The Temptation of Laura

by Rachel Brimble

A woman peered over the sill, her face etched with tiredness and her eyes seemingly ringed red from crying. “Who are you? What is it you want?”

  Adam stepped back from the door to get a clearer view of her. “I am looking for Mr. Conrad.”

  “He’s not here. Now, stop banging on my door and go away.” She moved back to shut the window.

  “Wait!” Adam shouted. “Are you his wife?”

  “Yes, I’m his wife, but the last two days I wish I weren’t. As it’s my godforsaken husband you’re after, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can say to you but join the bloody queue.”

  Adam frowned. “Where is he? I have been trying to see him since yesterday.”

  “Well, you’re banging on the wrong door, for a start. He’ll be off across the Atlantic by now with his young piece of strumpet in tow, no doubt.”

  Adam’s mouth drained dry. For the love of God. “America? He’s gone to America?”

  “So I’ve been told. Turned up at the dock under the cover of darkness. Skulking about like the cad he is with his jumped-up floozy teetering on her fancy heels behind him. More fool you for thinking you could deal with a man like my husband, sir. I married the son of a bitch by force, not love.”

  The window slammed shut.

  Adam stood frozen to the cobblestones. His mind reeled with what-ifs and maybes. His heart burned with so much frustration, it was a fireball of anger. What was he supposed to do now? What would Laura think of his incompetence and yet another strike of failure? How was he to trust that Conrad would not breathe a word of the play to anyone else? Thank God, he’d at least managed to get the script back when he’d seen Conrad days ago and it sat in his room at the tavern and not halfway across the Atlantic.

  “Adam?”

  He released a shaky breath and turned.

  Laura’s violet eyes were wide with concern. “What do we do now?”

  He opened his arms and she stepped into them, her crown fitting perfectly beneath his chin. He closed his eyes and drew strength from her slender curves pressed against him. “This is nothing more than a setback. I refuse to believe the man’s enthusiasm was not genuine.”

  “Are you even confident he was a real director?”

  He frowned and eased her from his embrace. He had entirely disappointed her, and the notion she had lost all belief in him cut deep. “Of course. Clearly, this is a case of a man thinking with his cock rather than his common sense.” He forced a smile. “We are all guilty of that from time to time.”

  Two spots of color leaped to her cheeks and she looked past his shoulder. “Yes, I know that more than most.”

  God, I am such an idiot. Mentally slapping his head, Adam cupped her jaw in his hands. “What you did before we met has no consequence. It is gone. It is in the past. Just as what I did with Annabel is in the past. This just means Conrad was not the right man for our play. We will find someone else.”

  She lifted her face from his hands and stepped back. The determination he was getting to know so well seeped into her gaze. “Fine. Then you go find a director while I look for work elsewhere. I’ve given you a week since we last talked about this. I won’t let you keep paying our way on your own. You have yet to tell me how much money is left. I won’t let you convince me black is white anymore.”

  Insecurity and failure wound a tight, painful knot in his gut. His father’s voice yelling Adam would never amount to anything, never be able to provide for a woman or child, rose and spilled like bitter poison through his veins.

  He raised his hands in reluctant surrender. “Fine. We will get work elsewhere, but at least tell me you are not giving up on this . . . on us.”

  “Of course not.” Her shoulders relaxed and a glimmer of a smile played at her mouth. “It will make me feel better to know we’re working for the success of the play equally. Tell me you understand.”

  Adam pursed his lips as he fought the overbearing need to demand she stay at their room where she could spend every minute rehearsing and building on all the amazing achievements she had made thus far. He tipped his head back and looked to the graying sky as the London smog rolled in from the Thames.

  “Of course I understand. I do not want to stop you from doing what you want, whenever you want. That is exactly what I ran away from years ago.” He dropped his chin and met her eyes. “It is just . . .”

  She grasped his hand. “What?”

  “You are starting to read, Laura. You are acting. You are grieving for a friend so beloved, she was all that mattered to you. Yet here you are, willing to do work God knows where until my play sees the light of day.”

  She smiled. “And? I’m a martyr for a good charity case. Always have been.”

  He shook his head. “I am not a charity case, and there is nothing funny about any of this.”

  “Bette’s first rule was, life without laughter isn’t an option. The woman lived by that and kept us fed, warm, and safe for years. It’s about time you learned Bette’s way of thinking too.”

  He stared at her beautiful face. “You are an amazing woman, Miss Robinson.”

  She smiled and pressed her lips to his. “From tomorrow, I’ll find work and do whatever it takes to keep a roof over our heads. You’ll scour the theaters night and day until you find your play a home. Do we have a deal?”

  The excitement in her eyes and the lingering taste of her lips on his should have been enough to push him on, but Adam could not ignore the self-hatred burning inside him like a wildfire. Wasn’t he relying on her as he had his parents? Wasn’t he sending her out into the lion’s lair of London like a lamb to the slaughter? The woman had more gumption and courage in her little finger than most men of his class or creed. He was a fool to think she needed his protection. She could undoubtedly survive these streets alone.

  Determination gathered momentum and he gripped her waist, lifting her from the ground.

  She gasped. “What are you doing?”

  “One week, two at the most, and I will have a director and an investor. More than anything, more than the play even, I will be a man worthy of you.”

  She grinned, her eyes shining with tears. “Amen to that.”

  He brought her lower, still gripped firmly in his embrace, and covered her mouth with his. I am in love for the first time in my life. I cannot lose her.

  Chapter 22

  The man’s spit landed barely two inches from Laura’s hand. Yellow-green, it stuck to the coffee shop’s flagstone floor like putrid glue. Her anger simmered perilously in the pit of her stomach. The dangerous thoughts she’d been fighting for days gathered strength.

  Clenching her jaw, she slapped her cloth onto the man’s oral filth and wiped it up, dashing it back into the bucket of soapy water beside her. She dunked the cloth with gusto and wrung it as she would have the filthy sod’s neck, given half a chance. Slapping the cloth down on the floor again, she wiped over the stone and the ones surrounding it before pushing to her feet.

  The floor gleamed—if for only a minute or two before the shop’s patrons thumped their work-worn and muddied boots all over it again. Two weeks. Two arduous weeks, she’d been on her hands and knees scrubbing and cleaning, washing and wiping. She picked up the bucket and marched through to the back door leading to a small, dank yard. She’d yet to see even a single shaft of light penetrate the space in the days she’d worked as a cleaner-cum-general lackey.

  Opening the rickety wooden gate leading onto the cobbled alleyway beyond, Laura hefted the bucket and sloshed the water into the gutter. She narrowed her eyes and followed the water’s path as it flowed away to join the rest of London’s soil.

  Hour by hour, her heart hardened. Every hour she and Adam went on without an investor in his play, she cared less and less about her dream of starring onstage. She swallowed against the stab of pain that ripped sharply in her chest. She had to tell Adam her pregnancy suspicions. Would he welcome the news? Of course not. His ambitions started and ended in the theater. She was still his Lucinda.

&n
bsp; Laura glared at the empty bucket. Enough was enough. She didn’t need to be cleaning like this to keep her and Adam fed and sheltered. There were other ways that would pay per hour what she could earn in this place in a week.

  The bitter tang of temptation coated her mouth and she savored its flavor. She closed her eyes and Adam’s face appeared. Animated and admiring, his eyes shone as he stared, his mouth stretched wide with a confident smile. How would he look at her if he found out she’d succumbed once more to the trade she knew so well? Would he understand she did it for him? For them?

  Money would give them the freedom to stay in London and keep knocking on theater doors until someone gave Adam’s work a chance. He’d understand in time. He’d see it made sense. There was no emotion in such a vocation. He knew her to be a good, kind, and honest woman. He knew the same of Bette.

  “I don’t pay you to stand around all day, Lady Muck.”

  The sharp, shrill voice of the lady proprietor snapped Laura’s eyes open and she turned. The woman stood in the yard watching her; her eyes were cold and her fists rested at her hips.

  Laura glared. “I was just emptying my bucket.”

  The woman lifted her eyebrow. “That ain’t the tone to take with someone paying your wages neither. Now stop milling around and get back inside. There are plenty out there who’d give their back teeth for your job, you know. Come on. There are dishes needing a washing.”

  She turned on her heel and lumbered back inside. Laura stood stock-still, staring at the now-empty doorway. Second by second, her cheeks grew hot and her body trembled. No more. Laura strode inside the shop. The proprietor was all smiles and good humor with the two gentlemen ordering coffee and buns from the other side of the counter.

  Laura stood at the end of the long wooden barrier, her fingers gripping its curved edge as though she intended to break it clean off. Money exchanged hands and the men took their fare to a table at the window. The woman she currently had the dirty job of answering to tipped their paid coins into the cash box. Slapping her hands together, she turned and stopped when her eyes met Laura’s.

  “What are you doing standing there like the day is for your leisure? You lost your way to the kitchen or somethin’?”

  Laura narrowed her eyes. “I want what I’m due and then I’ll be on my way.”

  “What?”

  “I said, I want what I’m—”

  “I heard what you said.” The woman came forward and stopped inches from Laura, her eyes alight with anger. She pointed her finger in Laura’s face. “Now, you listen here. You don’t work for me and get away with throwing your weight around. I pay you well enough. If you’ve got a complaint, then maybe you’d like to talk to my old man about it. He ain’t quite as amicable as me.”

  Struggling to control the suppressed rage scalding and burning her tongue, waiting for release in a torrent of ugly words, Laura tilted her chin. “I thought there was no need to speak to anyone but you. Aren’t you in charge of staff and everything else in here?” She glanced toward the doorway leading to the family rooms upstairs, where the mystery husband hid for most of the day. Not that Laura blamed him—considering the alternative was sharing breathing space with his gorgeous, partially toothed wife. She faced her current pain in the ass once more. “But if I need to speak to the boss, I will.”

  The woman glared and jabbed a thumb into her ample bosom. “I’m the boss.”

  Laura smiled and held out her palm. “Then I’ll have what I’m due and be out of here . . . if it’s not too much bother.”

  Their gazes locked in silent battle and Laura took immense pleasure in every passing second. God, it felt good to be back in control of her life. Bette laughed uproariously in her ear and Laura trembled with the need to laugh right along with her. Why hadn’t she done what needed to be done to pave her and Adam’s way in a little comfort before now?

  Her confidence swayed on a knife’s edge and she slammed it back into place. No. He need not know. She was doing what she needed to do to support him in his dream. To support her dream.

  “Fine. You take your money and get out of here.” The woman marched to the cash box and extracted a couple of notes and five or six coins. “Here.” She slapped the money into Laura’s outstretched hand. “Now get.”

  Taking her time, Laura nonchalantly perused the money before clasping her fingers tightly closed around it. “Thank you. I’ll wish you good day.”

  Feeling the woman’s eyes burning holes in her back, Laura strolled to the door and out into the cold. The bright December sun bathed the litter-strewn streets in the best light it had seen for the past few days. She grinned and drew in a long breath. Just one day. For just one day, she’d do what she had to and earn enough money to give them decent food and shelter for the next couple of weeks.

  Her smile faltered and she fought it back into place. By then Adam would have found someone who believed in him as much as she did and be none the wiser. Tilting her chin, she tightened the strings on her drawstring bag and strode forward. If she was going to do this, she needed to find out where the men with money “shopped.” She might be succumbing to laying with a man for money once more, but she’d be damned if she’d do it with a man who didn’t treat her with some modicum of respect.

  With her mind made up, she mentally quashed the niggling in her conscience and turned left along the street that would lead to the West End. From what she’d learned from Adam and Monica, people had money there. Money to spend. Money for pleasure.

  “You’ve got experience, then, have you?” The house’s madam quirked an eyebrow, her blue eyes intense with amusement and interest.

  Laura kept her gaze level with the madam’s as she lounged on the settee in the sedate and classily decorated back room of one of London’s many whorehouses. Laura guessed the woman to be older than her by six or seven years, but her beauty would have outshone someone much younger. The madam’s casual confidence and quiet sophistication had Laura doubting why she’d come.

  Fighting her wavering confidence, she straightened her shoulders. “Yes, ma’am. I worked in Bath since I was fifteen.”

  “And you say you want to work just for today?” The madam’s appraisal traveled from the tip of Laura’s hat, over her best coat, to the shoes on her feet. “That is not usual in any century. I’m intrigued.”

  “I was told to come and see you. Take my chances you might allow it, ma’am.”

  She lifted her eyebrow. “Told by whom? And stop calling me ma’am. It’s Mrs. Fleet.”

  “A barmaid at The Horseshoe and another girl working at the West End, Mrs. Fleet. They spoke very highly of you. Said you were fair and took care of anyone who came here looking for work.”

  “I see.” Her gaze languidly traveled the length of Laura’s body once more. “Well, when they said anyone, that’s not necessarily the case. I make judgments as to whether or not I like the girl first. Then I decide what I will and won’t allow.”

  Laura nodded. “I wouldn’t expect any more than that.”

  The madam’s eyes narrowed. “Are you fussy about the client you’ll service?”

  Laura stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  She smiled. “It’s all right, darling. I’m not asking you to share your undoubtedly pretty cunny with a vagrant. The company who use my house are all of a certain class.”

  “I’ve been told that too.” Laura tightened her grasp on her bag as the thought she might have made a mistake by coming there skittered along her nerve endings.

  “Glad to hear it.” The room lapsed into silence as Mrs. Fleet redeemed her study.

  Laura’s mouth drained dry under the woman’s scrutiny as she focused on standing perfectly still. She’d spent the last twenty-four hours scouring the town asking questions in order to discover the local houses and where men of money frequented. She surmised Mrs. Fleet’s establishment as the best of a bad situation, and she’d be damned if she’d leave after finding the courage to step inside.

  Mrs
. Fleet rose from the settee, her sapphire blue satin dress glinting beneath the sun’s rays penetrating the window. “I am kind and generous to the girls who come through here.” She rounded her desk and flipped through a large ledger. “I don’t ask their names or backgrounds until I am of the mind I want them to stay.” She looked up. “It is usual for me to have them request an appointment upon recommendation from another of my girls. If I take to them, I’ll decide whether or not they can have a room. This situation is entirely different.” She smiled softly. “Yet, your confidence impresses me, not to mention the color of your extraordinary eyes.”

  Adrenaline hummed through her and Laura offered a small smile. “I’m good, Mrs. Fleet. That much I can promise you.”

  The other woman studied her through narrowed lids. “Can I ask why you only want to work today?”

  Something about this woman spoke to Laura on a level she couldn’t name. Her intelligent blue eyes and soft lilt of her voice offered reason and concern. Laura cleared her throat. “I came here from Bath a few weeks ago, having given up the trade. My plans in the city have yet to come as I’d like and my money’s running out. I’d like the opportunity to earn quickly and honestly. Then be on my way.”

  A moment passed before Mrs. Fleet spoke. “What if my clients take a fancy to you. Then what? I can hardly tell them you have disappeared into the night. What are these plans you hold so dear?”

  Laura held her gaze. “I’d rather not say.”

  Mrs. Fleet smiled. “Then you’ll have to give me a little more guarantee than one day of spectacular performance. I don’t like disappointing the men who pay good money for my girls.” She came around the desk and stopped a foot away from Laura. She tipped her head to the side and openly studied her. “You’re very pretty. Your eyes are exquisite and your bosom generous. I think I would have three or four clients who would happily pay for your time.”

  Laura swallowed, cursing the heat that rose at her cheeks. Three or four. It had been so long. So very, very long. “That sounds perfect.” The words were like pebbles on her tongue.