Seven
The band’s song reached a crescendo and faded into silence, the last hum of the instruments soon replaced by applause. A few more people filed upstairs, and Lyman eyed them nervously. How long would it be before they encountered someone who knew him? Miss Danby’s disguise wouldn’t fool anyone who looked too closely.
Lyman wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to come here.
He also wasn’t sure why he hadn’t called Miss Annabelle back from the balcony railing, which was far too conspicuous a vantage point, except that Miss Danby had been distracting him all evening. It was altogether too easy to lose track of himself in her company.
He should call her sister back now. Before he came to regret it.
Lyman opened his mouth, then realized they hadn’t agreed on a false name for the girl beforehand. He couldn’t very well shout out “Miss Annabelle,” nor even the more masculine “Danby,” lest someone recognize it. Before he could rise from his seat to collect her in person, the conductor turned to address the crowd below in a booming voice.
“And now,” he cried, raising his arms up high, “we present to you, Madame Wharton and her tableau vivant!”
Oh no.
Lyman hadn’t thought to check the playbill for the evening. The last time he’d been here, in the first weeks of the casino’s opening, it had only been music and dancing. They must be expanding their attractions to compete with all the imitators that had sprung up to steal a share of their success.
He turned to murmur in Miss Danby’s ear and found her so close to him that he froze. Their knees were touching. “We should go,” he said.
“But I love tableaux vivants. Annabelle and I did one at our parents’ May Day party.” She didn’t seem conscious of how alluring she was in that gown. It was a struggle to keep himself from staring.
“Not like this, you didn’t,” he warned her. “I strongly suspect Madame Wharton won’t be wearing much.”
“Oh!” Her eyes lit up—not with shock, but with joy. “How exciting. We must stay a little longer then. We can go after.”
Lyman ran a hand through his hair. He wouldn’t be surprised if he went entirely gray before the night was done.
On the opposite balcony, a white canvas curtain had dropped from the ceiling before the band and conductor, shielding them from view. It was painted with an image of a town. A cobblestone street with white plaster houses and a blue sky above. From one house, a man’s face could be seen in the window, peeping out. The band began to play again from their hiding place, the flutes and oboe lilting out a gentle melody. No one dared to dance to it. They were all transfixed by the scene on the balcony above.
A wooden horse was led slowly before the curtain by a woman who must have been assisted by some unseen mechanism, for it looked far too heavy for her. It had been carved and painted with attention to realism, then fitted with a bridle and saddle. The woman was dressed austerely, in the plain, dark clothes of a servant with an old-fashioned veil around her head.
“You told me there wouldn’t be any animals!” Miss Danby reminded him, her voice full of laughter. “It doesn’t look large enough to be the siege of Troy. Did Zeus ever seduce a lady disguised as a horse? He tricked so many women I can hardly keep track.”
“I think it’s to be Lady Godiva.”
“Oh, of course!” She was smiling brightly, her toffee-colored eyes as eager as a child awaiting a present. How did she maintain such enthusiasm for everything?
All my endeavors are things that I love , she’d said. So I’m always enjoying myself.
She’d seemed to mean it. Lyman couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to go through life that way. He would have said he was envious of her, but that wasn’t the right word for this feeling. Envy made one petty and resentful. He wouldn’t wish for Miss Danby to lose this flame, even if he longed for a spark of his own.
What he wanted might have been to bask in her light a little longer. A foolish, dangerous desire.
Another woman entered the scene, apparently nude, though Lyman considered it likely she was wearing fleshings. It was hard to tell from a distance. Regardless, it was a very convincing approximation of nudity, and the crowd murmured their appreciation. She had long blond hair that cascaded down her back, and only her back.
“They don’t seem terribly concerned with faithfulness to the story,” Lyman observed wryly. “I thought she used her hair to hide her nakedness.”
Miss Danby laughed at this, though she quickly suppressed it. He almost regretted scolding her earlier; it was a beautiful sound.
A laugh isn’t worth being found out over. You should have left already.
He glanced back to the balcony. Lady Godiva had mounted the horse with the aid of a step cleverly carved into its curved leg and hoof, and now assumed her pose, fearlessly braving the streets of Coventry. She and the serving woman held perfectly still for a long minute. Like statues.
Before them, Miss Annabelle was likewise frozen. The poor child was probably so shocked she didn’t know what to do with herself.
“We should really—”
Lyman’s words died in his throat as a hand crept over his knee, coming to rest midway up his thigh. Miss Danby’s hand. Her touch was hot even through the wool of his trousers.
Lyman went as still as the actors onstage, too stunned to react.
It was suddenly far too warm in here, with the acrid smoke of a dozen cigars mingling into the noise and heat of all these people. He couldn’t think clearly before the sight of a naked woman posing for all the room to see, while a much more inviting reality sat at his side.
Now he understood. This was why he’d agreed to come tonight, despite his better judgment. This was why he’d allowed Miss Danby to lead him about without any regard for her own safety. Some unacknowledged part of him had hoped (perhaps even known) that this would happen. That she was willing, and he was badly wanting.
Her thumb brushed a slow line across his thigh, and Lyman’s cock stiffened in response. She was playing him effortlessly, and he needed to stop it before things went too far. He clamped his hand down atop hers, fully intending to push her away.
But he didn’t.
He stalled there, locked in place, unable to make himself end this.
You can’t have her. You know you can’t.
Lyman’s throat had gone dry. He finally turned to look at Miss Danby and saw exactly what he expected on her face. The promise of mischief that always lurked in her impish grin, finally made good.
I’m not going to stop her. The realization settled over him with a terrifying gravity. I’m going to take anything I can, and damn the consequences. He would ruin her if she asked him to.
Lyman had tried to stay strictly within the limits he set for himself these past few years, and for a time he’d fooled himself into thinking he’d truly changed. But all it took was a few weeks of playful teasing and a gentle touch, and he abandoned all his pretensions to honor. No, even sooner than that. He’d begun to slip the moment Miss Danby met him at the café, when he’d suffered an instinctive wish to make himself sound better than he was. She’d made him laugh even while he was trying to warn her away. That was when the cracks began to appear in his mask.
So Lyman sat there, his hand upon hers, unable to break the point of contact between them. He sat there for another five minutes. His mind darted through a range of lurid possibilities, trying to find a reason not to give in.
There was no reason. None strong enough to subdue the rush of desire pumping in his blood. He no longer worried over what threat he posed to Miss Danby’s innocence, for it was clear by now that she had none. She wanted to seek out her pleasure in life? Well, he could provide her with several hours of pleasure, if he could only get her alone.
“Let’s leave now,” he whispered hoarsely. “You must be ready for something else.”
She smiled knowingly at this, and the sight heated his blood to an intolerable degree.
Miss Annabelle protested when they went to collect her, her voice pitched lower to maintain her disguise as she argued that they hadn’t seen how it would end yet.
“She’s going to sit on a horse looking exactly as she does now for the next two hours while everyone else keeps dancing,” Lyman snapped, exasperated. “At the end they abolish taxes.”
And here he’d thought she would be shocked! Maybe Miss Danby had been telling the truth about her sister’s character. They were two of a kind.
He tried not to look at Miss Danby as he led their group outside and into one of the many hansom cabs lounging near the entrance, but it was impossible. She drew his attention like a brilliant red flame in the darkness of the London streets. Whenever she caught him staring, she smiled her encouragement, her eyes full of promise.
Stop doing that , he wanted to scold her. She was too lovely. Someone would take a second look and realize she was wrapped up in an ill-fitting costume.
It was a relief to finally motion her into the carriage and shut the door on the outside world. He felt a stab of regret at the thought of all the expenses of the night adding up—the ride here and back, plus their admission, which he had too much pride to admit he could ill afford—but he was too distracted to dwell on it.
“You see?” she said triumphantly. “It all went very well.”
Lyman leaned his head back against the leather seat, willing his heart to stop pounding. He couldn’t say how much stemmed from the fear of discovery, as opposed to the memory of her hand upon his thigh. “Promise me you’ll never attempt anything this foolhardy again.”
“What can you mean? No one suspected a thing.”
He didn’t answer, still struggling to regain his self-control. What would happen when they arrived? She hadn’t touched him that way only to say good night, surely.
The carriage stopped before their mansion of a town house, and Lyman descended first to pay the coachman before he could get a good look at either of his companions.
“Aren’t you continuing on to your house?” Annabelle asked, confused.
“I’ll walk the rest of the way. It’s not far,” he lied.
“Go on inside, Annabelle,” her sister commanded over the clopping of hooves on stone as the coachman drove his team on. “I’ll be up in a moment.”
What would happen in that moment?
Miss Annabelle gave them both a disapproving look, but trudged up to the front door all the same. Whatever bargain her sister had struck with her, Lyman was grateful for it.
When she was gone, Miss Danby turned her attention back to Lyman, winding her hand around his neck with languid amusement. “It seems we’re quite alone, my lord.”
He needed no further invitation. He bent his head to kiss her, desperate with pent-up desire. He would have liked to be gentler, but his body refused to obey him, and he claimed her lips roughly, a groan escaping him.
She took it in stride, opening her mouth to him eagerly. She tasted faintly of the sherry and lemon she’d drunk back at the casino. He explored her with his tongue, his blood pumping faster at her eager response. This woman was no stranger to pleasure. He should have known it would be like this. She snaked a hand down his chest and around his waist, to find the small of his back and pull him tight to her hips. At the evidence of his significant arousal, she chuckled, the sound low and husky.
Good Lord, she was going to drive him mad.
He’d had no idea how badly he’d needed this. How he’d been aching for an affectionate touch. Her hands set his skin alight.
Miss Danby broke off their kiss to trace the line of his jaw with her mouth, feigning surprise as she whispered. “Oh my. What do you plan to do to me, hmm?”
Lyman struggled to rein himself in. Her hot breath against his ear threatened to send him over the edge.
Privacy. He needed to get her alone somewhere.
“Come back to my rooms,” he murmured. He couldn’t even summon an ounce of shame that she might see how poorly he lived. It was a hovel compared to her house, but it had a bed, and no meddling family to discover them in it. That was the important thing.
“I can’t.” There was a note of regret in her tone that gave him hope. “My sister might look the other way for a short time, but she’ll make a fuss if I’m gone for hours.”
In spite of this refusal, she began nibbling on his ear. He was going to lose his mind.
“Take pity on me, Miss Danby.” Lyman was not above begging, at this point.
“You may call me Della,” she breathed. “I think we’re past formality now, don’t you?”
She kissed him again, and he slid his hands down to cup her rear and pull them still tighter together. His cock was aching for release. “Someone will see us,” he warned. “There must be someplace else we can go.”
It was late enough that no one would be out walking the street, but there was nothing to protect them from a carriage returning from a neighbor’s fête or, worse, her family.
“Follow me.” She took him by the hand and led him around the side of her town house, to a gate that opened upon a narrow alleyway, barely three feet across. It led to a shared courtyard, enclosed on all sides by the other houses. She stopped just short of the exit and leaned back against the rough brick wall. Apparently this was the full extent of her plan. A darkened alley. “No one will see us here,” she explained. Lyman had to accept it, for he could barely see her himself, though he still clutched her hand.
He released his grip and placed an arm on either side of Miss Danby—Della, now—penning her in. He’d barely begun to kiss her again when her hand found his trousers, working at buttons that seemed to take an hour to yield.
“What are you doing?” he groaned, though he knew full well. He just wanted to hear her say it.
“Taking pity on you.” He could hear the smile in her voice as the first button gave way.
Good God. He couldn’t talk after that. Couldn’t summon the strength to do anything except gasp for breath as she slid her hand inside and began to stroke. It took all his self-control to keep from spending himself the second her soft, warm skin made contact.
“Do you like that?” she murmured, in a voice thick and heavy with excitement.
“You have no idea,” he gasped. Her hand was like silk, her movements sure and knowing. She wasn’t a woman who hesitated to go after what she wanted, nor who felt any need to feign virginal innocence. He liked that about her.
She increased the pace of her attention, bringing him perilously close to climax already. Every nerve in his body was begging for more. He had to stop this before he lost control. “Enough,” he gasped, catching her hand in his own. “Give me a moment.”
He thought of Laurent’s Casino and how he’d craved her touch too badly to push her hand away when he’d meant to. It was much the same now, except that Della obeyed his request and slid her fingers gently back out of his falls. He shuddered.
“Even when you’re making love to a woman you have a hard time enjoying yourself, don’t you?”
“I’m enjoying myself,” he assured her. “Far too much.”
In truth, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy. The last time he let himself savor an experience without worrying about the expense or the work he should be finishing instead.
He kissed Della again, eager to show her the truth in his declaration. She melted into him, running her hands roughly up and down his chest, now grabbing the end of his cravat to tug him closer. How could she be so uninhibited? So unbothered by what he or anyone else might think?
He’d never known anyone like her. It made him feel alive.
He needed to make her feel it too. Lyman began hiking up her skirts; a considerable task, as they were numerous.
“Someone might see us,” she hissed into his ear.
“This is no truer now than it was ten minutes ago,” he noted.
“Yes, but I’m not concerned about your modesty.” She chuckled, the sound dying abruptly as he found the slit in her drawers.
She was wet already, and Lyman slipped a finger inside her, thrilling at the hitch in her breath. She didn’t tense or grow nervous at his incursion. She groaned and relaxed into it, making no attempt to conceal her pleasure.
“Show me how you like to be touched,” he invited, even as he deepened his attentions to find that silken part of her that needed him.
She didn’t hesitate. “Harder.” With one hand, she found the back of his neck and pulled him down to meet her kiss. With the other, she guided his movements to a rougher pace before she released him to manage on his own.
He fell into a hypnotic rhythm, his tongue parting her lips above, his fingers parting her lips below, in time to the music of her rapid breath. With his free hand, Lyman cupped Della’s breast, tracing the tight peak of her nipple with his thumb.
“Your gown is downright indecent,” he accused her. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”
“You scarcely looked at me all night!” she protested.
“Because I was worried that if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop staring.” He let his lips roam down her throat, then lightly traced the top of her breasts. With greater focus than he’d thought remained to him, Lyman reached around her back to undo the top few buttons of her gown, which fell open to expose her shift below. He pushed the thin muslin aside, exposing her to the night air. Della shivered as he bent his head to suck and tease at her nipple.
“Oh,” she groaned as she squirmed on his fingers. “Keep doing that. Exactly like that.”
“You are the most arousing woman I’ve ever met,” he breathed, the confession drawn from him without any forethought. It was true. He’d never known anyone who lived life so freely as she did, and even as it frightened him, it also transfixed him.
“And here I worried you didn’t like me.” Her words came out broken, stumbling over halting gasps.
“I like you,” he assured her. “See how much?”
She kissed him deeply as he focused all his attention on bringing her to climax. It wasn’t difficult. She was eager for him, and after another moment she cried out (a touch more loudly than was prudent), bucking against his hand until her pleasure had passed and left her shaking in its wake.
Lyman slid his fingers free and gently settled her skirts back into place.
“You should hurry back inside,” he said. “Someone might come to see what that noise was.”
She laughed, the sound as pure and joyful as birdsong. “I’m sorry. I tried to be quiet. But what about you?” Della glanced at the bulge in his trousers, a smile teasing her lips. “Don’t you want to continue?”
Yes. More than I want air.
Lyman shook his head. “Not now.”
He didn’t know why he refused when he’d been so excited only a moment before, except that a sudden foreboding had crept over him. A premotion that, if he should take his own pleasure instead of merely giving it, he might hurt Miss Danby.
She was happy with him now. She thought him attractive and considerate, and she was grateful for a successful evening.
Let it end this way, before he could ruin things.
“Next time then,” she promised. What possibility lived in those words. “Why don’t you come by the house tomorrow? I know we said we’d cancel our meeting, but I’d love to see you again. Maybe I can find some way to get rid of Annabelle.”
“All right.”
“Or…” She took three steps backwards, her eyes still warming Lyman with their heat, then stopped short of the entrance to the alleyway.
She pointed up.
“Do you see that window?”
It was almost impossible to make out anything in these shadows, but he could almost detect the glint of a reflection on glass, one story above them.
“I think so.”
“That’s my room. I’ll leave it open tomorrow night, if you’d rather continue this in a more private setting.”
How in the hell he was supposed to climb to the second story without the aid of a ladder, Lyman didn’t know. Was there a trellis around here somewhere? Never mind; he would think of something.
“Aren’t you worried we might be discovered?”
“My parents are never at home and the servants are well compensated for their continued ignorance. As for Annabelle, I’ll handle her.”
With that, Della blew him a kiss and disappeared from sight, leaving only the empty frame of the gate before him.