by Nicole Byrd
Surely he wasn’t going to undress!
Lauryn knew her lips had fallen open, and she hoped she had not gasped aloud. No, no—this was not what she had meant to occur. Oh, dear lord!
One part of her mind spoke coldly—It will have to happen sooner or later, you ninny! But the other side said, Not yet, not yet, we have to build up to it—if he has an ounce of sensitivity in him—but perhaps men who felt any sensitivity were not men who hired courtesans.
Now he was tugging off his tightly fitting, exquisitely tailored jacket. Oh, heavens, oh, heavens, what was she to do now?
And all the time he watched her, observing her reaction. Lauryn tried to stay calm, tried to maintain her air of business as usual—wasn’t that what a woman of the world would do? It was her best guess, anyhow. But she feared she must have gone pale. At any rate, her hands felt cold and she knew her heart was beating fast.
His waistcoat came next; he unbuttoned the silver buttons with alarming speed. And now the earl’s hands dropped to his white linen shirt. Just how far was he going to undress? And what would happen then?
Lauryn’s hands might still be cold, but other parts of her body were becoming strangely warm and quivery.
He lowered his hands to pull his shirt over his head—
The door to the study opened, and the butler stood in the doorway.
Lauryn gasped, and the earl abruptly dropped the tails of his shirt back into place.
“Yes, Parker?” he snapped.
“Ah, beg pardon, your lordship, but your agent is here—”
“Put him in the book room, and tell him I will be with him presently,” the earl said, his tone still curt.
Withdrawing in some haste, the butler shut the door behind him.
Lauryn fought a dreadful desire to giggle hysterically. Worse, she thought that the earl—who glared at her suspiciously—knew precisely why she bit her lip and almost dared not breathe. If she laughed, she feared he might become quite angry. And he had not yet agreed to the bargain, she told herself. That cured her of the desire to laugh.
“As you can see, I have business to attend to,” the earl pointed out, his tone austere.
“Of course, your lordship,” she said, keeping her own voice meek. “I would not wish to take up too much of your time. So, do you feel I should be suitable for the post?”
What he thought, Sutton told himself, was that she was a minx—and he still wasn’t sure who had put her up to this, or why. Was it possible she was really doing this on her own? Or was the squire—it had to be he—forcing her into a disgraceful situation?
It mattered, because if she were someone’s cat’s-paw, he could not allow her to be treated so badly. If, on the other hand, she had chosen to engage in this mad venture on her own, then–then–then he knew just what he might chose to do to those luscious lips and curving breasts—
He shook his head to clear his thoughts—
“You don’t think so?” she said, her voice distressed. “But I had hoped that we might be well suited, my lord.” She began to dress and gathered her things.
He realized she had taken the motion for an answer.
“Ah, no, that is, I mean, yes, we will suit nicely, I should think.” He realized he was making little sense, but at least the panic in her eyes had eased, and she had unclenched her hands.
She blinked at him. “You mean you will? Employ me?”
“Yes, at least, I have decided to give you a trial engagement,” he told her, keeping his expression bland. “We’ll say two weeks, and if both sides are amenable, and all is satisfactory, two weeks more, and then we shall be open for possible extensions.”
He had a sudden vision of the horrible scene that had ended his last affair, and he said quickly, “But keep in mind, this is a purely business arrangement. There will be no talk of love or lasting commitment, no suggestion of anything more between us than mutual pleasure and physical enjoyment.”
She nodded slowly. “Of course. I would expect nothing more.”
He added, speaking more gently, as he remembered her first stipulation, “I’m planning to leave London tomorrow, so we’d better make our plans quickly, don’t you think? If you will wait in the small room just down the hall, I will send for my valet, whose name is Boxel. He will accompany you to a good dressmaker to have your measurements taken.”
She stared at him.
“For new gowns,” he reminded her.
His newly acquired paramour dropped her bedraggled bonnet on the floor as she impulsively clasped her hands together, then she blushed again, even more deeply than before. “Oh,” she said. “I mean, yes, of course. Thank you, my lord.”
He nodded.
Retrieving her bonnet, she left the room with a bemused expression on her face, and Sutton told the footman to ask his valet to come down to speak to him, wondering what on earth the man would say when he was told his errand. Boxel had been with his master since long before Sutton had achieved his title, and he never hesitated to speak his mind.
Nor did he now.
“She don’t look like no light o’love to me, yer lordship,” the servant told him. “I took a peek at ’er in the anteroom. Yer sure ye know what yer doing? This is likely to end up costing ye dear, and I don’t mean just in coin.”
“It is not your place to suggest to me that I might be an idiot, Boxel,” the earl said, his tone stern, thinking that none of the other staff would dare to intimate such a thing.
Sadly, the stout servant with the balding head looked unimpressed.
The earl’s frown deepened. “Just see to it that she orders a reasonable amount of clothing and have it sent on to the country. I plan to leave town tomorrow.”
The servant rolled his eyes, but he turned toward the hall. “Don’t say as ’ow I didn’t warn ye,” he muttered, going out the hall door, although his expression showed only the proper mixture of respectful obedience.
Sutton grimaced at his back. If this woman turned out to be trouble, Boxel would never let him hear the end of it. He should probably just send her away and be done with it. What did he care about the squire’s pitiful estate, anyhow?
But the earl pictured the way that fine-textured gold hair curled at the base of her long neck, where a strand or two came loose from her severe updo at the back of her head, and he thought of how it would be to shake free the whole contraption and release the mane of hair, free it from all restraint and let it fall in silken waves down her back, lying easily on her smooth skin—upon a naked body free of any corset or shift or other “proper” cover-up that would prevent him from seeing every inch of that enticing ivory skinned body…
Just thinking of the possibilities made him ache.
He had been relieved to see, when she had slipped out of her dowdy black dress and he had observed her more closely, that she was not a girl in her first season. Somehow that made it more likely that she was not being pushed into offering herself at someone else’s bidding. He had noted the subtle signs of maturity around her eyes and mouth, the more ample breasts—he felt another surge of desire at the memory—of a woman, not just of a girl barely out of the schoolroom, and thus he could believe she understood what she was doing with this offer.
No, he didn’t wish to send her away. He would risk the consequences, dammit all! He was no faint heart, afraid to take the first fence, afraid of what lay beyond—
When he picked up the bill of lading, he stared at it for a good five minutes before he realized he had no idea what he was seeing.
The valet was an older man who wore an expression of unqualified disapproval. Lauryn thought his haughty politeness was much more alarming than his master’s. The carriage ride made her tense with nerves, and she was relieved when she could step down at last and enter the couturier’s shop. But then she found she had wasted the ride worrying about Boxel when she should have spent it thinking what she would say to the dressmaker. How did one explain that one had taken up a life of disrepute? Did the dressmaker have
some code word for expressing that fact without excessive embarrassment to all concerned?
A young shop assistant was the first to greet them. “Yes?” Her glance at Lauryn’s shabby black dress made her expression doubtful, as if they did not appear to merit an enthusiastic welcome. “Perhaps you are seeking the shop next door?”
Lauryn blushed, still not sure how to explain, but she had not allowed for the sheer efficiency, disapproval or not, of her escort.
Boxel fixed his stern stare on the shop assistant. “This lady is the companion of the Earl of Sutton. I believe Madame duPree will be pleased to assist her? Or should we take our business elsewhere, to the Austrian couturier on Bond Street, mayhap?”
“Oh, oh, no, indeed, sir,” the assistant stammered. “You don’t want to go nowhere else. Indeed, she will wish you to stay. If you’ll just step into the fitting room here, ma’am.”
Boxel was left with a glass of wine, sitting in a gilt chair that looked too fragile for his sturdy frame, and Lauryn was soon measured up, down, sideways, and every other way she could imagine, and shown fabrics of the most delightful hues and textures by Madame duPree herself, as well as not one but two assistants, including the first, formerly supercilious one who now oozed nothing but politeness.
When Madame heard that they were leaving at once for the country, and speed was highly desirable, she was helpfulness itself. “Fortunately, Madame Smith,” she said, waving her measuring tape as if it were a magic wand. “I have several gowns almost done for customers who are, unlike yourself, not in such a ’urry. The dresses are near your size, and in pleasing colors that will suit your complexion. They can be made over for you with very minor inconvenience, and you will ’ave a few costumes ready to take with you, and then the rest will be sent out for you within a few days, as soon as they can be completed.”
“That’s very kind,” Lauryn said, a bit taken aback. “But will not your other customers object to—ah—”
“Not at all, they will be delighted to be of service,” Madame duPree predicted with complete lack of guilt.
And one of the assistants added, in a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t worry. They won’t know. The earl pays very well, you see!”
Obviously, the earl had done business here before, Lauryn realized, trying not to blush. With which one of his many conquests? Oh, well, best not to dwell on that. Think instead about the wonderful new gowns she could enjoy. And the ladies she was depriving of their gowns—they would get their dresses, just a bit more slowly, she told herself, as she submitted to having a creamy silk dinner gown dropped over her head and the waist adjusted to her own measurements, while a gold-thread trim was loosened to allow for her more ample bosom.
Next came an azure ball gown—there would likely be no balls in the country, but she was too dazzled by the beauty of the dress to object, and another dinner dress, then two day dresses. Last, a handsome navy traveling outfit that—“So fortunate!” the dressmaker proclaimed—could be made ready to go with only an adjustment to the bodice and a slight change made to the waist.
Lauryn found herself almost dizzy with happiness at the thought of putting aside her faded black garments, worn for so many months. “I shall have to visit a hatmaker,” she thought aloud, “and, oh, undergarments, and I suppose shoes…”
“No, indeed,” Madame duPree corrected, frowning. “They will come to you, Madame Smith. When we are done, the artiste from the next street will be here to check your sizes.”
And so he was, leading a line of young assistants almost invisible behind the stacks of hatboxes they carried. And what a joy to choose among so many pretty bonnets! The afternoon passed quickly, and by the time she was sufficiently outfitted—amazed by the number of outfits and accessories that were considered necessary for a few weeks in the country—she found herself quite weary.
But the only time she had dared to object that she might not need so many, Boxel, who had looked in now and then to see how the fittings were coming, had at once frowned her down.
“Would you disgrace the earl by a poor display, madame?”
“Oh, no–no, of course not,” she’d stuttered, flushing.
So she reminded herself now that she could not disgrace the earl, as she did not dare to incur Boxel’s censure yet again.
When at last the shopping was complete, and most of the her purchases sent on to the earl’s residence, with only a few kept by her, Boxel had fixed her with his stern look. “I suppose you are coming back to the earl’s residence?”
“No,” she blurted without even thinking about it. “I will join you in the morning.”
“I see. Then I shall escort you home in the carriage.” He looked somewhat suspicious. “What address shall I give the driver?”
Ah, where indeed? If she went back to the hotel, the squire would demand to know where she was going, and she didn’t wish to explain in person, not wanting an argument, and she certainly didn’t want the earl’s servant to find out she had any possible link to the squire. Lauryn thought rapidly, then named the street.
She was silent on the ride, and when the carriage stopped again, even Boxel looked surprised when he looked out at their destination. “You are staying at a church?”
“At the rectory,” she said, her tone pleasant. “The vicar never gives up on seeking to reclaim souls.” Giving the valet a sweet smile, she stepped down from the carriage, took her bundles of purchases from inside the vehicle, and turned to walk up the pathway to the rectory building.
And hoped God would not strike her dead on the spot!
To her disapproval, the carriage lingered until the door to the rectory opened, but the housekeeper knew her and admitted her readily, and at last the vehicle pulled away.
“’Ow are you, Mrs. ’Arris,” the placid woman said. “Where is the squire? Is ’e not with you?”
“He’s a bit under the weather,” Lauryn said, thanking heaven for the good-natured but rather slow-witted servant. “So I left him at the hotel. Is my sister in?”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am, but the vicar is ’ere. ’E’s in the sitting room if you’d like to go through,” the housekeeper said. “I’ll make up a nice pot of fresh tea for ye.”
“Thank you,” Lauryn said. She left her packages on the side of the front hall—the phlegmatic housekeeper might not have wondered at Lauryn’s unusual whirlwind of shopping but her more sharp-eyed employer might. Then she went on into the sitting room, where she found not just her good-looking brother-in-law, but a small, sweet-faced toddler with a strong resemblance to her mother.
“Juliette, how are you?” Lauryn said, as the little girl exclaimed in delight and immediately barreled into her legs.
“Mind your manners, little ruffian,” her father admonished, his tone good-natured, but he shook his head as he scooped up his daughter.
“It is very nice to see you, Lauryn. Ophelia has gone down to the theater for a few hours to observe a rehearsal, but she will back shortly. Is Squire Harris out gaming again, or could he be thinking of at last returning north? Not that we wish to say good-bye to you, but I know his behavior since you’ve come to London has greatly troubled you.”
“No, but perhaps now he will have to.” Without mentioning her own wild plan, Lauryn told the vicar quickly about her father-in-law’s losses at the gaming table. “If you could visit him with enough to pay for the hotel fees, and urge him to return home, Giles, I would be much obliged. He will not ask you for help himself, I know.”
“And you?” He was entirely too perceptive. “What are you planning, Lauryn? I sense that you have something up your sleeve, as well.”
Her small niece was reaching for her, and Lauryn took the little girl into her arms and threw her up in the air to make her giggle. It made it easier to evade the vicar’s kind, but searching gaze. “I have accepted a–a post with a titled family for a few weeks to earn some money on my own.” It was—more or less—the truth.
“Ah, and you think that will shame the squi
re into settling down? Perhaps it will work. It’s time he ceased his tumultuous behavior and accepted his son’s death, as deeply painful as I know it was. But Robert would not wish to see his father destroyed, or you.”
She could not look Giles in the face, and if her own complexion reddened, she hoped he would think it was from the exertion of tossing about his small daughter.
“You’re very kind,” she murmured.
“We care about you. Don’t stay too long, and don’t stay at all if you are unhappy with the family, Lauryn,” he told her as she continued her lively play with Juliette, who looked as delicate as a fairy child but was, in fact, as tough as ever her mother had been. “You know you are always welcome with us, or indeed with any one of your sisters.”
That made her eyes dampen, and she blinked.
“I hope the children you care for are not as rambunctious as this harum-scarum,” her father said as he reclaimed tiny Juliette. “Enough, little one. Allow your aunt to go up and wash for dinner. Your mother will be home soon.”
And how would she evade her sister’s sharp eyes when she told her tale again? Oh, dear. Lauryn smiled her thanks and retreated while she could. She retrieved her packages from the hall and went up to the guest room upstairs where she could shut the door and bathe her flushed face with cool water. How did deception grow so quickly complicated?
Fortunately, when Ophelia returned from the theater, she was full of tales of the new play she had penned that was almost ready to open, and although ready to commiserate with her older sister over the predicament that the squire had gotten them both into, she was not as inquisitive as she might otherwise have been.
“I do think you need not hire yourself out, however, Lauryn. You cannot be making that much for a few weeks. Stay here with us, instead, if the squire has become irksome, and you wish for a change of scene. Children can be very wearying, let me tell you!”
Young Juliette was upstairs asleep in the nursery by this time, but Juliette’s mother shook her head at the veracity of this statement.