Chapter Nineteen
“You want me to do what?” Kitty asked, her voice squeaking at the end. Cordon had awakened only a few minutes earlier, but he moved as if he hadn’t been injured at all and spoke with his usual brash confidence.
“You would be reenacting the famous ride by Lady Godiva,” he said as he paced her shop. “It was always my favorite tale. My mother read it to me often when I was a boy.”
“You cannot be serious,” Kitty said. “Why does your list contain an item that I must complete?” Riding around the park at night was dangerous enough, but to do so while naked was something no rational person would speak aloud.
She ran her fingers through her hair, imagining it falling over her body.
She’d known his list contained scandalous tasks, but this was ridiculous.
Also, she still had to figure out what to do about Mr. Blaylock. The entire morning she’d been thinking about how to remove the man from Betty’s life, but the only ideas she came up with involved Cordon’s money and power.
She might be his tailoress and mistress, but she still didn’t feel comfortable asking for such a huge favor.
He grinned. “I am completely serious. I’ve always admired Lady Godiva and her unflinching commitment to saving her subjects from her husband’s taxation.”
She turned around to avoid him seeing how her cheeks burned. “It would have been better to slide a knife through his ribs.”
Then she wouldn’t be considering doing something that would’ve made her mother faint.
He stepped behind her and gently clasped her hips in his hands. “Imagine how it will feel, wearing only what God gave you.” He breathed a sigh. “My heart races merely thinking about it.”
She placed her palms flat on her worktable, resisting the urge to grind herself against him. “Then why not do it yourself?”
He chuckled, and it rumbled down her back. “Me, a lord? There would be no real danger. No excitement. Escorting you, however”—he pressed the bulge of his erection to her rear—“is far more thrilling.”
It was as if he were infecting her with his eagerness. She could imagine what he described. Sitting astride a horse in the middle of the night, the cool, night air kissing her skin. She shivered.
“Perhaps if I braid my hair,” she said, turning around. “It might pass for a kind of dress. From far away. In the dark.”
“Oh, yes!” Cordon beamed. “I am adept at braiding.” He stepped back. “Disrobe.”
She clutched the bodice of her dress. “Here? Now?”
He looked around. “Is your shop not closed?”
Well, he was correct about that. It was nearly midnight, and the door was locked.
“Not here,” she said firmly. “Upstairs.”
He shrugged, then followed her up the narrow stairs and stood silently while she fumbled for her keys and opened the door.
Then they were inside, and at that moment, the difference between their classes couldn’t have been more obvious.
The mean, little space in which she slept and ate was dark and musty smelling.
It contained exactly three pieces of furniture: a narrow cot, a dressing table, and a stool.
Her stomach clenched as she imagined how it must have looked to him.
“You are uncomfortable,” he said. “I apologize. We will not proceed.”
She faced him. “What? No.” She shook her head. “This task. It’s on your list, correct?”
He frowned. “Yes.”
“Then I will do it. In exchange for a favor.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Anything.”
She clasped her hands together at her breast. “Convince Mr. Blaylock to leave my sister alone.” There was little she could do to send the man away, but Cordon had resources and influence that she’d never possess. Whatever Mr. Blaylock demanded, she was confident Cordon could provide.
All men had a price.
Cordon shook his head. “You did not need to ask. I would have dealt with him regardless.”
A sense of giddiness enveloped her, loosening muscles she hadn’t realized had been tight. “Then that is all I need.”
With trembling fingers, she unbuttoned her bodice, removed it, and set it on her bed.
Her skirt, petticoats, crinoline, chemise, drawers, and stockings followed.
When she was wearing nothing but her skin and shivering, she removed a metal pin from her head.
A long strand of hair unfurled and dropped all the way to her knees.
Cordon exhaled harshly through his nose, then reached for her.
She dropped the pin. It fell and embedded into the carpet, where someone might step on it.
“Wait,” she said as she knelt down and picked up the pin. If she continued playing the hoyden, her carpet would become a treacherous place for anyone walking around without hard-soled shoes.
“Sit,” he said, when she rose. He said the words casually, but she could hear the repressed excitement in his voice. She did as he’d bidden.
He threaded his hands into her hair and removed a second pin, then took the resulting strand and gently placed it over her shoulder.
A dozen more pins followed. Then he gathered several strands and pulled them behind her back.
When he finished, he flipped a triangular plait over her head and dropped it, so it fell onto her chest. It looked ridiculous, but it covered the most important parts of her upper body.
She was still placing herself in enormous danger by venturing out in little more than her cloak, but he had a pistol tucked into his trousers and had assured her he would gladly brandish it at anyone who looked at her askance.
“Follow me,” he whispered. Then he took her hand and led her downstairs, out the back door, and into an alley.
She only made it a few steps before her feet ached from tiny rocks sticking to her bare soles, but that was trivial compared to chills she felt when every small sound had her convinced they were about to run into a crowd of people.
Within minutes, her teeth were chattering from cold and fear.
Cordon came to a sudden halt and peered beneath her hood. “You’re shaking.”
“Of course I am. I’m outside, in the cold, hoping no one will see us.” She lifted her bare foot and waggled her toes. “With no shoes!”
He looked down, then scooped her in his arms.
She bit her tongue to keep from squealing. It would have been bad enough to be spotted with him in her state of undress, but this was far worse. “Put me down, Cordon.”
“We’re nearly there. I paid a footman quite handsomely to wait nearby with a horse.”
She huffed. “Then why did we need to walk such a distance?”
“To make it more exciting.”
Of course he would say that, because guiding a naked woman through the streets of London somehow wasn’t exciting enough.
He darted around a corner and then between two buildings, where a young man waited, holding the reins of a saddled white mare.
She inhaled sharply, but the moment the footman spotted them, he dropped the reins and sprinted off.
Cordon put her down. “You need not worry. Every member of my staff is trustworthy.” He nudged her toward the horse. “Give Melody a pat. She is my sweetest mare.”
The creature snuffled her cloak as she approached.
“Looking for apples,” he said as she uttered a delighted laugh.
“I wish I had one.” She ran her hand down the black blaze on the horse’s head. “What a beautiful animal.”
He untied the rope attaching Melody to the peg on the wall, then helped Kitty remove her cloak and mount.
It was awkward and the horse shifted and made unhappy horse noises, but she eventually settled.
Thankfully, Melody was very sturdy and gentle, and Kitty wasn’t very heavy.
Soon, he had the lead and was drawing them back the way they’d come.
“Where are we going?” she whispered.
“The park,” he replied. He led Melody across the empty street and onto the gravel pathway.
The gentle crunch of the horse’s hooves was the only sound, aside from an occasional insect buzzing around.
She darted her gaze around them, keeping vigilant.
At the slightest appearance of danger, she’d demand he take her back to the stables, or anywhere else.
He drew closer and caressed her shin. “Isn’t this thrilling?”
“If by thrilling, you mean freezing,” she said, teeth chattering once again.
“We are almost there. Hold on, darling.”
The endearment warmed her cheeks but did little for the rest of her.
She rubbed her palms over her upper arms. “Almost where?” She’d expected this trip to result in more seduction, but the farther they walked, the more she suspected he had other plans.
They weren’t even on a path anymore, and she had to duck to avoid being smacked in the head by branches.
“Ah, there they are,” he said. “This will be a shock, but you must trust me.” He led her horse through a dense brush, which exited into a clearing.
Full of people.
Almost entirely naked people.
They danced around an enormous fire, throwing their arms up and chanting a droning, undulating song that was both terrifying and beautiful.
Their faces were covered in elaborate masks made from branches, leaves, and the cast-off feathers and horns of creatures that lived in the forest. The women wore thin, nearly transparent shifts and the men had painted their backs with the crude image of a spider.
“Do not speak,” he whispered. “And do not let them see your face.”
She dutifully ducked her chin and tugged her hair to better hide her bare body. What was he thinking, bringing her to such a pagan place? She would never have agreed to go out with him had she known they would encounter such revelry.
A short woman with curly, blonde hair that fell to her knees separated from the group and leaped across the dirt toward them like a deer.
“Cordon!” She removed her stag mask, revealing bright-blue eyes, a pert nose, and a wide smile. “What are you doing here?” She looked at Kitty. “And who is your companion?”
It took all of Kitty’s willpower to keep her gaze on the young woman’s face, rather than let it travel down her body, past her voluptuous breasts, narrow waist, and shapely thighs.
Kitty was suddenly no longer cold. Warmth curled in her stomach.
Oh, God, she was staring. How terribly rude of her. She clenched her eyes shut and thought about how she was going to strangle Cordon when they escaped this situation.