by Amanda Quick
She knew better than that. A wealthy gentleman might occasionally amuse himself with a street whore, but he would never choose one for his mistress. Mistresses were expensive. When a man spent money on a woman, he expected her to be as fashionable as his carriage or his club: an actress, perhaps, or one of the refined, educated, respectable ladies of the middle or even upper classes who, owing to a bankruptcy or the death of a husband, was forced to sell herself. And as for those silly girls who hoped that such a gentleman might actually marry them, well, they were simply deluded fools.
No, her dreams were of a far more practical nature. She had a talent for making lovely hats. Give her a few hours, and she could create a bonnet out of discarded scraps of fabric and a few cheap artificial flowers that would stand comparison with the finest creations in the windows of the most exclusive milliner shops.
Absently she touched the broad brim of her new green felt hat. She had finished it yesterday. The ostrich feather tucked into the green ribbon band was real. She had found it on the street in front of a theater earlier that week. It had evidently fallen off a lady’s evening toque. It had proved to be the perfect finishing touch for the green felt.
One day she was going to disappear forever from the streets. She was saving every penny so that she would be able to rent a small shop and set herself up in business. None of her fashionable clients would ever know that she had once been obliged to make her living as a prostitute.
She stopped beneath the street lamp and glanced ever so casually toward the mouth of the alley. The silhouette of the elegant stranger was not much more than a shadow, but she could tell that he was still there. Apparently he was one of those nervous gentlemen who had to work up his courage to approach a girl.
She started walking slowly toward him, watching him from beneath the tilted brim of the green felt hat. She didn’t want to frighten him off. There were not a lot of high-class clients like him about in this part of town, not on a foggy night like this.
“Good evening, sir,” she said. “Would you be interested in a bit of sport tonight?”
The shadow drifted out of the alley and came toward her. As he drew closer she saw that he moved very gracefully for a man. His long, pacing strides made her think of a big cat.
“It’s cold and damp out here,” she said in her most inviting tones. “Why don’t you come upstairs to my room? I’ll soon have you warm.”
The man moved at last into the circle of glary light cast by the street lamp. She could see now that she was right in her estimation of him. His clothes looked expensive. So did the walking stick he carried. In addition he was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. The neatly trimmed hair that showed beneath his hat was palest gold.
“I would be delighted to accept your invitation, Annie,” he said, smiling a little.
That stopped her cold. “How do you know my name?”
“I’ve been watching you for a while. I heard one of your friends call you Annie.”
He was very close now, no more than a few steps away. For some reason a shiver of dread went through her. Like someone walked across my grave. She hesitated. She’d experienced these sensations with clients occasionally in the past. Generally speaking, she paid attention to such inexplicable feelings and turned down the business. A girl had to be careful these days, what with all the rumors about the fiend they called the Midnight Monster.
But in this case there seemed to be no logical foundation for the little chills. The elegant gentleman looked like an angel, a clean angel. More to the point, he looked like the type who would be happy to tip extra for special services.
“I’ve noticed you hanging about on this street a time or two during the past week,” she said lightly. “I’m glad you spoke to me tonight.”
To her surprise, that annoyed him.
“You did not see me until tonight,” he said, his voice roughening with anger. “Your imagination is playing tricks on you.”
The last thing she wanted to do was lose such a fine client over a nonsensical argument.
“I’m sure you’re right, sir,” she said, smiling coyly at him from beneath the brim of her hat. “After all, you’re the sort of gentleman a girl dreams about on a night like this. So handsome and elegant.”
He relaxed and smiled again. “I look forward to visiting your room, Annie.”
Another icy finger touched her spine. She ignored it with an effort of will.
“It’s above the tavern, sir,” she said.
He nodded, looking toward the alley where he had loitered earlier. “I expect there’s an entrance around back.”
“No need to go in through the kitchens,” she assured him. “I have an arrangement with the proprietor. Jed doesn’t mind me taking my visitors through the main entrance.”
In exchange for the occasional free tumble and a small cut of her profits, Jed rented her a room above the tavern. As a rule, she brought her customers in through the front door, but if they were shy, she used the kitchen entrance. Either way, Jed got a look at the men she took upstairs. If one caused trouble or became violent, she signaled him by kicking the wall a few times. He always came to the rescue.
“If we cannot go to your room unseen, I must decline your kind invitation,” the elegant man said regretfully. “I am presently courting a wealthy young lady whose papa would reject my offer out of hand if word got around that I had been seen with a girl in your profession.”
That explained his shyness, she thought. Courtship and marriage were a serious business for gentlemen of his class. A lot of money was no doubt at stake. He would not want to risk losing an heiress bride just for the sake of a quick tumble with a whore. A man in his delicate position had to be cautious, at least until after the wedding.
“I understand, sir,” she said. “Very well, then, we’ll go through the alley and around to the kitchens. No one will notice you with me.”
“Thank you, Annie.” He smiled his angelic smile. “I knew the first time I saw you that you were just the girl I’ve been looking for.”
19
THE ATMOSPHERE INSIDE the conservatory had grown colder in the past few minutes. His front half was pleasantly warm and comfortable because he was sprawled on top of Leona, but Thaddeus was aware of a definite chill on his backside.
Reluctantly, he untangled himself and rolled to his feet. A narrow shaft of moonlight crossed Leona’s face when she sat up on the sheet of canvas. There was something new in her expression, something that made him uneasy. He reached down to assist her to her feet.
“Are you all right?” he asked, letting his palms glide over the satin-smooth skin of her bare shoulders and soft upper arms. He had been well and truly satisfied, he reflected. Indeed, the experience had been unlike any other encounter he’d ever had. So how did it come to pass that the hunger was unfurling inside him again so soon?
“Yes, of course I’m all right.” She fumbled briefly with her hair and then abruptly turned away to pick up her chemise. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He watched her for a moment, uncertain of her strange mood. “Perhaps because you have never before had a lover?”
She got the chemise on and scrambled to pull the white petticoat up over her hips. “Nonsense. I had a lover. I told you, I was engaged for a time.”
He captured her face between his hands. “Yes, you did make it clear that, what with your work with crystals and your unfortunate affair of the heart, you were no innocent. But it seems I took your words a little too literally.”
She stepped back, smiling coolly. “As you said a short time ago, it hardly signifies.”
“No, I did not say that. I said it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. There’s a difference.”
She concentrated very hard on getting into her gown. “Really, sir, are all men so chatty after this sort of thing?”
“I can’t speak for other men.” He grabbed his trousers off the workbench. “But as for myself, no, I’m not usually this inclined toward a lot of con
versation.” He got the trousers on and fastened and scooped up his shirt. “But this was all new to me, too. You’re not the only innocent here.”
She paused in the act of fastening the hooks of her gown. “I beg your pardon?”
“Trust me when I tell you that what happened between us tonight was not typical of the experience.”
She watched him, her eyes deep and—he could think of no other word for it—haunted.
“The energy,” she whispered. “You felt it, too?”
He smiled, relaxing a little now that he knew what was bothering her. “It would have been impossible to avoid feeling it.”
“But what was it? What happened between us?”
“Damned if I know.” He pulled on his shirt, too relaxed and satisfied to worry about her bewilderment. The aura that had enveloped them a short time ago had felt very, very good. He saw no reason to question it. “Probably a variation on what happened to us the other night when the currents of our energy collided in that aurora stone.”
“Yes, there was something familiar about it,” she said, still very serious. “But Thaddeus, I have worked crystals many, many times, including the aurora stone when I was young. I must tell you that I have never experienced anything like the sensations that were generated tonight.”
He searched for his tie, quite certain that it had landed somewhere on the workbench. “The fact that they were unique does not seem to me to be a great cause for concern. This is not the first time I have heard that when two people of power engage in an act of passion, an unusual kind of energy is generated between them.”
“I have never heard that.”
He hid a smile. “There have always been those in the Arcane Society who have maintained that various types of links can be forged between two people, especially if both parties possess a significant degree of talent.”
“Such links are common?” she asked, even more uneasy now.
“No. They are brought into existence by some strong emotion or dramatic event that resonates with both individuals.”
“Can any type of strong emotion produce those sorts of links?”
He shrugged. “Theoretically, I imagine. But in reality only the strongest emotions, such as passion, are capable of generating enough power to effect a bond.”
“Passion.” She repeated the word as though she had never heard it before in her life. “That is usually a very temporary condition, is it not?”
A temporary condition? Was that how she expected this bond between them to be? His good mood vanished in a heartbeat. He forced himself to speak in the calm, unemotional tones of a scientific lecturer.
“Passion can certainly be transient,” he agreed. “Or it can become very powerful.”
She frowned. “Like an obsession?”
He slung the tie around his neck and knotted it with quick, practiced hands. “Or it can grow into love.” He waited a few seconds but she did not respond. “Tell me about your previous lover.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Why do you want to know about him?”
“I suppose because I am curious about you.”
“Oh.” She digested that briefly while she pinned her hair. “Well, his name was William Trover. I met him when he came to me as a client in Little Tickton. His father is a wealthy investor.”
“Why did Trover seek out your services?”
“He suffered from dreams that made him extremely anxious.”
He reached for his trousers. “What sort of dreams?”
“They involved his father. In William’s dreams he always found himself in situations where he was desperately trying to please his parent. He invariably failed.”
“I think I can hazard a guess as to why matters between you and young Trover did not end well.”
“Yes, I’m sure you can.” She finished with her hair and shook out her skirts. “When William’s father found out that his only son and heir had become secretly engaged to one of those fraudulent practitionersof psychical nonsense, he ordered William to terminate the association immediately and forbade him to see me again.”
“And young William, naturally, obeyed his father.”
“It was not as if he had a choice. Mr. Trover threatened to cut him off entirely.” She sighed. “Under normal circumstances, it would not have been the end of the world. It was not public knowledge that William and I had formed an attachment. Ending the engagement, therefore, should not have created a scandal, as is generally the case.”
A respectable woman’s reputation could be ruined by a broken engagement, he reflected. Such a situation was never viewed as less than a great humiliation. There was always gossip and speculation concerning the reasons why the gentleman had felt obliged to reject the lady. Had he discovered that her moral standards were not of the highest order? Or—horror of horrors—had she misrepresented her financial status?
“What went wrong?” he asked quietly.
“I suppose I should have known things would not go smoothly, but I was in love, you see. And William loved me.”
“You allowed yourself to be guided by your natural optimism and forceful nature.”
“I suppose so,” she admitted. “In any event, William came to see me for the last time. We said our farewells. But William’s father was evidently concerned that his son might weaken and decide to defy him. So he took steps to ensure that would not happen.”
“He destroyed you and your business.”
“Trover put it about that I was little more than a common prostitute who engaged in sex with her male clients.” She wrinkled her nose. “I will say that business was brisk for a few days in the wake of the gossip. There was a great influx of new clients.”
“All male, I’ll wager.”
“Yes. But very shortly the gentlemen’s wives heard the rumors, and my business fell off quite dramatically. It was a small town. I could not even walk down the street without being subjected to the most outrageous remarks. I had no choice but to pack my bags and move to London.”
He regarded her for a long moment, thinking of the fierce currents of passionate energy that had electrified the atmosphere in the conservatory. Even now his senses still resonated with the echoes of the exhilarating storm.
He knew what it all meant, even if she did not. His parents shared such a bond. It was rumored that the Master of the Society shared a similar connection with his new bride. But his intuition warned him that Leona was not yet ready to deal with the reality of what had just happened. She did not yet fully comprehend. She needed time to adjust to their new association, time to realize that they were now irrevocably bound together.
“Both Trovers, the elder and the younger, deserve to be horse-whipped,” he said. “But I must admit, I am very glad that you found your way to London.”
He drew her back into his arms. The fragrant night closed in around them. He unfastened the hooks of her gown for the second time that night.
SOME TIME LATER they made their way back into the house. Fog was waiting for them, curled up in front of the kitchen door. He rose and trotted into the back hall with them.
Leona dreaded encountering Victoria again. She was certain that she was blushing from head to toe and quite disheveled. Mercifully, it appeared that the older woman had not returned downstairs.
The lights were turned down very low, and the house seemed unnaturally quiet. It struck her as a little odd that all of the servants had retired ahead of their master and his guest, but she was too distracted to pay much attention to that small detail.
Thaddeus kissed her good night with lazy satisfaction at the foot of the stairs.
“Dream of me,” he said softly. “Because I’m going to be dreaming of you.” He gave her a slow, intimate smile. “Assuming I sleep at all, that is.”
She felt herself grow hot all over again and was grateful for the low light. She reminded herself that she was a woman of the world now and should not be flummoxed by a gentleman’s seductive talk.
“In my expe
rience, one cannot place an order for a dream the way one would order buttered eggs at breakfast,” she said. “And oddly enough, dreams are rarely of a pleasant nature. Indeed, it is astonishing how many dreams contain not only a bizarre quality but a measure of anxiety and unease as well. In fact, I have often wondered—”
He silenced her with a quick, ruthless kiss. When he raised his head she knew that he was laughing at her, albeit silently. He drew his thumb along the underside of her jaw, sending little shivers through her.
“Dream of me,” he ordered in his spell-casting mesmeric voice.
The words scattered her senses to the four winds. It was all she could do not to throw herself on him and drag him down onto the floor.
Evidently satisfied, he stepped back.
“Good night,” he repeated.
She whirled and fled up the stairs, Fog at her heels. At the landing she stopped and turned around. Thaddeus was still standing in the shadows at the foot of the staircase, one hand resting on the curved newel post. He smiled—an intimate, knowing smile that stole her breath. Then, he turned and walked off toward the library.
She tiptoed quickly toward her own room at the end of the hall. Fog prowled behind her. She got a nervous jolt when she noticed that the light was still on beneath Victoria’s door. She hurried past, half expecting Victoria to yank open the door and administer a lecture on the low morals of crystal readers.
Victoria’s door stayed firmly shut.
The silence of the household weighed heavily on Leona. Something was not right. An ominous sensation came over her. Just how late was it?
She paused beneath a wall sconce and examined the chatelaine watch attached to the waist of her skirt. Two o’clock in the morning.
She stifled a little shriek of horror. No wonder everyone else was asleep. She and Thaddeus had been out in the conservatory for hours. How could they have lost all track of time like that? Victoria and every member of the staff must have known that they had not spent half the night admiring rare plants.