Chapter 7
The address Julian had given her was just behind Grosvenor Square in Mount Street, which was a row of far less grand dwellings than the square.
Carenza directed the hackney cab to pull up behind the house and got down, the veil over her bonnet already lowered to conceal her face.
To her relief, the back gates of the houses had numbers, and she easily located the right one.
She walked up the neat garden path and knocked on the back door. A young girl opened it and curtsied with a smile. “How can I help you, miss?”
“I’m here to see Mrs. Mountjoy.”
“Come in, then, and I’ll tell her you’re here.” The girl looked at Carenza appraisingly before leading her down the corridor. They bypassed the kitchen and went through another door into a hallway. “You after new staff or what?”
“Bridget, that’s none of your business,” a clear voice called out.
Carenza looked up to see a middle-aged woman descending the stairs. Despite her reprimand, she smiled at the girl.
“Sorry, ma’am.” Bridget curtsied to Carenza. “I was just excited.”
“That’s quite understandable, but let me speak to our guest before you make any assumptions, and please bring us some tea.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Bridget grinned and hurried back toward the kitchen.
The woman turned to Carenza and held out her hand. Her voice had the same upper-class ring as Carenza’s, but her dress was far less fashionable. “I’m Mrs. Mountjoy. You must be Mrs. Smythe. Mr. Laurent said you might be passing by. Please follow me.”
Not without some trepidation, Carenza followed Mrs. Mountjoy into a pleasant sitting room at the front of the house. It was furnished with considerable charm in rich colors that appealed to Carenza’s tastes.
“What a very pleasant room,” Carenza commented, her gaze drawn to a remarkably fine portrait in pride of place over the fireplace.
“I managed to purloin some of my favorite pieces before I left my family home for good,” Mrs. Mountjoy said. “The rest of the house is not quite so elegant.”
Carenza sat down and stared at her hostess. “Forgive me, but you look remarkably familiar. Have we met before?”
Mrs. Mountjoy considered her. “It’s possible that we attended the same events at some point. We are of similar age.”
“Then how …”
“How did I end up here and not presiding over a mansion in Grosvenor Square?” Mrs. Mountjoy smiled. “It’s a perfectly reasonable question.”
“But none of my business,” Carenza said quickly. “I can only apologize for my rudeness.”
“I chose to marry a doctor—a man without vast financial means—and my family, who were counting on me making a brilliant match, disowned me,” Mrs. Mountjoy explained. “Frederick died three years ago, and I’ve continued his work as he would’ve wished.”
“His work?”
“I help young women who find themselves in distressed circumstances.”
Carenza considered her next words carefully. “That is an admirable thing to do.”
“I think so.” Mrs. Mountjoy nodded. “You might think it strange that I no longer miss the life I once had, but I don’t.” She paused. “I never quite fitted in.”
The door opened, and Bridget came through with a tray that she set down in front of Mrs. Mountjoy.
“Look! I didn’t spill a drop this time,” Bridget said.
“Well done,” her employer complimented her. “Perhaps you might go and fetch the sugar bowl? It seems to be missing.”
“Oh.” Bridget frowned. “Bloody hell.” She left in some haste.
Mrs. Mountjoy smiled. “She is something of a work in progress, but in time, I think she’ll make an excellent parlormaid.”
“Perhaps you might let me know when she is ready,” Carenza offered. “Our current parlormaid is getting married this summer, and we will need a replacement.”
Mrs. Mountjoy offered her a nod of approval as she poured them both some tea. “Julian said I’d like you, and he was correct.”
“He often is,” Carenza agreed. “Which is remarkably annoying.”
“I can’t argue with you on that.” Mrs. Mountjoy made a face. “You must be wondering how I met him and why he considered this house a safe place for you to meet.”
Carenza sipped her tea.
“I met Julian when I married my husband. I’m not sure how they became acquainted, but they were already good friends.” Mrs. Mountjoy paused. “When Frederick died, Julian helped me with the funeral arrangements and stood by my side when my parents tried to force me to go back home.”
“That sounds very like him,” Carenza said. She was probably one of the very few people in society who knew that beneath Julian’s charming exterior there was a far more complex man. Even so, he still occasionally surprised her.
“We’ve never been lovers,” Mrs. Mountjoy continued, and Carenza tried not to blush. “I would consider him a valued friend in his own right. When he told me about you, I, of course, offered my help.”
Carenza wasn’t quite sure how she felt about Julian discussing her with a stranger, but Mrs. Mountjoy’s matter-of-fact manner was slightly reassuring.
Her hostess took two labeled keys off the ring at her waist. “The top two floors of this house are used as living accommodation for me and for rental purposes. One of the apartments is vacant, and I offered it to Julian so that you could meet.” She handed Carenza the keys.
“This one allows you entrance through the kitchen door, and that one with the yellow ribbon unlocks the apartment on the left upstairs.”
“Thank you.”
“You can use the backstairs to enter and leave the house. There is no need to seek me out.” Mrs. Mountjoy smiled. “It is nice to be able to do something for Julian instead of always being on the receiving end.” She set down her cup. “Would you like to see the apartment?”
“Yes, please.” Carenza hurriedly finished her tea and stood up.
Mrs. Mountjoy opened the door and was met by Bridget, who was breathing hard and carrying the sugar bowl.
“Sorry, ma’am, I had to break some bits off the block, and then Cook made me clean up all the mess.”
“Please set the bowl on the tray, Bridget,” Mrs. Mountjoy said. “And thank you for your efforts.”
“But what about your tea?” Bridget asked as they went past her.
“We will return to it shortly, my dear. There is no need to clear away.” Mrs. Mountjoy started up the stairs, Carenza at her heels. “You may go back to the kitchen.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Bridget’s martyred sigh was loud enough to be heard at the top of the stairs.
“She still has a lot to learn, but at thirteen, she’s young enough to want to change,” Mrs. Mountjoy said as she continued up the second flight of stairs.
“She was working in a brothel and ran away when the owner told her it was time to earn her keep.” She paused outside a door with the number four on it.
“Here we are. It’s just across the hall from my suite of rooms.”
She gestured for Carenza to unlock the door and invited her in. Carenza entered with some trepidation but found a charming space with a large double bed, a sitting area, and a separate dressing room.
“The necessary is outside,” Mrs. Mountjoy said. “But I doubt you’ll be needing it unless you stay the night.”
“Thank you,” Carenza said.
Her hostess nodded, turned to the door, and then paused. “I do hope you are adequately ‘protected’ for this liaison, Mrs. Smythe.”
“Adequately protected?” Carenza frowned. “Oh! You mean against conception?”
“As I mentioned, my husband was a doctor. He had a very specific interest in women’s health, and I feel it is important to carry on his work. Protection should also be used against sexual diseases.”
“I assume Julian doesn’t have any of those,” Carenza said quickly.
“You’d be surprised.” Mrs. Mountjoy glanced at the watch pinned to her bodice. “I’d better let you explore the apartment. Julian will be here in a few minutes.”
She walked out, leaving Carenza with the strong urge to follow her, run out of the house, and keep going.
She retreated to the window and gazed out over the street.
What on earth had she been thinking? This whole affair had become far too public—what with the advertisement, Julian’s unexpected offer, and now a whole household of people who’d seen her creeping up the backstairs and knew exactly what she was doing.
She glanced longingly at the door. Should she go? Or did she at least owe Julian an explanation before she fled back to her comfortable life in Tavistock Square?
The door opened, and Julian stood there, his calm gaze moving over her as he came into the room.
“Having second thoughts?”
“Second, third, and fourth thoughts,” Carenza said. “Why on earth did you tell Mrs. Mountjoy all about me?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Because I required her help, and I knew Anna wouldn’t begrudge another woman the chance to have a lover if she wished to do so.”
“How … remarkable of her.”
“There is no need to be jealous of Mrs. Mountjoy, Carenza. She—”
“I am not jealous. She told me that you aren’t lovers, although I don’t know why, as she is very handsome and obviously doesn’t care about social niceties.”
“She is also the widow of a good friend of mine,” Julian said evenly.
“As am I.” Carenza faced him.
“You’re … different.” He held her gaze. “I want to bed you.”
There was something in his voice that made her knees go weak. She resolutely straightened her spine and faced him.
He tilted his head to one side and observed her, which made her feel uncomfortably warm.
“May I kiss you?” Julian asked.
“In the mood I’m in, I might bite.”
“Good.” He strolled toward her, his blue gaze intent. “I am more than happy to indulge your temper.”
She glared at him, annoyed by the hint of a smile on his lips—a smile she wanted gone. He cupped her chin with the delicacy of a man trying to tame a tiger and looked down at her, a question in his eyes.
“Kiss me,” he commanded.
She needed no further invitation and promptly bit his lip. He groaned into her mouth and met her temper with equal fire, turning the kiss into something of a battle. His arm came around her waist and he sat her on the window seat and leaned in as they fought for dominance.