Chapter One #3
She gestured to the decanter. “Would you like to celebrate your success with a glass of madeira? It’s Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s finest. She doesn’t bestow it on just anyone, but I asked her to let me have it tonight. For you.”
“Do you say that to all the—” He broke off and nodded.
She poured a glass and handed it to him. He took it, trembling, and his breath hitched as their fingers touched. Then he met her gaze.
“Forgive me, Dahlia,” he said. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier. It’s just that I wish you were—”
“Hush, my sweet James,” she said. “Don’t say anything you might come to regret.”
He took a sip from his glass, then stared at the liquid for a moment before draining it in a single gulp.
“I love you,” he said, wiping his mouth. “There! I’ve said it, and it cannot be unsaid.”
And I love you also.
She closed her eyes to silence the voice in her head.
“Will you not tell me what’s in your heart?” he said.
She reached for the decanter and refilled his glass. “I will always speak the truth to you, James,” she said quietly. “Therefore, some things must remain unsaid.”
“W-would you not at least take off your mask?” he said, gesturing to her. “And—that wig?”
She shook her head. “That is something I can never do.”
“Why?”
“Because when a man shares a woman’s bed, the only face he ought to see is that of his wife—either because she is before him, or because he is thinking of her while bedding another.”
“What husband would bed another woman?” he said.
Her heart ached at his tone of indignation. Was he so na?ve that he didn’t understand that most men of his class broke faith with their wives? Or was he expressing his disgust at those who did?
The young woman who secured his hand would, indeed, be the most fortunate woman in the world.
He drained the second glass, then glanced at the door.
“I ought to be going. I-I have a dinner party to attend,” he said. “Do I look appropriate?”
“You look perfect.”
He smiled, then took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “May I see you again?”
“Of course,” she said. “Speak to Hermia, as usual.”
“No…” He lowered his gaze, the shyness returning. “I-I meant, may I share your bed the next time I see you?”
Sweet heaven, no! Her soul could not withstand another assault.
But the promise of pleasure at the hands of a man with whom you’ve fallen in love…
A whimper escaped her lips as she tried to silence the wicked little voice in her head. Then she forced a smile and nodded.
“I shall look forward to it, James.”
His face illuminated with joy and he almost bounded to the door. He turned at the threshold and blew her a kiss.
“Until next time, my love.”
After he left, Cordelia took the decanter in her hands and lifted it to her lips. Mrs. Dove-Lyon would deduct the cost from her earnings, but it was money well spent if it dulled her pain.
But would it? The relief from oblivion fueled by liquor was only temporary. The heartache would return in force in the morning, together with an aching head.
With a sigh, she stoppered the decanter, placed it on the tray, and rang the bell over the fireplace. Moments later, Hermia appeared.
“He’s finished already?” she said with a chuckle. “Was he any good? Aufidius and Coriolanus were considering entering into a wager, to—” She broke off and placed a hand on Cordelia’s arm. “Cordelia, is something the matter?”
“Hermia, perhaps you’d be so kind as to dispose of those flowers,” Cordelia said. “Isidore might like them. I don’t think they’ll…” She trailed off, her throat aching, and hot tears stung her eyes.
“Oh, my dear friend!” Hermia cried. “Is it as I feared? Please, tell me it’s not.”
“I-I cannot tell you that, much as I’d wish to,” Cordelia said. She pulled off her wig and tossed it onto the floor. Then she lowered her mask and wiped her eyes. “I tried so hard, b-but I just couldn’t. I…” A sob escaped her lips and tears rolled down her cheeks, dripping onto her dressing gown.
She drew in a shuddering breath and two warm arms drew her into a soft embrace.
“Cordelia, my sweet friend, you know what this means.”
“N-no. I can fight it, Hermia. I-it will pass.”
“Not when you’ve experienced true pleasure for the first time,” Hermia said. “You must speak to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. She’ll know what to do.”
“I-I cannot. She’ll think I’ve failed her.”
“She’ll think no such thing,” Hermia said.
“You always knew there was a chance that this day would come. Now, dry your eyes and go to your bedchamber, and I’ll bring you a cup of hot chocolate.
Bessie Dove-Lyon’s a friend as well as an employer.
And you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life in the Lyon’s Den, did you?
Bessie will make sure of your future, and she’ll give you time to prepare yourself for it. ”
Cordelia nodded. Bessie Dove-Lyon was the closest she had to a mother. She was right, in all things, and she had one unbreakable rule for the women who worked in her establishment.
And that rule dictated that when a doxy in the Lyon’s Den fell in love with a client, it was time to leave.