark marks under his eyes told her he’d gotten little sleep, but there was also curiosity there, written on his handsome face.
Indecision held her captive. Her harsh breath sent the netting over her features close, then far, close, then far. Lord, she couldn’t seem to calm her racing heart. She’d already sold the pearl ring Great Aunt Margaret had given to her on her seventeenth birthday. The appointment was paid for. She had no choice but to enter, as ridiculous as it now seemed.
From down the alley someone laughed.
Grace jerked her head toward the sound. Merely a maid flirting with a footman. She didn’t know why she was so worried about being seen. They were practically in the middle of nowhere and she’d gone to the back entrance. Besides that, a bonnet covered her hair and netting covered her features. Still…she shuddered to think of what would happen to her reputation should someone see through her flimsy disguise. Then again, surely no one she was acquainted with would visit a place like this.
She attempted to dredge up an image of Rodrick’s smiling face, the very reason she’d risked her reputation. She’d been in love with the man since she was sixteen and if she needed to learn how to kiss in order to seduce him, then so be it. But instead of Rodrick’s fine features, Alex’s face flashed to mind.
“Grace,” he snapped impatiently.
“Shhh!” She leaned forward and slapped her hand over the man’s mouth even as the realization that he’d remembered her name sent an odd, not unpleasant, thrill through her body.
Shoving her free hand into his hard chest, she pushed him backward. They stumbled into the kitchen, Alex grasping onto her upper arms to hold her steady. Grace slid a glance left, then right. The maids had stopped cleaning the hearth, kneeling before the fireplace with stunned expressions upon their pale faces. The two women rolling out dough were frozen in action, their pins held in midair, another woman, with the bread door wide, stood with a peel in hand, the lump of dough settled on the end of the paddle, waiting to be baked. Apparently clients didn’t often burst in through the back door.
Heat shot to her cheeks. Had she so quickly made a muddle of things? Usually it was a good five minutes before people started staring. She shut the door behind her and leaned against the hard panel, taking pains to slow her thumping heart. Just as quickly as the kitchen had stopped, the action resumed. Servants scurried back and forth across the brick floor, snapping out orders.
The room smelled of scones, Sheperd’s pie, nutmeg, tea. She breathed deep taking comfort in the normalcy. It smelled like any other kitchen. Looked like any other kitchen. Her gaze traveled to the ceiling where water stains and smoke marred the plaster. But what went on in those rooms above was not like any other place she’d ever been.
Alex settled his hands on the door, on either side of her head. Grace started, realizing she had nowhere to look, but at him. Blast, but she didn’t want to look at him. When she looked at him she couldn’t think straight.
He leaned toward her, close, always too close. “Grace, you asked for me, dragged me from slumber, please tell me it was not for nothing.”
She peeked up at him through her lashes. Lawd, he was as beautiful as she remembered. The dark circles under his eyes only made the blue more brilliant. And that scruff along his jaw added a manly appeal that most women would swoon over. “It’s four in the afternoon, you were asleep?”
He smiled, a wicked charming smile that produced those dimples. “My clientele prefers to be up in the evenings and at night.”
Heat shot to her face, an embarrassed flush she couldn’t seem to control. His clientele. And that’s just what she would become if she went through with this nonsense. One of his women.
“Of course.” She glanced around the room, so many people, so many eyes and ears. “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”
He hesitated a brief moment, a small line of suspicion creasing that area between his brows. He looked leery, and she didn’t realize until that moment that she worried he would refuse her.
“My room. You’ve got five minutes. I’m a busy man.”
Busy indeed. She bit back her sarcastic reply. She was used to speaking her mind, even to John. It wasn’t in her nature to be demure. But she’d try, if it would get her what she needed, if it got her Rodrick. “I did pay for thirty minutes.”
He narrowed his eyes, as if he didn’t believe her in the least. He’d met her only once, what did he know about her character? “You’re lucky I wasn’t with someone.”
His words brought a wave of disgust roiling through her body, and something else…interest.
With a sigh, he raked his hand through his hair, the soft waves clinging to his fingers and for one moment she remembered the feel of the strands…remembered those curls clinging to her fingers. So bloody beautiful. If he hadn’t worked in a whorehouse, she would assume he was an Archangel dropped on earth.
“Come along.” He started toward the back stairs, a narrow set meant for servants to run up and down unseen…and for clients who didn’t want to be noticed. Clients embarrassed and ashamed. Clients like…her.
Grace weaved around a butter churn and followed Alex up the steps. She pressed her gloved hands to the brick walls on either side, feeling suddenly dizzy. What the bloody hell was she doing? Insane! Her father was most likely rolling over in his grave. But father was gone and John was an arse and someone had to save Patience and Mama. If this was the only way to make Rodrick notice her…
Undaunted, she moved onward. Still, each step up sent her heart pounding faster, blood soaring to her ears in a harsh roar. At the second floor Alex paused briefly. He glanced over his shoulder, as if to make sure she followed. Within an instant he’d turned again, but not quick enough that she didn’t notice the bemusement in his gaze.
The look left her feeling odd, warm. Before she could decipher her reaction, he started down the dimly lit corridor. It was the same trail she’d followed when she’d arrived only two days ago thinking she was here to purchase a book. Right, left, then right until she was headed down the main hall. How impressed she’d been following that expensive carpet and those golden sconces.
When they’d led her to a room, she’d assumed it was a library of sorts. By the time her shock had worn off, they were gone, leaving her in a stranger’s bedchamber. She’d tiptoed to the door, opening it and peeking out. No one had been there. As if the man who’d escorted her had disappeared. Only the soft lull of conversation and odd sounds of groans and moans had filtered down the hall. She’d thought perhaps someone was ill. How stupid she’d been. And then he’d appeared…Alex, a man too beautiful to be of this world, and she could barely think at all.
Yet even as she set foot into that carriage two days ago, at John’s urging, she’d known she was risking her reputation, entering what she thought was some sort of hotel to visit with an unmarried man. But she was twenty-four, hardly in need of an escort. Besides, she’d always liked to think she was independent, bold, a risk taker. She’d had no idea how much of a risk she’d actually taken.
Hotel indeed. She could kill John.
She should have been suspicious when the driver had dropped her off at the back door. And she sure as hell should have been suspicious at John’s sudden interest in her. But no, naïve and trusting girl that she was. No wonder why Lord Rodrick could think of her as nothing more than a sister.
But this man, this Alex, he didn’t think of her as a sister. He’d made that quite clear just the other evening. Or was the passion of his kiss merely a pretense? How she wished she were experienced enough to know the difference. But then if she were experienced, she wouldn’t need to be here. She swallowed hard and peered at each closed door, wondering what lay beyond those rooms. Surely not every chamber held a couple in the throes of…
A soft moan whispered through a closed door. Ill people indeed. Grace sucked in a breath and slowed her steps. Gads, what was she doing? She couldn’t…wouldn’t…couldn’t do what she’d planned.
“After you.” At the end of the hall, he pushed a door wide.
When she hesitated, he didn’t pressure her to enter, merely leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed, stretching his brilliant white shirt across his muscled chest. But it was his eyes that held her captive. They sparkled with mirth, as if he knew exactly what she felt, as if he could sense every nervous shiver that traveled over her skin. The war of propriety versus desperation raged in her mind. Lord save her, she didn’t have many choices. At least that’s what she told herself. But she knew…deep down…she knew that a part of her wanted to kiss his lips again, to know if the feelings she’d experienced under his touch had been real or something produced in her wild imagination.
She was four and twenty. She was worldly. She was an academic. If she wanted to kiss a man and experience the feelings of passion, who would stop her? With renewed determination, she swept into the room. It was as elegant as she’d remembered. She doubted the brothels men frequented were so clean.
The door shut with a soft thud but it might as well have been a gunshot. Grace’s courage sank with her stomach to the ground. He’d allowed her to leave last time, hadn’t held her hostage, would he be a gentleman now as well?