Eight
Della opened the door, deposited her cloak, and tiptoed up the stairs without taking in any of it. She felt as if she were drunk, though Lord Ashton had been telling the truth when he’d said those sherry cobblers didn’t have much kick to them. No, Della was drunk on victory—a far sweeter refreshment.
She had driven away her nemesis, the stern-faced aristocrat who underestimated her at every turn and never gave fair consideration to her efforts. He was the one who’d refused to put her club in his book and scoffed at the idea that she could write one herself. And now Della had replaced him with a slightly less stern-faced aristocrat who kissed her as sinfully as the devil himself.
What a fantastic trade!
She hadn’t expected Ashton to be a good kisser. She’d mostly wanted to do it because she found him so handsome (even though she knew handsome men were often the worst kissers, as they tended to be selfish), or perhaps it had only been to see if he would finally warm to her. But that hadn’t been warm, it had been…feverish. The way he’d touched her and the things he’d said to her! This was a man she could believe had visited all the places in his books, a man who knew how to live.
This version of the viscount would be a pleasure to work with. He wouldn’t sigh and run his hands through his hair at the suggestion that they each write their own introduction. He would smile and say, “That’s a capital idea, Della. How thoughtful of you to have found a compromise for us.”
She opened the door to her room and floated inside. They were going to get along so much better now that—
Della screamed at the sight of a shadowy figure on her bed. A prowler, come to kill her! No, it was only the housekeeper, come to ask her where she’d been all evening and demand a shilling to keep quiet about it. Scarcely better, as Della hated being extorted.
But a closer inspection in the lamplight proved that it was neither of these things. The intruder was only Annabelle.
“You terrified me! I nearly dropped the lamp and set us both ablaze.”
Such a reaction didn’t bode well for Lord Ashton’s future rendezvous with her bedroom window. She would try to keep from screaming if he appeared so suddenly.
Unless she was screaming for another reason, of course.
“You’ve been outside for nearly an hour,” her sister said flatly.
“So? You didn’t need to wait up. Go back to your own room and go to bed, please.”
“ Someone should keep an eye on you!” Annabelle whispered, furious. “What if Lord Ashton took advantage, and no one heard you cry for help?”
“I promise you, I took advantage of him and not the other way round.”
“He’s married , Della.”
“His wife left him years ago, and they haven’t spoken since. Surely you don’t think she can object if he seeks out companionship now? I doubt she’s been living as a nun.”
“What’s between them is between them,” Annabelle conceded, “but you don’t need to get mixed up in it. There’s no future with such a man.”
“Who says I want a future?” Della asked belligerently. “I’m enjoying the present, that’s all.” And what enjoyment! It was even better than she’d dared to hope, having the stern Viscount Ashton moaning and at her mercy. He was more attentive than she’d expected. Most men only thought about their own climax, but he’d wanted to please her. And he’d done a very good job of it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so content.
“I should tell Mama and Papa about this and save you from yourself.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes to feline slits. The similarity didn’t end there, for her air of superiority and ever-watchful manner had always reminded Della of a cat.
“Do we really want to start down this road, dear?” Della pulled off the too-tight gown, eager to shed her disguise. She’d grown uncomfortable hours ago. “I don’t think I need to remind you of all the occasions I’ve saved your neck.”
There was the time Peter had gone fishing, to find Annabelle and her latest paramour swimming naked in the lake at their country house. Della had to persuade him this was a perfectly innocent adventure for two young ladies, which he should never mention to either set of parents. Then there was the time Annabelle stole a bottle from the wine cellar to hole up in her room with her lady’s maid, and nearly got the footman sacked for theft. Della had discreetly purchased a replacement and “found” the missing bottle behind a cabinet to save the poor fellow.
There was a distinct theme to Annabelle’s misadventures.
Honestly, I’m a saint.
“You haven’t done anything for me recently,” Annabelle observed. “Whereas I’m forced to sit through your flirtation with Lord Ashton every week just to make sure you don’t get yourself into more trouble than usual.”
“I let you come to the casino with me tonight,” Della snapped back, indignant. “That should count for something.”
“That bought you my silence. You were going anyway, so it was your caper, not mine.”
Ah, now we come to it.
“And what do you have planned that you need my help for?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Annabelle plucked a loose thread from her wrap. For some reason, she maintained the absurd fiction that she was the better behaved one even when they were alone. It probably came from being the youngest child. All she’d had to do was feign innocence for their governess when she wanted to get Della or Peter into trouble. “But…” She sighed as though she were struggling to think of some possible solution. “I suppose if you want to repay me for my kindness, you could let me into your club tomorrow night.”
“Never.” Della didn’t even need to consider. “We’ve been over this. Family aren’t allowed to play the tables. People will think we’re cheating them when you win, and you’ll expect us to forgive the debts when you lose. It’s bad business either way.”
“I don’t even want to play much,” Annabelle whined. “I just want to attend. Why must you be so mean?”
“You said my club was a foolish venture bound to fail,” Della reminded her. The taunt had been issued nearly three years ago, but she could hold a grudge when it counted. “Why should you want to attend now?”
“Fine. I’m sorry I said that. Are you satisfied?” When Della didn’t budge, her sister groaned and buried her hands in her face. “All right, all right, it’s to impress a girl.”
Della perked up instantly. “A matter of the heart! Why didn’t you say so? Of course you can come.”
This changed everything. While Della might enjoy antagonizing her sister on occasion (strictly to even the score), she would never sabotage anyone’s chance at happiness. Besides, Annabelle was much more fun to tease when she was in love.
“Whose heart have you captured this time?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“I’m going to find out anyway, so you may as well tell me.”
Della wasn’t quite sure how her sister managed to seduce anyone—gangly, charmless hoyden that she was—but somehow she always seemed to be in pursuit of one debutant or another. Many of her dalliances were entirely one-sided and ended with nothing to show for her efforts, the object of her affection proving unable or unwilling to entertain that sort of connection with another lady. But every now and again she succeeded in winning one of them over and would spend weeks or months doing adorable, ridiculous things such as writing her paramour a dozen sonnets or sending her coded messages through flowers, until eventually the flame burned out or someone’s parents grew too suspicious.
Annabelle rolled her eyes, but accepted the inevitable. “Eliza Greenwood. But I haven’t captured her heart yet. That’s what this outing is for.”
“Oooh, a worthy challenge.” Miss Greenwood was uncommonly pretty, recently out, and highly sought after this season. In truth, Annabelle probably didn’t have much of a chance with her. As far as Della knew, Miss Greenwood seemed as interested in the gentlemen who filled her dance card as any other young lady. No wonder Annabelle wanted her help. An invitation to Bishop’s would lend her a certain cachet she sorely needed.
It almost made Della wish she hadn’t invited Lord Ashton to sneak into her bedroom tomorrow evening.
“I’m afraid I won’t get to see how it turns out for you, as I have another engagement.” She would call on Eli and Jane in the morning to make sure they could manage Bishop’s without her. She didn’t often ask for a night off, but it would be the first time in months, and the chance to seduce Lord Ashton was too good to pass up. “So whatever you do, don’t make a mess you can’t clean up on your own.”
“You think I need your help?” Annabelle looked so offended, Della might almost have believed the emotion was justified. “You’d only embarrass me. That’s why I’m bringing Miss Greenwood when you’re not there.”
Wait.
“Beg pardon?” Della wondered if it was too late to rescind her invitation. “How did you know I’d be seeing the viscount tomorrow? Were you eavesdropping on me?” The insufferable snoop! She’d probably cracked a window open the second she’d got in the house.
“Not at all.” Annabelle laughed, pouncing to her feet and making for the exit. “It was an easy guess, and you just confirmed it.”
She slammed the door just before Della flung her slipper.
***
Lyman walked back to Pimlico from Miss Danby’s doorstep. The brisk night air would do him good. Besides which, he couldn’t justify the cost of another carriage ride when he was perfectly capable of walking. It wasn’t that those few coins would make any difference in the grand scheme of things; it was the principle of it. How could he permit himself unnecessary luxuries when he should be sending every penny toward Michael and Ellen?
Tonight was a luxury, but that didn’t stop you from wasting your evening at the invitation of Miss Danby .
Della.
Lyman walked a bit quicker, the clack of his shoes on the cobblestones echoing back at him as if he were being pursued. His heart was still pounding at the thrill of what she’d given him so freely. It had been ages since he’d gone out for an evening. Far longer since he’d had a woman in his arms. The last one had been Mrs. Chatham, a widow several years his elder. She hadn’t expected too much from Lyman. Not love, certainly, nor a second marriage. She’d known about his situation before they began their dalliance. He suspected she suffered more from boredom than from loneliness and had judged him just scandalous enough to provide a spark of excitement to her evenings. He wasn’t sure if he’d lived up to her expectations of a rakehell, but she’d liked what he did with his hands, at any rate.
Della had liked it too.
But Della wasn’t a widow, in a position to risk a discreet liaison. What did she expect of him? Lyman would feel better about this if she were a bit older and less full of that thoughtless enthusiasm that made her throw herself into every idea that caught her fancy. Her gambling club, this ladies’ guidebook, and now him. Had she really thought about the consequences of any of it?
I’m not ignorant of the dangers of anything I do, my lord , she’d declared a few hours ago. But I won’t live in fear.
It had the appearance of bravery, but Lyman wasn’t persuaded she truly understood. Anyone could believe they were prepared to risk everything. Until you lost what was dearest to you, you didn’t know how you would bear it.
Lyman wished he could shut out the fears that tarnished his evening. Why should he feel guilty if he did want to see her again? Was that so terrible? They weren’t hurting anyone, and he’d been honest with her from the start about the fact that he wasn’t free to remarry. Whatever this was, it wouldn’t last. A month or two, perhaps, until she finished her book and they parted ways. Any connection between them promised to be so insignificant that Lyman shouldn’t have minded what happened.
But he did mind. He could still feel the silk of her skin beneath his hands and the citrus scent of her in his lungs. Could still hear the sounds she’d made when he brought her to climax. That unchecked cry of pure bliss that had wrapped itself around his whole being. She’d ensnared him completely.
When he reached the Hirsches’ house and let himself into the second-floor apartments that were reserved for the boarders, he found Clarkson still awake and at the table in the common dining room. He was reading a heavy, leather-bound volume by the light of a cheap tallow candle that leaked an acrid plume of smoke into the air.
“Good evening,” his friend greeted him. “You’re up late.”
“I could say the same to you.”
“Mr. Hirsch has me searching for a precedent in a particularly tricky case.” If Clarkson was tired, he didn’t show it. He slipped a bookmark into his text and closed it with a heavy thud. “Did your friend enjoy her clandestine view of Laurent’s?”
Lyman wouldn’t risk Miss Danby’s reputation by telling anyone else what she’d been up to, but he’d trusted Clarkson well enough to confide the general situation without revealing her name. He wasn’t the sort to pry or gossip, unlike Mr. Wood. But Wood’s door was shut and there was no sound from within, so he must be asleep already. Lyman was careful to keep his voice down. If their conversation disturbed the other lodger’s rest, they would never hear the end of it.
“She did.” Lyman hesitated, unsure of what he wanted to say next. Finally he added, “Something happened tonight.”
“Were you discovered?” Clarkson’s brows drew together in mild concern.
“No, no, nothing like that. She kissed me.”
“Ah.”
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
“What should I say?” Clarkson shrugged, his voice mild. “Are you looking for advice?”
“I suppose I am,” Lyman admitted, though he’d only realized it in that moment. “She’s made it clear she’s interested in continuing things where we left off, but I’m worried the risk might be too great. What would you do?”
“ I’d never go near her again.” Clarkson didn’t hesitate. “But that’s because I know her father wouldn’t be likely to bother with a duel before murdering an apprentice solicitor who laid a hand on his daughter. The question you’re really asking is, what would I do if I were a viscount?” He made a little show of considering this, leaning back and stroking his chin. “That depends on how much you like this lady, and whether you think her father is likely to call out his social superior. Is he a good shot with a pistol?”
“This is an extremely sobering discussion,” Lyman replied. “I’m hoping he never learns I exist.”
It wasn’t as though the Danbys kept their children under close watch. As far as Lyman could tell, they’d never been at home when he’d called. The only person who knew or cared about their meetings was Miss Annabelle, and Della seemed confident that she could be managed.
“I hope so too, for your sake,” Clarkson said. “And for mine. I don’t want Mrs. Hirsch to have to replace you with another Mr. Wood.”
Lyman chuckled at this. What an unbearable prospect.
“Does this table seem different to you?” Clarkson asked abruptly, craning his neck back to assess the ceiling. “I swear it used to be nearer the window. I think Wood’s gone and moved it to have more space on his side at breakfast, but now my elbows keep hitting the wall.”
Lyman took a moment to assess the furniture. Sure enough, the dining table looked to be about eight inches further away than it had been this morning. “I think you’re right.”
Clarkson rose to his feet with a frown and wrapped his hands around either side. Seeing his intent, Lyman took the other end and helped him lift the table back into its former position. Once they were done, they both stood silent, listening to see if the noise had awoken Mr. Wood. They were safe for the moment.
Clarkson’s face took on a more serious air as he sat back down. “Be careful with this woman, though. Truly. Wealthy young ladies aren’t to be trifled with unless you’re prepared to compensate them with your life, one way or another.”
“And I’m not in a position to offer her my life in matrimony,” Lyman finished the thought for him.
“Precisely.”