Boudreaux’s Lady

by Smith, Lauren

  “Mr. Boudreaux will see this fine gown and he will see that the wearer is even finer,” Jessica said with a satisfied smile. “But we won’t let him see just yet. Let’s put you back in that dark green gown while we complete your wardrobe.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Philippa left the changing room. Beau was leaning back against the wall, a trio of young ladies in the corner opposite him whispering and giggling. Beau watched them with an amused smile on his lips, but he made no move to speak with them.

  Jealousy prickled at her and she shot the three woman a glare before walking to Beau. His focus shifted to her and the lazy amusement vanished. His mouth parted and he pushed away from the wall, his mouth wide open. Beau met her halfway in the center of the shop.

  “Well now, Jess has done a fantastic job.” He raised her chin, examining her face. Then his eyes swept down her body and Philippa’s womb clenched as she recognized his clear interest as he studied her. “Fantastic job,” he repeated.

  You are safe with him, she reminded herself. But she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps she didn’t want to be safe with him. Some risks might be worth it.

  “We had quite a bit of success with our ready-made gowns,” Jessica said. “I have her measurements and would be happy to compile a wardrobe now if you would like to peruse some of the fashion plates?”

  Beau finally released Philippa’s chin. “Yes, thank you.”

  Jessica shooed the trio of giggling girls the way one might scatter pigeons in the park. They fluttered off with renewed giggles and whispers, only to regroup near the display of kid gloves. Jessica opened several books on the table for Beau and Philippa to examine.

  “Word will be out across London about Miss Wilson before dinner,” Jessica warned Beau, casting a glower at the young ladies.

  “I expect so.” He seemed unbothered by it, which calmed Philippa a little. After all, it was the plan, wasn’t it? Beau pulled a magazine of fashion plates over to her. “Philippa, look over these gowns.”

  “I honestly don’t know what I need,” she admitted. “I trust you to order the necessary things.”

  Beau frowned. “You should try to enjoy this. Most ladies do.” His brown eyes, so rich in color, like honeyed ochre, distracted her from replying right away.

  “Mr. Boudreaux… May I purchase a new gown for Mrs. Craddock? I will reimburse you for the cost.” That mattered more to her, returning the innkeeper’s wife’s gown and sending a gift along with it since the innkeeper and his wife had been so helpful. Beau’s expression softened and he smiled again, the fine lines around his eyes showing her he smiled often.

  “That is an excellent idea. Jess, please use the measurements from the gown Philippa brought in to make a new gown. A lovely day gown will do. Have it sent to this address with the old gown.” Beau took a sheet of paper and pencil and scribbled down the Craddocks’ address.

  “I’ll see it done. Miss Wilson, why don’t you look at some gloves and boots? Mr. Boudreaux and I shall see to your wardrobe.”

  Relieved, Philippa abandoned the stacks of magazines. All the colors, fabrics and cuts made a painful pulse beat behind her eyes. She wandered about the shop, examining the fine feathered fans, running her fingers over the silky gray ostrich feathers.

  After a moment she realized the three girls had come closer, creeping toward her as she looked about the shop.

  “Excuse me,” one of the girls asked. She was taller than the others with pale blonde hair and blue eyes. A fair beauty. Her two companions were just as pretty.

  “Yes?” Philippa replied.

  “Are you Mr. Boudreaux’s mistress?”

  “Pardon?” Philippa gasped. “I most certainly am not.” Philippa could not believe the girl had asked her that. It was beyond the bounds of propriety to ask such a thing.

  “I meant no offense!” The girl’s guileless eyes were far too wide and innocent to be genuine.

  “But, if you aren’t his mistress…” One girl asked in a hushed whisper. “Then why are you here alone with him while he buys you a wardrobe?”

  Philippa frowned at the girl as she remembered the details of her story.

  “I am his new ward. My father recently passed, and I had no other living relatives, so I was sent to live with Mr. Boudreaux for a year.”

  “You must be too old to debut,” the third girl said. “Between Mr. Boudreaux as your chaperone and your age, I’m afraid you don’t stand a chance.”

  “Chance of what?” Philippa demanded.

  “Finding a husband, of course.” The first girl laughed. “What else can we mean?”

  “Oh, I have no desire to marry,” Philippa replied much to the horror of the other ladies.

  “But… That’s…” One of the girls stammered. She looked so baffled that Philippa almost laughed.

  “What else is there? Marriage is essential,” another of the girls replied. All three of them seemed quite mystified.

  “She must be coming into a great inheritance,” one whispered to the others.

  “No, I am not, but marriage is far from the only option for a lady,” Philippa said with an unexpected burst of confidence. “There’s quite a bit out there for women, if one knows where to look. I think I might travel to the Americas, or perhaps to the West Indies. Maybe I shall join a pirate crew.” By the looks of the astonishment on their faces she knew she’d gone too far in her teasing.

  “Ladies, we should leave. It isn’t suitable to be associating with someone so…” The girl in charge didn’t bother to finish. The three of them paraded past her, noses in the air as if they couldn’t bear the sight of her.

  Beau and Jessica saw them leave and rejoined her.

  “Chase the chits away, eh?” Beau teased.

  “I suppose I did.” She was a little embarrassed now. That was not how she should have conversed with them. It might reflect badly upon Beau.

  “What on earth did you say to them? I should like to know if or when I wished to be free of their giggling nonsense.”

  “I…” Philippa didn’t want to repeat what she had said.

  “Come now, you can tell me.” Beau’s warm honey brown eyes tempted her.

  “Oh, if you must know I told them I never wish to marry and that I wanted to run away to the Caribbean and join a pirate crew. I don’t think they liked that idea at all.”

  Beau laughed and the smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes made her body hum with feminine awareness.

  “A pirate crew? Heavens, you are a delight,” he murmured before he turned to Jessica. “Please have everything packed and delivered to my townhouse in a few hours.”

  “Of course, Mr. Boudreaux.” Jessica gave her a friendly wink. Philippa wasn’t sure what to make of the modiste’s friendliness. She’d expected the woman to be displeased at fitting gowns for a mere maid, but then, Jessica didn’t know she was a maid. Perhaps that was it.

  “Well, we’ve done enough for today.” Beau put his top hat on. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Philippa nodded, eager to leave the street all the shops.

  “Let me take you home then.”

  He escorted her to the coach and helped her inside. She wondered what danger still lay in store for them. The charade had only just begun, and as much as she trusted Lord Lennox, she’d been hurt twice now. Frankly, she saw no way any man could keep her safe.

  Chapter 8

  Beau escorted his exhausted charge up the steps of his townhouse on Pall Mall. He glanced about casually as he did so, checking for any coaches lingering nearby or men watching from the corners of mews, but it was too early for that. He suspected it would take at least a day for word to spread, and for Monmouth’s suspicions to be raised.

  Pall Mall was composed of stately aristocratic dwellings, but if one journeyed east they would soon stumble into the slums of London. The impoverished were an ever present specter haunting the edges of the privileged sections of the city. Most of the ton pretended not to notice, but Beau did, and when possible, he o
ffered coin to the hungry families he came across.

  “Welcome back, sir.” His butler, Rees Stoddard, shared a warm smile as he accepted Beau’s hat.

  “Thank you, Stoddard. Is Mrs. Gronow here? I must speak with you both.”

  Stoddard, a tall thin man in his forties, nodded. “I will bring her to your study.”

  “Yes, that would be good. Oh, and Stoddard, this is Miss Wilson.”

  “Miss.” Stoddard bowed and then disappeared in the direction of the servants’ stairs.

  “What should I do?” Philippa asked. Every syllable she spoke was tinged with weariness.

  “Stay with me for now. Once I’ve spoken to the staff, I’ll have you shown to your chambers.” He offered her his arm and she leaned a little more heavily on it as he escorted her up to his study.

  She pointed at the dark blue velvet settee in one corner of the room. “May I sit?”

  “Of course. Remember, you are a lady as long as you are here. You need never ask such things. You may send to the kitchens for food and drink at any time and you may have a bath prepared at your leisure.”

  “Thank you, Beau.” She yawned and nearly collapsed into the small couch.

  He sat at his desk and reviewed a few letters Stoddard had laid out for him. There was a soft knock on the door and his butler and housekeeper entered.

  “Sir,” Stoddard greeted. Beside him, Mrs. Gronow, a woman in her fifties, stood waiting for his orders. The pair had been running Beau’s household since he was of age. He knew he could trust them. He nodded for Stoddard to close the door to give them privacy.

  “You know that I have no care for silly cloak and dagger nonsense, but it seems we have found ourselves in the midst of such a situation anyway.”

  “Oh?” Stoddard’s eyes never left Beau’s face, but he clearly knew their new guest was central to what he was talking about.

  Beau gestured to Philippa. “This is Miss Philippa Wilson. Her parents own a textile shop on Bond Street and she’s an upstairs maid to Lord Lennox.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Philippa bowed her head respectfully. It was a measure of his butler and housekeeper’s respect that they waited for him to continue his explanation without exchanging glances of concern.

  “For reasons unknown, Miss Wilson was accosted at Lennox’s home. A few days later, she was abducted by another man outside of Berkeley’s Club. I was there at the time and was able to rescue her. But the reason behind these attacks remain a mystery. Lord Lennox and I decided it was in Miss Wilson’s best interest for her to come home with me. She will pose as my ward, Philippa Wilson, a young woman from the country. We will say her father died, and she was sent to me to be looked after for the next year until she turns twenty-one.”

  “I see.” Mrs. Gronow smoothed her hair back primly as she looked at Philippa more closely, though not unkindly. “She’ll need a new wardrobe if she doesn’t have one already.”

  “Already taken care of. Most of the dresses will arrive this afternoon.”

  “Louisa will suit you as a lady’s maid, I think.” Mrs. Gronow added to Philippa.

  “Good, good,” Beau replied. “Now, only you two will be entrusted with who she really is. Tell the rest of the staff only that she is my ward. I must ask you both to be cautious. Share nothing with the others in the house unless you know that they can be trusted. Ms. Wilson’s life will be in danger until we discover why she’s being targeted.”

  “Sir, if I may ask, who were the men who perpetuated the earlier attacks?” Stoddard asked.

  “The Earl of Monmouth and Viscount Sommers. From what I’ve learned, Sommers was engaged by Monmouth to abduct and murder her after Monmouth’s attempt failed.”

  “Good heavens!” Mrs. Gronow covered her mouth as she looked at Philippa. “Poor child. You must be in quite a state!”

  “Thank you. I’m fine though,” Philippa whispered, her face red with mortification. The bruising on her neck was still visible in faint, haunting, yellow strips and her jaw still had a reddish mark from where Sommers had struck her.

  “She’s quite tired,” Beau added. “She saved my life after Sommers shot me in the back.”

  “My word!” Stoddard exclaimed.

  “He saved me first!” Philippa added hastily over their gasps, as if her brave act was some sort of faux pas that had to be explained.

  “You’ve been shot?” Mrs. Gronow clutched her bosom. “We must send for a doctor.”

  Beau almost laughed but that would only have upset his housekeeper. “Now, now be at ease Mrs. Gronow. I have already been seen to. As I’m sure you can surmise, the wound was minor. You didn’t even notice when I returned.”

  Stoddard’s eyes sharpened. “Your shoulder?”

  “Yes. In the back, more precisely.” He shrugged out of his coat, wincing a little, though in truth he wanted to roar like a wounded bear. “See?” He moved the injured arm and his servants watched him with worry.

  “So…” Mrs. Gronow continued. “Miss Wilson is to remain here as your ward?”

  “Yes. I plan to introduce her to society. We need her visible and public, so that Monmouth and Sommers will have all their attention focused on her.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous, sir?” Stoddard inquired.

  “It is, but Lennox believes that being so public with her will in fact put them on guard. They will suspect it’s a trap, and yet have no choice but to keep an eye on her at all times. Still, the longer we play this game, the more likely they will risk taking action. If we have not learned Monmouth’s motives within a week, we may need to relocate her again for safety. Miss Wilson is never to be unaccompanied when she leaves this house.”

  “Of course, sir,” Stoddard replied and squared his shoulders.

  “Now, Miss Gronow, I think we should take Miss Wilson up to her new chambers.”

  “I would be happy to take her up myself, should you wish to rest yourself,” Mrs. Gronow replied.

  “No, that’s all right. I don’t mind. She is my guest, after all.”

  “Your ward, sir,” Stoddard reminded.

  “Quite right.” He came out from behind his desk and Philippa followed. As they climbed the stairs, he watched the way Philippa’s eyes widened as she saw Boudreaux Hall in all its glory. Many well-to-do young men had bachelor residences that served as quaint little places to sleep at night while they were out carousing in the town. But Beau was in his mid-thirties, well-settled and his taste in art and architecture were clearly defined.

  The admiration he saw upon Philippa’s face was gratifying. His architecture was Palladian with Corinthian columns of warm sand-colored Italian marble. Rather than tapestries, he had large paintings of ancient landscapes or scenes from Roman mythology in ornate gilded frames. Every piece here had meaning to him. Philippa looked his way, unspoken questions in her eyes. There would be time for that later.

  “Miss Wilson, this is your room. The master calls it the Leda room.” Mrs. Gronow opened the door and left them alone after Beau gave her a small nod.

  Philippa walked ahead of them into the feminine bedchamber. “The Leda room?”

  He had a rule never to bring mistresses here, but he couldn’t seem to live in a townhouse that did not have at least one feminine bed chamber prepared, in case he ever changed his mind.

  The bed was a four poster with lion paws at the feet of the four posts. The two chairs by the fireplace and the chaise at the foot of the bed all had distinctive lyre shapes in their chair backs and supports. All of the pieces were made of rosewood which blended elegantly with the heavy gilt on each piece of furniture. Above the headboard hung a large painting of a beautiful woman wearing a sheer pale blue tunic. A white swan was nestled against her, its head rested on her breasts, the bird’s eyes half closed as the woman stroked it snowy feathers.

  “Leda and the Swan.” Philippa spun to face him, her cheeks reddening. “That’s Zeus, yes?”

  “Yes.” Zeus was far from an admirable character, in Beau’s
opinion, but had to admit that the story of a god taking on such a vulnerable mortal form to be with the woman he craved was intriguing. No one ever thought about stories where gods made a sacrifice or took a risk for a mortal. There was a part of Beau that always wondered what it meant to be in love with a person so much that you would risk everything for them. The idea terrified him as much as it captivated him.

  “The painting is very pretty,” Philippa said.

  “You are familiar with the story?”

  “Yes. My mother read me mythology when I was a young girl. She insisted I should be schooled far above what she had been. She even had a tutor for some of the sciences and mathematics. I can’t imagine how she managed to afford those lessons.”

  “Parents can achieve amazing things when it’s done for their children,” he said.

  His mother had done everything in her power to see him raised happy and healthy, but she’d died when he was eighteen. If it hadn’t been for her and the Duke of St. Albans, he never would have become the man he was today.

  Philippa bit her bottom lip. Her dark hair was a loose tumble of waves down her shoulders. Beau reached up to brush the locks with the backs of his fingers. She shivered as she drew in a quick breath.

  He withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry.” But her eyes had met his and he saw no fear there, only desire. After everything that had happened to her, he hadn’t expected to her to respond to him that way. Yet the look in those lightning-silver colored eyes told him she was not like other women he’d known. She was fierce in her own way. Like a brave lioness.

  “No… It’s only that…” Philippa reached to touch her hair where his hand had been moments before.

  “Only what?” He pressed closer, wanting to know what this dark-maned lioness would say.

  “You. You make me feel so strange. Half dizzy, half excited. No man has ever made me feel that way. I confess I do not know what to do.”

  “You need not do anything. You are safe in this house and I have no expectations. You need only to”