Chapter 2 #2
She had to admire the woman above her. She had more patience than Tamsin did.
Fortunately, the man was making noises that signaled he was done, and the mattress finally stilled.
Hurry and return to the ball, Tamsin silently pleaded.
She wanted to take what she could and get out before she was discovered.
The footman’s livery she wore meant she blended in almost perfectly with the male servants.
She might have had to disguise herself as a maid if the hosts hadn’t wanted the staff to wear wigs from the last century.
That choice was a gift to Tamsin, who had much more freedom as a footman than she might have had as a maid.
Those attending the ball hadn’t given her a second look as she’d moved among them.
The rich never looked at their servants.
Not really. No one had blinked an eye when she’d left her tray of champagne behind and slinked upstairs.
But her luck would only hold so long. The household staff would immediately know she didn’t belong.
She’d already been questioned once by an underbutler.
Tamsin had a ready excuse, claiming, in a deep voice she hoped sounded male, she’d been hired as extra help for the ball.
But if the butler or the housekeeper who’d done the actual hiring spotted her, they’d know she was a fraud immediately.
Of course, there was always the risk she’d be discovered as a woman dressed in men’s clothing. Even more of a risk was being caught pilfering from the household. But she was desperate, and if she’d had another choice, she wouldn’t be here.
The weight on the bed eased as the couple rose and donned the bits of clothing they’d thrown off in their frenzy of lust. When they’d burst into the room, Tamsin barely had time to scoot under the bed before they’d torn at each other.
She had wanted to steal what she could and be gone by now.
And yet, here she was, trapped, pockets empty.
She waited until the door to the bedchamber opened and closed again and the footsteps receded.
Then she slid out from under the bed, sneezed three times, and dusted her livery off.
She had to push the padded shoulders back in place.
Her fancy white wig had fallen off, and she reached under the bed, grabbed it, and stuffed it back on top of her head.
She rose to her feet and started once again for the dressing table.
Any truly valuable jewels would be locked up, but ladies often left bits and bobs lying about in their haste to dress for a ball.
She knew not to take anything worth more than twenty quid or particularly unique. She couldn’t readily pawn those items, and if she or the pawnbroker was caught with the item, they could both be hauled before the magistrate.
Tamsin didn’t relish a punishment of transport or indenture, so she needed to hurry.
She was used to moving about in dim light and scanned the dressing table quickly.
The hairbrush and comb of pearl would fetch a good price but be quickly missed.
She spotted some earbobs, which she hoped weren’t paste, and an India wipe.
The handkerchief was silk and would easily sell to a pawnbroker.
Most of the ladies of the upper class embroidered their India wipes with their name or initials along with a family crest or flowers or birds.
It was easy enough to pick out the stitching around the name or initials and sell the handkerchief without identifying marks.
She stuffed the earbobs and the wipe in her coat pocket and moved to the dresser.
She pulled open a drawer and found more wipes.
She wished she could stuff them all in her pocket, but she grabbed two and closed the drawer again.
She was afraid to stay much longer and turned to go when her foot trod on something hard in the carpet.
She lifted her slipper and snatched up a comb that had fallen on the floor.
The comb was lovely, made from some sort of hard green material.
It looked valuable but not too valuable, so she pocketed it.
The sound of voices in the corridor startled Tamsin, and she crouched down, ready to climb under the bed again.
Fortunately, the voices grew fainter, and she heaved a sigh of relief.
She crept to the door, cracked it open, and peered into the corridor.
Farther down, a door closed. Another look at the corridor showed her it was empty.
She slid out the door, closed it, and hurried along the corridor.
Best to look busy and important. She took the servants’ stairs down to the first floor.
She wanted to go all the way to the ground floor, but she heard other voices on the stairs below and dared not risk it.
Instead, she opened the door and emerged into an alcove just off the main foyer.
The sudden brightness of the chandelier and the cacophony of music and voices stunned her momentarily.
She wondered how difficult it would be to walk right past the guests and servants in the glittering entryway and immediately dismissed the idea.
She had to act fast. She looked suspicious standing in the doorway without a tray or a purpose.
To her left was another doorway, which she imagined led into a parlor or library.
She murmured a silent prayer and tried the latch.
It opened easily, and she slid inside and closed the door.
This was indeed a library. Shelves of books lined the walls.
Directly across from her was a set of draperies, and she started straight for them.
She flung the drapes open, unfastened the latch on the window, and attempted to heave it up.
Nothing happened.
Tamsin swore and tried again.
But the blasted window was stuck and wouldn’t open.
“Need help?” a male voice said.
She couldn’t quite stifle a scream or the urge to jump.
She swung around and stared at the red-haired man sitting at the desk.
Immediately, Tamsin wanted to slam her head against the window.
How could she have been so careless? She hadn’t even glanced at the desk to see if the room was occupied.
And here was a man in evening clothes, sitting at the desk, with a lamp burning beside him.
If she had been thinking, she would have realized the lamp was the reason she could see the books and the drapes so easily.
“No, thank you, sir.” Her thoughts swirled as she tried to fabricate an excuse for being here. “Lord Belgrave told me to open this window to cool off the house.”
“Lord Belgrave?” the man said, his eyes looking her up and down.
Velvet-brown eyes. She knew those eyes. She had dreamed of those eyes.
And now here he was—the man from the theater was here in the same room as she.
Tamsin felt dizzy and warm and genuinely thrilled.
She’d never thought she would see him again.
How many nights had she lain in her cold bed and imagined his arms wrapped around her?
How many times had she fantasized about kissing his lips?
She’d even gone out of her way once or twice to pass by his house.
Tamsin would have given anything for the man from the theater to look at her again.
And now he was.
She couldn’t breathe, and she pressed a hand to her heart, but it didn’t still the thundering in her chest.
The gentleman’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you mean His Grace?”
“Er…” Tamsin had completely lost her train of thought.
She’d been staring at the gentleman, but now she snapped back to the present situation.
She had to get out of this house. But she’d said something wrong.
This was the Belgrave ball, was it not? Wouldn’t a man who lived in a home this large be a lord?
What did she know of titles and niceties?
Best to play along. “His Grace, yes, thank you, sir. Or is it my lord?” She tried the window again and felt it move slightly.
Please don’t let that be my imagination.
“It’s sir.” He rose. “Sure you don’t need help with that window?”
Yes. Yes, she did need help. She wanted him to come close and use his muscles to aid her. “Quite sure,” she said, struggling enough that a light sweat had broken out on her forehead.
“You’re a little short for a footman.”
“His Grace brought in additional staff for the ball,” she said, aware he was crossing the room toward her now. Open. Open!
“I see. Seems strange he would want the library window open when this chamber is not supposed to be in use.” He was right behind her now and reached forward, grasped the window, and pushed it up and open.
Immediately, a cool breeze wafted across her face.
But nothing could cool her heated cheeks or her burning body.
She was so close to him. She might have touched him.
“Thank you, sir.” Her voice trembled. She would have jumped from the window that moment—it was less than six feet to the ground—if he hadn’t stepped in front of said window. Tamsin was forced to look up at him.
He was even more handsome than she remembered.
His red hair was tousled, the waves styled artfully back from his forehead.
His brows, slightly darker than his hair, lowered over those soft brown eyes.
His jaw was covered in stubble, as though he’d forgotten to shave this morning, and it gave him a rougher look than she was used to from men of the upper class.
Most of them had weak chins and puffy eyes.
This man was anything but soft. His eyes were clear, and his chin was square and chiseled.
He wasn’t overly tall—a man a few inches above average height—but with those broad shoulders and stiff spine, he seemed to top seven feet in that moment.
She wanted to melt into him. She wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her.
“Was there something else?” he asked, raising his brows. “You said you wanted the window open.”
“Er…” He expected her to depart. But she couldn’t turn and go back through the library door.
She’d be caught for sure. She was most likely caught now.
But she’d rather be caught by one man than half a dozen or more.
“That is all, sir.” Tamsin took a step away, turning her back to him as though to take her leave.
She took one more step then used the momentum to swing back around and charge for the window.
She caught a glimpse of surprise on his face as she raced toward him, but then she was out the window and falling…
except she wasn’t falling. She was halfway through the window, but he’d caught her about the waist and was hauling her back inside.
Tamsin wriggled and kicked, trying to free herself from his grip, but he held on tightly and thrust her back into the room.
“What the devil are you about?” he asked.
She panted, desperate to think of some excuse and to find another way to dart through the window.
She looked into his face, saw his eyes narrow, and then he reached forward and jerked the wig from her head.
The motion dislodged a pin keeping her hair in place, and it tumbled down and settled just below her shoulders.
His gaze darted to her face, then to her hair, then down to her chest. Well, he wouldn’t see anything there. She’d bound her breasts tightly.
“You’re not a footman,” he said.
His hands seemed to burn into her flesh through the layers of livery she wore. She was in his arms—sort of—and she knew this would never happen again.
She did the one thing she’d been wanting to do for two years. She leaned close to him and kissed him.
He hadn’t been expecting this, and he went completely rigid with shock. Tamsin didn’t care. She pressed her lips on his then ended with a lick to taste him and a gentle bite to see if his lips were as soft as she’d always imagined.
He thrust her back. “What the devil?”
“Let me go.” She tried to push past him, but he blocked the window and grabbed her upper arms. She tried not to sigh with pleasure. He was touching her again.
“Don’t kiss me again,” he warned her. “Tell me what you are doing here. Give me one reason not to call out and bring half the ball in here.”
Tamsin could think of three reasons, but she wasn’t about to reveal anything about herself.
She didn’t trust anyone—not even a man who’d shown her a moment’s kindness.
She’d have to play on his emotions, and it wasn’t difficult to allow her eyes to well with tears.
She sniffed. “Don’t call out, sir,” she said in her most whiny, pathetic tone.
“Please. My father was hired for this position tonight, but he injured his leg.” Tamsin had no idea how she’d conjured this story, but she could see from the way the red-haired man’s jaw relaxed, it was working.
“We needed the money. I have a mother who is ill and four younger sisters who are hungry. If we weren’t desperate for medicines, I would never have taken my father’s place.
But I don’t want my mother to die, sir.”
“I’m sorry about your situation.” He truly was. She could see the concern in his eyes. Tamsin almost felt sorry for lying to him.
“But,” he continued, “if you leave through the window in the middle of the ball, how will you be paid?”
That was a good point.
“I—I received word that my sister’s illness is worse. I need to go home to her straightaway. I didn’t want to have to answer questions from the butler,” she said. “Please let me pass, sir.”
He blew out a breath that smelled faintly of cinnamon. Do not kiss him again.
“Very well.” He moved aside, and she would have darted through the window that instant, but she saw him reach into his coat.
She watched his fingers slide into the small pocket of his silk waistcoat.
He held out his hands, coins in his palm.
“Here’s a few shillings toward the medicine for—” His head jerked up.
Uh-oh! Tamsin didn’t wait. She swiped the coins and went for the window.
He grabbed for her, but this time she was quicker.
She jumped through the open window, both feet landing on the gravel below with a thud.
She should have run immediately, but she couldn’t help but look up at the window. He was peering down at her.
“You said before that your mother was ill!”
“Thank you for the coins, sir!” she called up to him and started away. Just a few steps and she’d be in the shadows and safely out of sight.
“Miss, was any of it true?” the man called.
She looked over her shoulder. “Yes. I am desperate,” she said.
And then she let the darkness envelop her.