A Reckless Desire

by Isabella Bradford

  It was the greatest gift that Rivers could give her, one that would make an entire shop of clothes pale in comparison. Yet as much as he wished her to have her dream, he did not want her to think there was any obligation to him in return. If they became lovers—which he now hoped very much that they would—he wanted her to come to his bed freely. He wanted her to love him for himself, and not because she felt she owed him for this very sizable opportunity.

  It was foolish of him to be so sentimental, he knew, and he could only imagine how his brothers and friends would howl with laughter if they ever learned. She’d earned this chance, and she deserved it. From the very difference in their rank, his relationship with Lucia would always have an inescapable mercenary air to it. But for tonight at least, he could pretend otherwise. He could simply enjoy her company for who she was, and pray she did the same with him.

  Of course he’d tell her when the time was right, and he reminded himself again of how much he wanted her to have it. Because he did, didn’t he?

  For now, McGraw’s letter and its news would keep for another day or two, buried deep in his pocket and away from his heart.

  —

  “Almost ready, ma’am,” Sally said, critically arranging the gathers at the back of Lucia’s skirts. The maid had had experience dressing ladies, and was on occasion called up to Breconridge Hall to help with the guests for balls. “His lordship wanted everything perfect before he sees you.”

  Obediently Lucia stood without moving, even as her heart raced with anticipation. She had dressed countless other women at the playhouse, but she’d never before been the one being dressed, and it was an odd experience. She sat still as a statue while Sally had brushed out her long hair and skillfully curled and pinned it into a fashionably tall pouf with trailing curls down the back. She lifted one foot and then the other for Sally to roll on her yellow silk stockings with the red embroidered clocks at the ankles, tie her red silk ribbon garters, and slip on her heeled shoes with buckles of glittering paste stones. Then she stood with her back to the looking glass to have her shift adjusted, her stays laced, and her red silk gown slipped over her shoulders and pinned into place.

  For the first time in her life, everything was new, and while all the newness was exciting in itself, it was also a bit disorienting as well. The new linen and silk sat differently against her skin, slightly apart and crisp, unlike her old familiar linen petticoats and shifts that were so worn and soft that they’d become almost a part of her. The pins that held her hair in place jabbed against her scalp, and the unfamiliar weight of her hair piled high made her hold her head up straighter. The hoops tied around her waist held her petticoats away from her hips, giving her the sensation that they were floating away, and she with them.

  Unconsciously she touched her mother’s cameo for comfort and reassurance. Not everything was new; not everything could be bought and replaced. She hadn’t lost herself, not at all—it would take more than new clothes to do that. Hadn’t Rivers told her exactly the same thing in the carriage?

  “There, ma’am, you’re finished,” Sally said, clearly taking no pleasure in what she’d done. “Turn about and see yourself in the glass.”

  Lucia was almost afraid of what she’d see. She’d never been one to spend time admiring herself in the glass, not possessing that kind of vanity. She knew perfectly well what she looked like, and there had never been that much to admire. The looking glass in this dressing room was large, nearly pier-sized, and would show her from head to toe. There’d be no hiding. Slowly, very slowly, she turned, and forced herself to look.

  And gasped.

  The reflection before her was unlike any that had ever stared back at her. The robe à la Polonaise was every bit as beautiful as she’d expected, the scarlet silk shimmering and catching the candlelight like an ever-changing jewel. It didn’t need gold thread or spangles: the color, the rich fabric, and the exquisite style were what would make it impossible to ignore in any gathering. The bodice was cut low over her breasts and sleekly fitted to her body, with narrow sleeves, lavish flounces at the elbows, and petticoats looped into extravagant poufs on either side, which served to make her waist look even smaller. This was the kind of gown that most women would only dream of owning, and she could scarcely believe it was now hers.

  But the gown alone wasn’t what had made Lucia gasp. It was how she herself looked that did that. She glowed. Her hair, her skin, her eyes: there was a vibrancy that she couldn’t recall having seen in herself for a long while, if at all. It was as if she’d a candle lit inside of her.

  “You’re not the same as when you came here, are you?” Sally observed, shrewdly watching Lucia’s reaction. “Even the lowest stray from the streets would improve with Mrs. Barber’s cooking.”

  True, her cheeks were more plump and the ribs that she’d once been able to feel through her skin had disappeared, but she knew the change wasn’t entirely due to Mrs. Barber’s cooking. Rivers could make much more of the claim. His lessons and her time here with him at the Lodge had worn away the dull, self-effacing mask of unhappiness and frustration that she’d unconsciously assumed while in the playhouse. The self-confidence and accomplishment that she’d discovered thanks to him showed in her face and even how she stood, for gone were the hunched, defensive shoulders and the tightly clasped hands. She was happy, happier than she’d ever been, and it showed.

  And, though she didn’t wish to admit it, she was also more than a little in love with him.

  The thought alone made her blush, her cheeks a guilty red that nearly matched her gown. She’d heard the gossip from the other women in the tiring room, and she knew in great detail what men expected once they’d gotten beneath a woman’s petticoats. To some, it had sounded like a tedious chore to be endured for the sake of a reward afterward, but to others it was a magical, earth-shattering experience with the right man.

  Lucia was certain that lovemaking with Rivers would be magic. Certainly kissing him was, and that was only the beginning. But no matter whether or not she ended this night in his bed, she must remember that he could never be hers, not entirely. She could have his friendship and his kindness as well as a hundred other little things that they’d shared and laughed over together, and if she dared, she might claim his passion, too, but she’d never have his heart, not to keep.

  Perhaps that was what she thought most as she studied her reflection. Dressed like this, she could now have held her own among the other Di Rossi women, and been every bit as attractive, even seductive, as Magdalena. But because of Rivers, she was different from her cousin and the others, and always would be.

  Because of him, she was better. Most likely he believed he’d only improved her as an actress, but in the process he’d also helped her become a more thoughtful, more polished, and more honorable woman that any other Di Rossi had ever been. He’d never know how much he’d done for her, just as she knew she’d never be able to repay him. Whatever happened tonight they could share a memory that would become endlessly special to her no matter what happened a week, a month, a year from now.

  “See now, there’s a smile,” Sally said, not bothering to hide her contempt. “High time you did, too. When you first came here with his lordship, none of us could figure what he’d seen in you. Now there’s no doubt to it. I suppose his lordship knew it from the beginning. Looking as you do now, ma’am, there’s no doubt at all.”

  “I must join his lordship now,” Lucia said hurriedly, glancing away from the looking glass to the little porcelain clock on the mantelpiece. It was already eight, long past their customary time for dining, and although Rivers had told her to take as long as she required to dress, she knew how much he hated to be kept waiting. “Has he gone downstairs yet?”

  Sally shrugged and stepped back, leaving a clear path for Lucia to the door. “I do not know, ma’am.”

  “Then I shall go discover for myself.” Lucia ran her palm along the front of her bodice, smoothing silk that did not need smoothing, then tu
rned away from her reflection and toward the doorway and the staircase beyond. Everything was in play now; everything would happen as fate would have it.

  Yet still she took the time to pause before Sally, placing her hand on the other woman’s upper arm.

  “I thank you, Sally,” she said. “I know that you have done this for me from an order, not an inclination, but still I am most grateful for the care you have taken with my dress tonight.”

  Sally flushed. She looked down, avoiding Lucia’s gaze, and bobbed a quick, noncommittal curtsey.

  Given any encouragement, Lucia would have said more, but she recognized a purposeful slight when she saw one, and she knew, too, the best way to respond was to ignore it. The Lodge’s female servants had disliked her from the first day she’d arrived, and nothing she’d done had changed their minds. Perhaps they’d resented how their master had favored her, a low, common woman from London who they all looked down upon; or perhaps it was simply because they knew she’d be gone from their lives in another week, they figured she wasn’t worth their trouble.

  Yet still their scorn stung because it was unfamiliar. Lucia had always been so invisible that no one else had bothered to be jealous or envious of her. Still, if she was going to make her way in the London theater she’d have to weather much worse than this, and with as pleasant a smile as she could muster, she turned away from Sally and walked through the doorway.

  It was all one more lesson to learn, she told herself fiercely. One more reason to be strong so that she might succeed.

  As much as she longed to join Rivers, she didn’t run, but walked deliberately with the grace that he had urged her to find in herself. The silk petticoats rustled around her legs with each step, as if whispering more encouragement, and by the time she reached the parlor, her smile was genuine with eagerness to join him again, and her heart was racing with anticipation.

  For once a footman—Tom, her first acquaintance amongst the staff—was stationed beside the parlor door in full livery, ready to bow and open it as soon as she approached. That made her smile, too, for life at the Lodge wasn’t generally so formal. Having Tom there was much like having Sally dress her, both servants signifying the special importance that Rivers had placed upon this evening. As Tom held the door open for her she took one final deep breath to calm herself, and swept into the room with her head high, making the entrance that Rivers—and her new gown—deserved.

  But instead of the blaze of candles and the impeccably set table that she’d expected, the room was nearly dark except for the moonlight. There were only two candles lit on the mantel, and the table where they usually ate was not only not set, but at rest against the wall with the leaves folded down.

  And Rivers wasn’t even looking at her. Instead he stood at the open door to the garden, gazing out at the night sky with his hands clasped behind his back. He was dressed for evening, too, and the moonlight glinted on the silver threads in his embroidered front and cuffs of his dark silk coat, just as it gilded on his golden hair, and reminded her once again how glad she was that he didn’t powder it, or wear a wig. His long shadow stretched out behind him, away from the door and across the flowered carpet. She’d often before seen him lost in his thoughts like this, but not when he was supposed to be waiting to welcome her.

  Panic and disappointment rose within her. Had she completely misjudged his intentions for this evening? Was he planning not to make love to her as she’d imagined, but to send her packing and bid her farewell, with the clothes purchased today no more than a lavish parting gift? She swallowed hard, wondering what she was to say and do under such circumstances, and how she would ever live with the disappointment.

  But then he turned, and the way his face lit with pleasure when he saw her swept aside all her doubts, all her fears. She sank gracefully into a curtsey, her skirts crushing around her in a soft, silken pillow, and smiled up at him. It was a curtsey meant for the stage, not for Court—according to Rivers, smiling up at His Majesty would have been considered a terrible impropriety—but now she found, and charmed, her audience.

  “My God, Lucia, but you’re beautiful,” Rivers said. He stepped forward and bent to raise her up, taking her by both her hands and keeping them. Without breaking his gaze from hers, he lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed her open palm, and then the other.

  “It’s entirely the gown that you bought for me,” she said, breathless from what he’d said and the touch of his lips on her palms and everything else about being here alone with him. “You’re dazzled by the scarlet silk.”

  “I’m dazzled by the woman inside the silk,” he said, more solemnly than she’d expected. “You are more dazzling than the stars and the moon in the sky.”

  She was thankful for the half-light that would hide how she blushed. She still was not accustomed to compliments from him, nor to the great rush of pleasure that she felt when he gave them. Compliments were not idle, empty things with him, the way they were with most men, who saw them only as a means toward a kiss or other favor. To Rivers a compliment was purest truth, or not said aloud, and to hear him speak such things of her was glorious indeed.

  “Such fancies, Rivers,” she said shyly, betraying her blush even if he couldn’t see it. “The stars and the moon?”

  “Every one of them,” he said. “Come, and I’ll show you.”

  Still holding her hands, he began to lead her from the room. He meant to take her upstairs already, to his bed, without supper or any other preliminary. There could be no other explanation. Though she’d thought she was eager for that, she hung back, suddenly uneasy, or perhaps only disappointed. She’d thought Rivers would be different from other men, and take his time to win her. She’d thought he would woo her, enchant her, seduce her in every sense of the word.

  “I—I thought we were to dine,” she said hesitantly, unable to say what she was thinking. “That is why I am dressed like this, yes?”

  He frowned, confused. “Of course we shall dine,” he said. “I would never deprive you of a meal, Lucia.”

  Under any other circumstances, his literal answer would have made her laugh, but not now.

  “But when you said you’d show me the stars…” she began, faltering.

  “When I said it, that was exactly what I intended,” he said firmly. “This morning you accused me of relying too much upon knowledge gleaned from books, and not enough from life itself. I wish to prove you wrong, Lucia. No, that’s not right. Rather, I wish to show you, so you may judge for yourself. Trust me. That is all I ask. Trust me, and see.”

  How could she not trust him after that?

  She took a deep breath, her smile wobbly with emotion.

  “Then show me, Rivers,” she said. “Show me.”

  The stars and the moon.

  It had sounded foolish the instant Rivers had spoken the words, and yet he could think of no other words that would have done the job any better. Lucia was more beautiful than all the heavens combined, and he’d every intention of showing her, too.

  He’d left detailed orders for how everything should be arranged while they were away this afternoon in Newbury, and as soon as Lucia had gone off to dress, he’d gone racing upstairs to make sure those orders had been followed exactly as he’d intended. For the most part, they had, but he still had not been able to refrain from making a few adjustments, final changes here and there, to be certain that everything was perfect for her.

  There was, of course, a certain risk involved in bringing Lucia up to his rooftop retreat. He’d never trusted any of his family with the secret of its existence, and the only other outsider who’d visited it—uninvited—had been the terrified milliner’s apprentice, and with hysterical results, too. But he’d come to know Lucia well enough to feel certain she wouldn’t behave as that wretched young woman had done, and besides, there was no lightning predicted for tonight’s weather. Instead there was only a slip of a new moon in a midnight-blue sky, plus more stars than the eye could count, all of which he inte
nded to offer to her.

  He led her up the main staircase, past the first floor, and then up the smaller, twisting stairs that led to the roof. He noticed how her trepidation eased when they passed by his bedchamber, which chagrined him. Did she really believe he’d ravish her with such boorish haste?

  Not that he didn’t want to, of course. From the moment she’d appeared in that red dress, he’d been thinking of nothing else, even as he’d asked her to trust him. How the devil was he supposed to trust himself when she looked as fiery as the silk itself, her small, delectable figure barely contained by her tightly laced stays and her breasts thrust upward into his face without her usual kerchief for modesty’s sake? Really, as a man, how was he to contend with that—except in the most obvious way?

  It was taking all his effort to keep his gaze on her face. Later, he told himself sternly, later, after he’d proved to her—and to himself—that he deserved that trust, and her with it.

  He paused at the top of the twisting stairs, his hand on the latch of the arched door. He prayed he was doing the right thing by bringing her here, and he hoped she didn’t think he was a madman, the kind of eccentric that belonged in Bedlam.

  “Go on, Rivers,” she urged, her eyes wide with curiosity. “You cannot stop here. You’ve made such a great, precious secret of this that I’m guessing all kinds of things lie on the other side of that door. Perhaps you keep a menagerie, with wild beasts like the tiger that devoured poor Mr. Willow, or—”

  “There’s no tiger,” he said quickly. “I can promise you that.”

  She smiled up at him in a way that squeezed his heart. “I didn’t really believe there was.”

  “I’ve never brought anyone else here, Lucia, not even my brothers,” he said. “You’ll be the first.”