“I don’t find you cowardly at all.” But he would like to take her on the railway. When he was younger, he’d find ways to slip onto a car without a ticket. He’d made a vow to himself that one day he’d own his own car and travel wherever he damned well pleased. That goal had come to pass, and his car came in useful as he was scouting out areas in smaller towns that he could develop. He was especially interested in building a hotel at the seaside. People had more leisure time, and they were interested in escaping London for short periods of time. A man of vision could capitalize on that.
They reached the landing, and he walked her around to the balcony that looked down on the lobby. Behind them were a series of doors.
“What are the rooms up here for?” she asked. “Sleeping?”
“Not in this section. They can be rented for meetings or leased as offices.”
“Have you an office here?”
“On the top floor. I have suites where I live, offices where I work.”
“That must make things convenient.”
“For now.” Eventually he would build a majestic manor on a large stretch of land where his wife would entertain and his children could run barefoot over cool green grass instead of dirty cobblestones. Although for the most part, he suspected they’d be wearing shoes because they would always have shoes that fit and clothes that were not handed down from an older sibling or discovered on a rubbish heap and mended to be made serviceable.
People, who held no titles but possessed full coffers, wandered by, nodded toward him. A few tossed out a comment: “Splendid!”, “Well done, old chap!” But he cared little for their praise, cared only what she thought. None were dressed as fancy as she; none were as elegant. All lacked her polish. She didn’t have to scream she was above them, didn’t have to do anything at all to proclaim her place in the world. She had been born into it, had worn it all her life. Yet, he suspected even if she’d been taken to Ettie Trewlove’s door, she’d have still grown up to reflect her origins.
“Who are all these people?” she asked softly.
“Some will be tenants in the residences we will soon begin to build. Others will lease the shops. A few are friends, a couple I grew up with. Then there are lawyers, bankers, railway owners.”
“Do you invest in railways?”
“No, but it’s helpful to know where they are going to be built. A railway in the area increases the number of travelers who will be passing by the shops or who might require lodging for a night or two.”
“I’m impressed. A great deal of thought goes into what you do.”
“I like the challenge of it, figuring out how to maximize profits.”
She was studying his face closely, too closely. He knew his best course was to look away, to distract her, but he enjoyed cataloging her features, imagining his lips trailing along the edge where cloth failed to cover skin. He wanted to discover one freckle, one tiny freckle, to know the sun had kissed her where he longed to. It was torturous being in her company, not being allowed to touch, knowing he should never possess. He should send her on her way, ensure she wasn’t in his presence. Never before had he ever been so weak-willed. He was a man of strength, and yet he thought for her he’d go to his knees.
“How did you come to build your empire?” she asked.
“It’s hardly an empire.”
She leaned toward him slightly. “My goodness, are you blushing?”
“Absolutely not.” He was horrified with the thought. If there was any color rising in his face at all, it was because her nearness caused cool air to abandon him as he pondered capturing those luscious pink lips, devouring that sultry mouth, knowing her taste—
“I think you are. You’re modest.”
“Hardly. Modesty does not serve a man well when he needs his accomplishments known in order to garner the trust of those with the means to help him up the ladder.”
“I can’t imagine you needing much help. Tell me how you came to be where you are.”
Your guardian cast me aside. “I worked as a dustbin boy, gathering up soot from houses.”
“Like a chimney sweep?”
“Not exactly, although I worked for one for a while until I got too big to scurry up the chimneys.” He was certain she didn’t know the particulars of how residences were kept spotless. “Between occasions when one has the chimney cleaned by a sweep, something must be done with the soot and ash that collects on the hearth. It’s placed in metal pails, set outside for bin boys to pick up. We’d sell it to brick-makers who use it in the making of bricks.”
“I had no idea.”
“Why should you need to know all that goes into keeping you comfortable?”
“I don’t know, and yet it seems I should. You can’t have made much money doing that.”
“No, but I began to think, why sell the soot and ash when I could use it to make my own bricks? I saved up until I could purchase a factory. I was eighteen. I earned more money selling the bricks to bricklayers and builders. From there, I decided why sell the bricks when I could use them to build homes or shops?”
Her eyes widened slightly. “The bricks in this building, they’re yours?”
“They come from my factory. It will provide all the bricks for all the buildings in this area.”
“What a remarkable achievement.”
Until that moment he’d never thought of it that way. It had all been what he’d needed to do in order to get ahead in the world. She made him feel as though his clothes were too tight. Why did she have to do that? Why did she have to make him feel as though he were extraordinary? Her admiration would make the seduction easier, only he didn’t want easier. He wanted to earn the privilege of having her in his bed.
Damnation! What an odd thought. What did it matter how she got there? It only mattered that she did, that she would be denied the duke’s heir, and instead be saddled with the duke’s bastard. That the duke would recognize his failings to see after his ward just as he’d failed his illegitimate son. That every aspect of the duke’s legacy—his heir, his ward, his titles, his estates, his wealth, his position, his respect—could be brought to ruin by one man, the one he’d treated shabbily, failed to recognize.
“I’ve kept you from your other guests, Mr. Trewlove.”
Her voice brought his wandering thoughts back to the task at hand. “Call me Mick.”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“Do you always do what’s appropriate?”
“I try. I think I should like to see the ballroom.”
“I’ll escort you there.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I insist.” Once more he offered his arm. Once more, she took it. He imagined her hand on his arm when he was an old man. Was it possible that she could come to love him, that she would stay with him when she learned the truth? The notion taunted and teased, made him wonder if she could see him as good enough when no one else in Society would.
“Are your brothers partners in your business?” she asked.
“They have shares in it. But they have achieved success in their own rights with their own ventures.”
They began descending the stairs. “They look to be near you in age.”
“They are. Only a few months separate us.”
“How can that be?”
“Our mum, Ettie Trewlove, did not give birth to us. She merely took us in.” He shook his head. “I should not say merely. It was a burden for her, but she managed.”
“Where is she now?”
“The rundown place where we grew up. I would provide her with suites here, but she has no desire to leave behind what she knows.”
“I think most of us find it difficult to venture beyond what we know, what we are comfortable with. I know I’m not nearly as daring as I wish I were.”
“Is that the reason yo
u’re marrying Kipwick? Because you’re comfortable with him?”
He wanted to bite his tongue. Her reason for marrying the earl had no bearing on the matter, and yet it seemed significant to know that she hadn’t given her heart to the man.
“I love him. I have since I was a little girl.”
There was no passion in her words, no conviction. “A girl’s love is not the same as a woman’s.”
“Is that the voice of experience talking?” she asked curtly as they reached the lobby. “Have you had a girl’s love and a woman’s in order to compare the two?”
“I have known girls and I have known women. Their passions are very different. A girl may desire a doll or a puppy. A woman’s desires have more consequences, are more passionate, more . . . let’s just say they’re likely to keep her tossing and turning through the night.” He escorted her into the ballroom, took satisfaction in her surprised gasp.
Mirrors ran up one of the walls, while red and gold brocade wallpaper lined the other two. At the far end, windows and glass doors gave a view of the outside. While gaslights illuminated the intricate gardens, he would like for her to see them in full daylight. They were small but intimate, not designed for lengthy strolls but for taking tea in the afternoon or relaxing with a book, a book that might very well be purchased in Fancy’s shop.
In a gilded balcony, an orchestra played. Tittlefitz had outdone himself, ensuring flowers and plants lined the edges of the floor, but allowing enough room for small sitting areas here and there. Footmen walked the outskirts, offering food and beverages.
“It’s gorgeous,” she said.
Not as gorgeous as you hung on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice the words, no matter how sincerely he felt them. A time would come when she might view his words from the perspective of betrayal, and she’d think he’d lied. Yet seeing the delight mirrored on her face made him want to do all in his power to bring enchantment her way. “I hired a man with an eye toward creating beauty.”
“I might have to get his name from you when I begin setting up my own household.”
For the residence where she would live with Kipwick, where he would come to her bed. Would she quiver in his arms, whisper naughty things in his ear? The jealousy that surged through him took him off guard. “Your betrothed doesn’t seem to have left the card room yet. Would you honor me with a dance?”
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head at the question. Anger riffled through him because she would think him too crass, too beneath her for so much as a waltz.
“Since your brothers don’t dance, I assumed you didn’t, either.”
His anger dissipated like fog before sunlight. Perhaps he was too sensitive about his origins. “It would be dangerous to assume anything about me.”
She gave him an impish grin, her smile hitching up slightly higher on one side. Another imperfection that made her the most intriguing woman he’d ever met. “Are you trying to frighten me away?”
“I’m trying to be honest with you.” Probably more honest than he’d been since he met her. Suddenly he wanted true honesty between them, wanted to leave all the falsehoods behind, wanted to tell her everything. Have her judge him, whether well or poorly. No, he wanted more time, an opportunity to present the best of himself before he revealed the less than favorable aspects.
“Does honesty not come naturally to you, then? You have to work at it?”
“I suspect there is a bit of the dishonest in all of us.”
She blushed at that, and he wondered what deceits she might have engaged in. Nothing too nefarious. Possibly plucking a flower from the garden when it was forbidden. She haughtily angled that tipped-up nose of hers, and those lush lips he wanted to taste curled up on one side. Then she issued her bold challenge. “All right, then. Prove to me you can dance.”
Chapter 9
She should have declined. Any respectfully affianced lady would have. Not that a betrothed woman wasn’t allowed to dance with a man who wasn’t her intended, but she certainly shouldn’t be so near to a man whose hands, although properly placed—one on her back and the other providing a haven for her fingers—caused her to long for them to be improperly placed, caressing the nape of her neck, stroking her bared shoulders, cradling her face as he leaned in—
Oh, dear Lord. She wanted that deliciously wicked mouth of his doing all the things she dreamed of his hands doing. It was wrong, so wrong.
And he was incorrect. She did experience passion where Kip was concerned, and it was more than the childish desires of small things like a butterfly landing on her outstretched hand or a day without lessons. She had womanly passions. How often had she thought about Kip kissing her? A thousand at least, although not nearly as often as she’d envisioned Mick kissing her during the short time she’d known him.
Mick. She couldn’t call him that to his face. It was far too intimate, but in the hidden recesses of her mind where she held on to dreams that would never see reality, she could be less formal. Mick.
“Is it short for Michael?” she asked.
He arched a dark brow. “Pardon?”
“Your name. Is it short for Michael? Is that the name that was registered at your birth?”
“My birth wasn’t registered. My mum just called me Mick.”
She’d never given any thought to the fact that there were those for whom records were not kept. Her ancestry as well as Kip’s were charted back generations, their births heralded, applauded, blessed. While his had come about in secret and in disgrace. Suddenly it seemed wrong that any child should be looked upon with shame, as though it were responsible for its existence. “It’s a strong name.”
“I think it was Ettie Trewlove’s husband’s.”
“She’s a widow, then.”
“She is.”
“I’m sorry. It’s sad for a woman to lose her man.”
He nodded. “She didn’t marry him for property, title, position, or wealth, as he possessed none of those things. But he did possess her heart.”
She was touched by his words. She’d not expected such sentiments from him. “You’re a romantic, deep down.”
“No. A realist.”
“A realist who waltzes like a dream.” She couldn’t have spoken truer words. As he swept her over the floor, his movements were smooth, confident, poised. Never before had she been treated to such exceptional dancing. She had no fear he would step on her slippered feet. “Where did you learn?”
“From my first lover.”
A bubble of self-conscious laughter burst forth. She could scarcely believe he’d tossed out the words so matter-of-factly, as though discussing one’s paramours was not scandalous in the extreme. “Ah, I suppose I should appreciate the honesty.” Even if she didn’t want to think about him in the arms of another woman. “She liked to waltz, did she?”
“Not particularly. She was the widow of a duke, liked a bit of the rough, and I suited her purposes. The first time we came together, afterward, she offered me a quid, like I was a bloody whore.”
She fought not to look appalled, and yet she was. Not so much by his crude words, although no one had ever spoken to her so bluntly before, but that his actions had been viewed as a service by a lady of the nobility. She was equally appalled a lady of high standing would seek such services. Men had carnal needs. That was understood, accepted. But ladies were above all that. Or so she’d always thought. Perhaps her latest wanton musings were not without merit. “It must have hurt your pride.”
The words seem trite and stupid when voiced aloud. “I mean—”
“Don’t make a fuss over it. I told you, a woman’s passions are different from a child’s. She was a young widow with a great deal of pent-up appetites. She wanted things from me in the bed. I wanted things from her out of it. So we struck a deal. She taught me how to dress for the position I wanted i
n the world—not the one I held. How to address my betters—”
She couldn’t quite envision him thinking anyone was his better.
“—drink tea in a nobleman’s parlor, dine with a queen, waltz. In essence how to be a gentleman. I’ve yet to drink tea in a nobleman’s parlor or dine with the queen, but perhaps an opportunity will yet present itself. Just as tonight, this moment is the first time I’ve put her dancing tutelage into practice.”
He made her feel special in ways she hadn’t since her own introduction to the queen. “I’m honored. Why wait so long?”
“Because there was no one with whom I wished to dance.”
She nearly stumbled, might have, but his hold on her tightened fractionally, his gaze never wavering from hers. “A proper gentleman doesn’t say something like that to a lady who is betrothed,” she chastised.
“But I am not a proper gentleman.”
“Yet you claim to want to be one, and that involves more than tea, dining and dancing. It involves knowing what is proper to say to a lady and what is not.”
He bowed his head slightly. “I’ve made you uncomfortable. That was not my intent. It seems my lessons are lacking to some extent.”
She suspected he knew precisely what he was about, what was acceptable conversation and what was not. Still with no wish to insult him, she shook her head. “I may have overreacted. I’m not accustomed to harmless flirtation. From the moment I had my coming out, gentlemen knew I was spoken for, even if it wasn’t formally announced yet. When they danced with me, we usually discussed the weather.”
“They were idiots.”
“They were behaving as gentlemen. Did your lady friend not teach you the acceptable topics of conversations?”
“I could make you blush if I shared with you the topics we discussed.”
She should cease the discussion, yet she found herself intrigued by it. Kip never spoke to her about unsuitable subjects; he never spoke with her passionately, never made her blush with little more than an intense look, a smile, an innuendo. “I do hope you won’t try. I don’t blush prettily.”
Beyond Scandal and Desire Page 11