Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
What had possessed her to say such a thing?
Teresa blushed, and it took quite something to force colour to her cheeks now. Honestly, she may owe him a few thanks for rescuing her from the Thames – and she could not help but shudder inwardly at the memory of that moment when life seemed to be drowned out of her body – but what was she doing?
The last thing she needed, after getting drenched with a duke, was to lose her head. Or her heart.
She coughed, dropped his hand, and rose from the armchair gingerly, testing out her ankle. It felt much stronger now – a shock, rather than a sprain. “As I say, regardless of what others think, I shall always hold you in high regard. Would you like something to drink?”
Alexander was blinking at her, as though roused from sleep. “Drink?”
Teresa nodded. She did not trust her words at this moment; not when a rush of something that felt unnaturally like affection was overwhelming her. This was not how it went. This was not what happened.
“What do you have?”
She tried not to colour with embarrassment. “A little tea, but not much. No milk, or lemon, or anything.”
Poverty was not something that she was typically ashamed of, not really. But she was now.
There was a crinkle in his forehead as Alexander looked at her, but he said nothing except, “That sounds delightful, thank you.”
Teresa smiled, despite her inward shame. “Well, you were certainly raised right, that is all I will say.”
The escape to the small kitchen was welcome.
She fanned herself, trying to cool down her beating heart, that flutter that seemed to betray her.
What was she doing, getting her emotions tangled with this man?
He was a Duke, not a fool; he may feel as though his reputation is ruined forever, but give it a few months, wait for another scandal to overtake people’s minds, and it would soon be forgotten.
He would be married within the twelvemonth, she thought, and sadness ebbed into her mind.
And then she shook herself. He is not for the likes of you, she reminded herself. Not for you.
As she carried the kettle and teapot through to the parlour, she could not help but be aware of his gaze that watched her at every moment.
This was not unusual. Men liked to look.
They liked to touch more, but they knew that would cost them, and so the staring was something that she had become accustomed to.
But not like this. Alexander, Duke of Caershire, was not looking at her like a wolf looks at a lamb, but how a man desires a woman. That was it: he desired her. And not just for her body, perhaps.
“I seem to have revealed a great deal,” he said in a low voice. “I hope that you do not mind hearing my confession.”
Teresa stood the kettle over the fire, and peered into it. Plenty of water. “‘Tis hardly a confession, no fault lies with you.”
Alexander shrugged. “Then whatever the opposite of a confession is, then. Either way, I am grateful. You are . . . . you are a good listener.”
“It comes with the job,” she said automatically as she fell into the empty armchair, and regretted her words instantly. She saw the flush of jealousy, the struggle to maintain it, and then the brief equilibrium in which he managed a nod.
He was a good man. She watched him, revelling in the chance to see such a man without needing to lead him into the secret chamber where she delighted and pleasured the men who handed over those precious pieces of gold.
Alexander was dark: dark hair, dark eyes, dark complexion. It matched his dark air, but Teresa had a suspicion that in happier times, before this shadow had fallen over his social standing, he had radiated warmth to all those close to him.
She wanted to be close to him. She wanted to feel those strong hands on her arms, the softness of that dark hair, the rough stubble of his cheek against her neck as he –
Teresa blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
He had been speaking – speaking to her, and she had completely lost track of what he had been saying.
“I said,” Alexander nodded towards the fire. “I think that the kettle is boiling.”
Brought back to earth with a bump, she turned and saw that it was almost ready to boil over. A swift movement brought it off the fire using a roll of fabric scraps to save her fingers, and she carefully poured the scalding water into the teapot.
“That is the second time this evening that you have saved me from hot water,” she tried to laugh, “though this time, it is more of my own doing!”
Her laughter rang hollow as he stared at her. Eventually, he spoke.
“Was that the first time that a . . . a client has tipped you into the Thames?”
Teresa snuggled up into the armchair, and met his gaze. There was something fiery in that look, and she arched her back slightly in pure animal response.
His eyes flared with longing as her breasts rose and fell, and a spark of power tingled at the base of Teresa’s neck – but this felt different.
She had always had this power, always been able to charm the man before her, but this felt different.
The desire in his eyes was matched by the longing in herself.
She coughed, and looked away. “The first time, yes. Although I have once been abandoned at rooms in the Grenier’s Hotel with the bill to pay. I was forced to have a rather interesting conversation with the manager there.”
“How did you manage to pay it?”
Teresa glanced over to him and arched an eyebrow.
The shock showed in his face, and there it was: that flicker of repulsion and confusion as his craving for her met the disgust of her trade.
She could not help but laugh. “Oh, your assumptions are diverting, Alexander!”
She saw it again: that shiver of pleasure as her lips pursed over his name.
It was a shame that she liked him so much; if he had not revealed the truth of his familial sacrifice, she was almost certain that she could take him into that room and make him beg for mercy, and take all the coin on his person.
“Then you – you did not – ”
Teresa shook her head, and picking up the teapot, poured out two cups. “No, he was a very understanding man. His mother had been a lady of the night too, and his sympathy ran deep. I am not permitted to go back, of course, but that is of no matter.”
Alexander was staring at her now, staring at her as though he could see right into her very soul. “Do you ever – I mean, it must be difficult. Being so vulnerable with . . . with so many men.”
Teresa nodded slowly. “It certainly gets tiresome, after a while. What you must remember,” and she pinked slightly, even she, “is that very few men that I have as clients have any comprehension of my own pleasure. It is a selfish act for them, and so I have to . . . well, go through the motions with many of them.”
She saw the heat in his face, and felt a little sorry for him. After all, this was her world, not his.
“You – you pretend?”
Her face broke out into a grin. “They do not.”
Alexander laughed awkwardly, but he did not take his eyes from her. There was a kind of earnestness in his eyes, and she could not look away. “But do you not hate it?”
“Hate it?”
He nodded, and Teresa tried not to smile. “You speak as though I have much of a choice, my lord. I – ”
“Alexander, please.”
His voice was so soft; soft and caring, and Teresa tried not to let a thrill of intimacy overwhelm her. He was not hers, she reminded herself. One day he will go out into the world and marry a real lady.
“Alexander, then,” she conceded. “I have to earn money, and this is one way that I am, though I say so myself, very good at it. At times I feel the filth of what I do, but then why should I feel all the guilt? Should not the scandal be shared by the men who purchase my body?”
He really was a handsome man, thought Teresa as they stared at each other in silence. That darkness, and then the light of his eyes, that hope that seems to emanate from every word. Alexander was a man that you could fall in love with.
“And what will you do,” said Alexander, swallowing, “when you meet a man that you would like to marry?”
Teresa shook her head sadly. “That is not a future that I see for myself – like you, I suppose, although for very different reasons.”
She was so aware of his masculinity that it was difficult to think. How did men do it, she wondered. They just seemed to have a presence that filled every inch of the world around them.
He was shrugging now. “You never know, you may – ”
“How many men are lining up to wed Miss Wrottesley?” Her words cut across him.
“And she lost her innocence to one man, and no others. No; it will take an extraordinary man to take a chance on wedding me. My only hope would be to go away, somewhere my reputation has not reached; though that,” and she was not able to take the strange sadness out of her voice, “will be difficult. Most of my clients own the majority of this country.”
“How did you start, if you do not mind me asking?”
There was a tension in him as he reached for the teacup, and Teresa hesitated. Did she really want to open up this dark part of herself? Did she want someone that she had just met to know her story?
And yet, Alexander and she could have been acquainted for years, the way that he had revealed his truth to her.
“I do not come from a family with traditions like yours,” she said quietly, leaning back into the comfort and safety of the armchair with her teacup in her lap. “In fact, I do not think it is possible for us to have been raised in more different circumstances.”
He looked as though he wanted to interrupt her, but he did not, and she was glad of it. Once she started down this memory trail, she did not want to be knocked off course.