Randall opened the front door, and they all stepped outside. Her parent’s carriage was already at the curb, door open, and her brother hopped about impatiently.
“Come along,” he urged them.
“Bring Lord Alder’s horses,” she said quietly to Randall.
“I’ve sent for them already, madam,” he told her. “His footman is coming at once.”
Her parents couldn’t linger without appearing rude, so with another farewell and more nodding and waving, the Ellis family drove out of sight.
Hearing the clip-clop of the horses, Ada and Michael both looked to the corner as his footman came back from the stable riding one and leading the other.
Taking her hand in his, Michael brushed his mouth against her knuckles. Then he lifted his head and looked her in the eyes.
“Today was a strange outing. It didn’t go as planned at all.”
She couldn’t help but wonder what he’d hoped would happen.
“I was uncertain of the day my family would return to London,” she admitted.
He shook his head. “I meant before that.”
Ada stayed silent. She’d known what he meant. It had certainly become strained when they’d begun discussing the extent of his vileness and his drinking. Frankly, she didn’t want to think about it again.
“Your family,” he said, “they seemed pleasant people.”
“Even my brother?”
“Even him. Not so different from Gabriel.” He tilted his head. “I would like to speak with your father about my investments some time.”
Ada gave what she hoped was a placid smile. Placid and utterly ambiguous.
“I should go look in on Harry now,” she said.
“I am dismissed,” he surmised.
“Indeed.”
*
Ada was hiding something, wasn’t she? Michael had experienced the same feeling when she’d exhibited such a strong reaction during their discussion of the Season. It had driven him to Almack’s and the discovery of her maiden name.
But all inquiries regarding Ada Kathryn Ellis had come to naught. No one had any knowledge of a scandal linked to her name. No trysts had been discovered and reported by gossips. Nor even a disastrous blunder on her part, such as misspeaking a nobleman’s title or wearing the same gown to two similar events or dancing twice in a row with the same man. Nothing!
So why did mention of the Season make her prickly?
Moreover, she had behaved strangely in the company of her parents.
Michael supposed the best thing to do was to ask her. If he intended to make her his wife—which had somehow become his unstated, barely believed goal—he ought to be able to ask her anything and receive an honest answer.
After all, his own foibles were not only on display and generally discussed, but even printed in every blasted gossip rag.
And still, she’d befriended him, if that was the correct term for their strange relationship.
Hemsby was a friend in the normal sense. Even Elizabeth Pepperton was a friend in the sense of him wishing her well. Yet Ada was a puzzle. She seemed to like him and despise him in equal measures, to want to spend time with him as well as to push him away.
Yes, a forthright talk was in order, and there was no better place than Dolly’s Chop House, in his opinion, over steaks and wine. For if they had a talk in the intimate surroundings of her home or his, he would probably start kissing her before their conversation had begun.
Quickly, he sat down and penned an invitation to her. No play, opera, or ballet, simply dinner if she was amenable. He found out by return missive she was.
As with every time he anticipated seeing her, he felt joyful. And his anticipation was never disappointed. When he showed up on her doorstep, Ada appeared in a deep blue dress, showing off her small waist, with a sculpted à la mode neckline, low enough to give him more than a hint of her full breasts. Staring into her intelligent eyes—always with something slightly mysterious sparkling within them—Michael felt grateful she deigned to keep company with him at all.
Moreover, she got into his cozy brougham without protest.
Progress, he thought, as they set out through Westminster, past the abbey on the left and the palace on the right, which was ten years into its rebuilding after the last fire.
“We are dining at your home?” she asked.
To keep her from thinking where they were going, he kissed her, then he kissed her again, humming against her lips because now it was their special way.
When he drew back, the first thing she did was look out the window to see they’d proceeded along the Thames as far as St. Paul’s.
Exclaiming aloud, obviously bursting with curiosity, she asked him outright, “Where are we going?”
He merely smiled, causing her to ask him half a dozen more times, sounding like Harry when curious about something.
“You’ll see,” he responded to each question.
“I thought we’d be eating at your home,” she said again when they’d entered the Blackfriars district, and her excitement was visible. “I’m not sure I would have worn this gown when meeting new people at a dinner party.”
“Then I’m glad we’re not doing that because I love your gown.” And he wasn’t about to share her with others at a boring dinner party.
Alighting from his carriage onto Paternoster Row, they slipped under an arch to the nearly deserted Queens’ Court Passage, which a little later would be busy with men going out to dine. There, under a large lamp, was the entrance to Dolly’s Chop House, which for all his life, he merely thought of as Dolly’s.
As he tried to usher her inside, she gasped and planted her kidskin boots on the cobbled lane.
“What are you doing? I cannot go in there.”
“Normally, no, but tonight is special. The owner, Thomas Howell, is an old friend of my father’s. Trust me,” he added, holding out his hand to her.
After the briefest of hesitations, she took it. Michael kept talking as he drew her inside the old establishment, watching as she whipped her head this way and that, taking in the main dining room, currently deserted.
“In an hour, maybe a little less, this place will be stuffed to the gills with men of commerce, as well as barristers and noblemen. It’s very popular and the steak is absolutely outstanding.”
“Less than an hour?” Her voice rose to a nervous squeak, glancing again at the heavily-paneled room, rather dark, even a little dingy.
“Not to worry. Mr. Howell agreed to close his coffee room for a couple hours tonight, so we could dine privately.”
“Why on earth would he do that?” she asked, snatching a menu off a table as she passed, examining it like a child with a new toy.
“Because I said his steak was no better than what my cook could make, and I knew my lady would say the same.”
Michael led her past leather chairs and heavy oak tables to a smaller room on the left, in which he could smell the coffee from earlier in the day.
“Mr. Howell told me to bring in my lady at once to sample his fare. He’ll visit us later, and you must tell him if it’s the finest steak or not.”
Her amused smile told him she found the entire situation agreeable. Many women would not. They would have refused to set foot in there on pain of loss of reputation.
“He also has a popular cigar room. He calls it his ‘City House of Commons’ for all the members who come in to hash out the same things they’re debating in Parliament. I wish I could take you in there to listen for an evening. Quite remarkable.”
He pulled out a chair for her and then sat opposite, watching as she removed her gloves and placed them in her lap.
“Probably as exciting as I imagine the stock exchange to be,” she said.
As soon as she spoke, her cheeks blushed a pretty pink.
“Your father must have told you many interesting tales,” he guessed.
Before she could answer, their waitress came in. He’d seen her before but not enough to know
her name.
“Good evening, my lord,” she began, “and my lady,” she added, nodding to Ada. “Mr. Howell said you’ll be wanting our finest cuts.”
“The fish soup first,” Michael said. “And a baked potato each with our beef,” he added, while Ada looked on, eyes wide, lips pressed together but smiling, clearly not daring to speak.
“It’s all right, luv,” the waitress said to her. “Sometimes we get an actress in here, or an opera singer.”
If possible, Ada’s beautiful blue eyes opened even wider.
He was thrilled to see her appear so amused.
Then the waitress asked about what they wished to drink. He cocked his head at Ada.
“Spanish red?”
*
Ada nodded and finally found her voice. “Yes, please.”
She was unable to keep the large smile off her face. Tonight, she was “his lady,” and they were dining out!
It was silly really. It wasn’t as if she’d never been out of her own home to eat before, but, truthfully, it was usually at a private residence or at a confectioner’s shop or, in the summertime, now she was back in London, she would go to a tea garden along the Thames.
“I’ve eaten in a tavern in the country,” she told Michael, recalling when she’d been traveling with her parents and brother before her first Season, and they’d stopped for meat pies.
He nodded seriously as if that were an accomplishment.
“Once my mother went to a ladies dining room in Bath, but I’ve been out of Town for practically all my adulthood, so have never…” she trailed off and stopped her prattling. “Thank you. This is a very special treat.”
“I’ve never thought of it before, but it shouldn’t be, should it?” Michael said, leaning back as the waitress returned with a basket of bread. “I hear they have more family dining in France. I don’t know about America. But with all those people touring the Crystal Palace, someone wrote an article in the Times the other day about the lack of places for couples to dine. If they’re looking for better than pub food, that is.”
“It must happen sometime,” Ada agreed. She was simply thrilled for the novel experience. “Maybe by the time Harry is grown, he’ll be able to take his wife out to dine wherever they wish.”
They laughed at the notion of things changing so quickly. Then the food arrived, and Ada didn’t speak again for many minutes. The soup was good, but the steak was divine, and somehow tasted better for being eaten somewhere other than her own dining room.
Though full, she let Michael order a heavy pudding for them to share for dessert because, clearly, he was enjoying the experience of dining out together, and they might as well make it last.
Then he ordered brandy for them both, and she had to quell the prick of displeasure it gave her. Unfortunately, brandy now seemed a reminder of his darker side, of the reprobate lurking within the thoughtful man she had come to know.
“The painting in the main room, is that Dolly?” Ada asked, taking a forkful of the sticky, sweet cake with sultanas soaked in… brandy!
“So I’ve been told.” Michael grinned. “Not the most attractive woman, to be sure, but she had an idea how to cook up good food and the even better idea of hiring only lovely waitresses and bar maids to keep her male patrons happy.”
“Is that why you come here?” Ada asked.
“That was over a hundred years ago, silly woman.” He sipped his drink. “Howell told me Dolly was actually Queen Anne’s favorite cook, and the queen gave her the place to open and run as she saw fit.”
“A true business woman, and so long ago.” Ada shook her head in wonder. “And there are still waitresses.”
“And waiters, too, I assure you. They probably sent us a woman so as not to alarm you.”
Rolling her eyes, Ada was about to point out the ridiculousness of what society thought might alarm her when a man ducked his head into their private room.
“Alder!” the stranger greeted, and Michael stood up at once, sticking his hand out to shake that of the newcomer. “Good to see you here. Glad you could come to my humble chop house.”
She reasoned at his words he was Mr. Thomas Howell.
Then the man with his slightly graying hair and lively eyes turned all his attention to her.
“And whom have we here?” He reached down, clearly wanting to take her hand, which she lifted to him. “This beautiful creature can only be Lady Alder.”
She froze, Michael sat back down heavily, and then silence descended on their private room.
Chapter Twenty-Two
After a second, this experienced man of hospitality realized he’d blundered.
“Forgive me. She is not your wife,” Thomas Howell surmised, speaking to Michael but still looking at her.
Ada felt her cheeks heat up, with the owner still half way to taking her hand.
“I have no wife,” Michael said at last, and the man’s head swiveled between them.
“You mentioned your lady to me, and then I discovered this lovely one seated with you, looking as delicious as a fine beef steak. Of course, I assumed you had an ounce of sense. But if you had, why wouldn’t you have married her already?”
Michael coughed, and Ada knew he was covering a laugh.
“Thomas Howell, this is my friend, Mrs. St. Ange.”
“Oh, a missus? She is your paramour, then?”
Ada’s cheeks veritably flamed, and Michael coughed again.
“A widow,” he told Mr. Howell, and, having explained their relationship, he picked up his glass of brandy again.
Ada began to feel this was becoming too personal. No wonder women didn’t go out to public places for dinner, if their entire social and marital status had to be declared and dissected.
“A widow,” Mr. Howell repeated, taking her measure.
At last, she found her hand engulfed by the owner’s larger one before he kissed it, right on the back of her knuckles.
“Good evening to you,” he intoned, finally addressing her directly. “And my condolences.”
“Good evening,” she returned, “and thank you for your sympathy, but I am out of mourning.”
It was actually a little alarming after all to be in an unfamiliar setting with a strange man.
“Your lady has a lovely voice,” Mr. Howell said, still holding her hand but addressing Michael again. Then his face grew serious as he gazed at her.
“I must ask you, did you find the food to your liking? Was every last morsel satisfactory? Moreover, was it better than any steak you’ve ever had before?”
As she opened her mouth, he added, “Don’t rush into speech, dear woman. Think on it a moment. Let me look at you while you consider.”
Michael was chortling now, and Ada realized Mr. Howell was teasing a little, but she sensed he truly wanted an honest answer.
“I am not rushing to judgment, sir, when I tell you everything was to my liking. Beyond satisfactory, in fact. As to your final question, the one I believe evoked my being brought here, I can honestly say, yes, it was the best piece of beef I’ve ever tasted. Cooked perfectly.”
He closed his eyes as if in ecstasy. When he opened them, he gave her a small nod and released her hand at last.
“And his cook,” he gestured to Michael, “cannot do better?”
Oh dear! Ada hated to lie, but she’d never had a meal from Michael’s cook. Still, the woman had taught Mary, and Ada knew Mary couldn’t have seasoned and cooked a better steak.
Glancing at Michael, who had an eyebrow raised, clearly wondering how she would respond, she said, “To the best of my knowledge, sir, no, his cook could not.”
“Ha!” the man exclaimed, then clapped his hands. “In that case, your meal shall be on the house, by which I mean free to you, dear lady. Only hers, mind you,” he said to Michael.
With a wry smile, Michael nodded. “I understand. And we thank you for letting us dine here.”
“Oh, yes,” Ada said, “I’ve had a wonderful evening.”
“Come back again. This coffee room is hardly used as most of my customers go straight from dining to the smoking room, as you’ll notice on the way out.”
At the doorway, Mr. Howell hesitated and looked back at them.
To Ada, he said, “I don’t know what you’re doing with this rogue. If I wasn’t already chained, and happily so, I would sweep you away, dear lady.”
Considering he was old enough to be her father, she merely smiled politely at his flirtatious charm.
To Michael, he added, “You would do well to marry this one. Snatch her up and chain her while you can.”
With a final bow, he exited, leaving them staring at each other.
“Mr. Howell has quite the personality,” Ada said. And what vivid imagery of snatching and chaining. Not at all what she thought about marriage.
“He does.” Tilting his head, Michael was obviously considering something. But all he said was, “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.” Pulling on her gloves, she waited while he rose and came around to pull out her chair.
Once back in his carriage, she relaxed and let him pull her against his side, his arm draped around her. When he rested his chin against her temple, she felt… cherished.
Realizing that detail flustered her. Lord Vile was not supposed to be kind and warm and caring. He was supposed to be manipulative and selfish, wanting only to get her out of her clothing.
“Since it is early still,” he said, his tone soft, “will you come back to my home? It would be a change from my always haunting your parlor.”
Ah ha! There was the man she expected, hoping to get her into his bedroom.
Instead of being immediately defensive, however, she decided to acquiesce. She could sense his heart was engaged. Perhaps more time alone would be the impetus for him to have deep affection for her—or what passed for affection in his world.
As the driver directed the horses onto Newgate Street, turning left, Ada couldn’t help looking to the right, toward Cheapside and just beyond that, after the Bank of England, the London Stock Exchange.
Soon, they had traversed London, along Holborn to Oxford Street, and then onto Brook Street where Michael’s townhouse awaited, lamps already lit. He continued to hold her close, but strangely, he didn’t try to kiss her.
Beastly Lords Collection Page 92