by Patty Bryant
A faint sound to her right caught her attention and Savitri turned to behold a naked shoulder just next to her own. A man’s shoulder most definitely. He was facing away but she could see the waves of his hair, just long enough to spill onto the pillow. A few strands picked up the light from the coals in the fireplace which turned them auburn, but in her heart Savitri knew their true color was a deep brown.
She was lying besides Alexander Ware, Duke of Clermont, and this must be his bedroom.
Her memories of last night came flooding back and Savitri had to work hard to suppress a groan. She couldn’t afford to wake Alexander – not yet. She needed time by herself to think.
Because clearly she hadn’t been thinking last night. It would have been nice to blame her actions on drunkenness, but she knew that she’d had no wine, no punch, no other intoxicants. There was only her own rash, foolhardy impulsiveness. She’d always been too ready to leap without looking – no appropriately cautious girl traveled alone to a foreign country, after all – but this was a greater mistake than any she’d made before.
To lose her virginity to a man who would never be able to marry her! To sleep with a man who was all but a stranger to her!
What she feared most of all, even more than the thought of how polite society would condemn her, was what Alexander must think. She had been so happy last night, so certain that she’d found a kindred soul in him. It had been like a dream come true, and in a gorgeous library as well! And all the while he’d probably been thinking nothing more than that it was mildly amusing to have a servant girl throw herself at him so wantonly.
Savitri slid her hands out from under the luxuriant sheets and covered her face. Tears pressed hotly at the back of her eyelids, but she held them back with sheer force of will. She took one shaky breath and then another, the second slightly steadier. She concentrated on keeping her breaths quiet and slow, focusing all of her attention of that easy pattern of in and out. She would not sob. She would not weep. On each inhale she tried to draw calm and logic into her lungs with the fresh air. She blew out the shame and fear with each exhale.
Finally she felt able to make a decision. Moving cautiously so as not to wake Alexander, she sat up and swung her legs out of the bed. She was still wearing her dress from last night, though someone – she knew that it must have been Alexander, but right now she wanted to think about him as little as possible – had undone the buttons down its back to make it more comfortable for her to sleep.
She redid as many as she could reach, then tiptoed about the room until she found her slippers neatly placed by the door. She put them back on. There was no hope of redoing her hair into her usual tight bun, so she simply pulled it into a knot at the nape of her neck. If anyone looked closely it would be obvious that she had spent the night not in her own room, but she prayed that no one would see her. It was early enough that only the kitchen servants should be awake, and she should be able to avoid them without too many difficulties.
Savitri softly opened the bedroom’s door, but something made her pause before she escaped. She looked back over her shoulder to the bed, where Alexander was just barely visible in the shadows cast by the canopy and rumpled blankets. The sight made her throat close, and she longed to return to his side, to slide back into that pool of warmth and intimacy she was leaving.
No, she reminded herself. It’s not meant for you. Better to leave now of your own volition than to wait for him to kick you out.
She firmed her shoulders, eased open the door, and slipped away.
“Good morning, Your Grace.”
Alexander opened his eyes to the bright light of mid-morning, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and the sound of his valet’s voice. All of this was perfectly normal, but even before he turned his head, Alexander sensed that something was missing.
“You will be taking your coffee black as usual, I presume?”
Alexander levered himself up onto one elbow and looked around. No one was in bed with him. That was the problem.
Ignoring his valet’s question, he demanded, “Where’s Savitri?”
“Sir?” John, the valet, blinked in confusion, his hands hovering over the coffee pot.
“Miss Booth, then. Where is she?”
“I... I presume she is in the schoolroom. Your nieces usually breakfast with their parents at nine, so by now – ”
Alexander cut off his useless rambling with a wave of his hand, but the man wouldn’t let the matter rest. “Would you like me to summon her, Your Grace?”
“No.” Clearly she must have left before John arrived. Prudent of her, Alexander supposed, but for once he didn’t care about what was prudent. He intended to make Savitri his duchess as soon as possible, and it would be for the best if the servants learned that now.
He sat up further in the bed to look around the room and see if she had left a note or any other explanation of her departure. He saw nothing except for a single strand of hair on the pillow where she had slept: as black as ink, graceful as a vine of ivy. Alexander reached out and carefully picked it up, curling it around his fingers as he considered the matter.
“Your coffee, Your Grace?” John bent over him, attempting to place a tray with coffee, toast, and this morning’s letters on his lap. Alexander quickly blocked him from doing so and waved him back with an impatient gesture.
He knew now what he had to do.
“Never mind with the blasted coffee. I want you to dress me immediately.”
Unfortunately John had served with him for most of Alexander’s adult life and was too used to his imperious ways to be intimidated. “You really should take some sustenance first. I know you won’t have time later in the day – ”
Alexander flung back the bedcovers and stood naked in the center of the room. “John. Dress me now, or I am perfectly prepared to go out into the house as I am.”
John’s gaze met his, and for an instant Alexander thought the valet might hold out. His closest servants had been chosen for their lack of sycophantic bootlicking, but at this moment Alexander could have done with just a bit of groveling. He searched for something more to say to convince John. “You know I’ll do it. I couldn’t give a fig for what Lady Louisa might say.”
John sighed, visibly surrendering. He set the breakfast tray down on the now-empty bed and moved toward the duke’s clothespress. “Please don’t, sir. I am sure Lady Louisa would appreciate such a sight, but we must think of your nieces; they would be utterly shocked. And what of the maids? The newest one is a mere sixteen years old! You must remember to consider the effects of your actions of others.”
Alexander endured the scolding only because it did not slow down John’s actions. Within a few minutes the valet had skillfully attired him in the appropriate clothes of a gentleman spending the morning within his own house. Even that was too long of a delay for Alexander’s raw urgency, and John was still straightening the creases of his cravat when he stepped away.
He hurried to the door, but remembered himself before he was entirely through it. He rummaged in the pocket of his waistcoat, drew out a large coin, and tossed it back across the room to John, who caught it deftly out of the air. “That’s for putting up with my temper.”
“If I minded a few snarled words and morning growls, Your Grace, I would have found another position long ago.” John smiled. “Believe me, I would much rather work for you than Lord Highsmith.”
“Good man.”
Alexander strode quickly through the halls of the Ware townhouse, his exchange with John lightening his heart. He would, perhaps, admit to feeling a momentary distress when he’d realized that Savitri had left, but as soon as he found her he was certain that all would be swiftly made clear. He remembered again her fierce kisses, the fire in her eyes as she had risen to meet his challenge. She was his match, his perfect mate; she had to recognize that truth as clearly as he did himself.
The schoolroom was on the third floor of the house, in what had been
a little-used parlor. His brother’s family had not been in residence long enough for the room to be entirely made over to its new purpose, but some changes were obvious. When Alexander entered, he found the old-fashioned sofa and cabriolet chairs had been pushed to the edges of the room rather than removed. A low table and small chest had been added; the latter was propped open to reveal a scatter of books, loose papers, and other supplies.
His eyes went immediately to Savitri. She was kneeling beside Lucy at the table, but her attention had been caught by the sound of the door opening and she stared back at him.
He hardly recognized her as the woman from last night. The hair that had fallen in disarray about her shoulders and curled around his fingers was once more tightly confined in a bun, even topped with a small white cap that muted its dark color. Her heavy black dress hid the curves of her body and covered her from neck to wrist; even where he could glimpse her skin, on her face and the back of her hands, it looked paler, duller. Most striking of all, her mannerisms had transformed. She no longer seemed ready to meet his every challenge. She was a demure, proper woman, one of the sort who faded into the background at every party in town. Had she appeared like this last night, he would not have fallen in love. He wouldn’t have even noticed her.
Before either of them could speak, Penelope launched herself to her feet. She wore a plain frock more appropriate to her age than the low-cut silk gown she’d had on at the ball and her hair was in a simple braid. She looked more like his brother – her father – this way: her cheeks fuller, her posture less stiff, her features more animated. She’d appeared drawn and insipid at the ball, but perhaps that had only been the effect of the candlelight or her own nervousness.
“Uncle Alexander!” she said, then corrected herself. “Your Grace. I intended to come and see you this morning – you needn’t have sought me out. I would have come... that is, I do know what is appropriate, I mean....” She petered out in a confusion of formal language and embarrassment and simply stood in front of him, her head bowed and her hands clutched together so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.
Alexander regarded her in confusion. He had no idea what Penelope might want with him, and for several moments awkward silence reigned in the room.
Then Savitri discreetly cleared her throat. “I apologize for....” she whispered.
Penelope seized onto the prompt like a drowning woman. “I apologize for my behavior last night,” she said in a rush, the words running together. “It was most inappropriate and I am quite ashamed of myself.” She bobbed into curtsey, going up and down as quickly as a jack-in-the-box.
“Apology accepted,” Alexander grunted, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “Miss Booth, you and I must speak.”
Savitri’s eyes shot up to his, dark and wide with… surprise? anticipation? He couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter. Even that small indication of emotion was enough to send a bolt of desire through him. She was still the woman of passion and hunger he had revealed last night; he could still affect her, no matter how firmly she’d put on her mask of propriety.
Unfortunately Penelope was not that easily set side. “Oh, you mustn’t blame Miss Booth!” she cried, darting forward to place herself between him and her governess as though he was a rampaging monster that required battling. “Indeed, it is not her fault, not at all. She knew nothing of my plans. She couldn’t have! I was very devious.”
“I knew,” piped up Lucy from her seat at the table. Her chair was high enough that her feet didn’t touch the floor, and she swung them back and forth, apparently highly entertained at the drama before her. “Because you wore your new dress even though mama told you it wasn’t for the schoolroom because you might spill ink on it.”
Penelope whirled on her sister. “How dare you!” she howled. “If he fires Miss Booth, you’ll never see her again and it’ll be all your fault.”
Lucy’s feet stopped swinging. Her face fell and her lower lip threatened to tremble. “Miss Booth?”
Savitri absentmindedly patted her shoulder as she rose to her feet. “Don’t cry, Lucy, and Penelope, don’t threaten your sister.” The words had the ring of something she’d repeated many times before. “You certainly won’t be ready to go out into society until you’ve learned to control your temper. You must think before you speak. Who would want to see a childish tantrum at a ball?”
Neither girl looked particularly subdued, but Savitri carried on without regard for their stormy expressions. “Your uncle and I are going to step out into the hallway to speak. Penelope, please assist Lucy with her mathematics problems until I return.” She swept out of the room.
Alexander turned to follow, but felt a twinge of guilt at turning his back on Lucy’s tear-bright eyes. “I’m not firing her,” he said.
This had less of an effect than he would have liked. The two girls regarded him with equally suspicious glares. It was rather more disconcerting than some of the worst debates he had endured in Parliament and he was grateful to escape from the room.
The hallway in this part of the house was dim and cool, the only window many feet away. A thick rug muffled any sound and no one else was about. Alexander pulled the door closed behind himself and took advantage of their isolation to step quickly across the hall, catch Savitri up in his arms, and kiss her.
Except that she turned her face away.
Alexander froze in surprise, then pulled back. “What is it? The girls won’t see, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
“It is,” she said in a polite but firm tone. She put her hand to his chest, but it was no loving touch. She flattened her palm and pushed him away from her, then slid free of his loosening grasp and straightened her dress. “But it is not the only thing I am concerned about, Your Grace.”
He snorted. “Penelope’s old enough, she’ll learn the ways of men and women soon enough – ”
“No.”
He stopped and looked at her, truly looked. Not for what he wanted to see, not for her beauty and how deftly she responded to him, but at every part of her. Her chin was up and her full mouth – only last night so sweet and open beneath his own – was hardened into a thin line. Her eyes were flat dark mirrors, yielding nothing. He had found her willful determination attractive before, but now that it was turned in opposition to him, he felt suddenly bereft.
The hallway seemed cold without her body against his.
“Last night was a mistake,” she continued, her voice as calm as if she were not dashing his impulsive plans. “I beg you to never mention it to me again.”
The words were submissive, the sort of thing that should have been accompanied by an apologetically bowed head and downcast eyes; Savitri stood stiff and tall, meeting his gaze without hesitation. It gave him hope that he could still change her mind. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. I fear that I have given you quite the wrong impression of myself. I will understand” – her words quivered for a moment, but she brought herself ruthlessly under control once more – ”if you find it necessary to dismiss me from my position.”
“What? Of course not! I don’t care–”
“No. You made it exceedingly clear that you do care for propriety. What happened between us was an impulse, and it will pass. You will not want your nieces to be taught by a… a woman of easy virtue.” She drew a shaky breath, then added, “Think of them. Would you have them entire society with already tarnished reputations? Because that is what association with me would do. Women may not may not behave loosely, nor keep company with those who do, if they want to be considered respectable. Even a rumor can do great damage.”
“I won’t let anyone hurt you. Any of you.”
Savitri softened briefly, nearly smiling, but she still shook her head. “How, Your Grace? Can you stop gossip? Force a woman to be friendly when she would rather not? Demand invitations to private events? No one can fight social opprobrium. Not even you.”
“What then? Are
you asking me to give you up? To behave as though there is nothing between us?” He reached once more for her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles hard in a desperate attempt to bring back to life the passion she had shown last night. But her hand was cool and slack in his, and when he released his grip, it fell once more to her side. “Savitri, give me something!”
“Forget me. Forget – everything that happened between us. It was only one night. Treat me as you do any of the many other servants in your household.” She must have seen the reluctance in his expression, because stubbornness hardened her voice. “If you feel any kindness toward me, do as I ask. I want you to leave me alone. Do not seek to change my wishes.”
Alexander found himself too choked with anger and despair to speak. He stepped back and bowed to her, a gesture of cruel sarcasm, far too formal for the empty hallway. Savitri’s hands tightened into fists at her sides, but she said nothing.
He put his back to her and stalked away, expecting at every instant to hear her calling him back, his ears straining to catch a whisper, a sob, even a sigh. Savitri still had made no sound when he turned the corner.
CHAPTER SIX
The next week was painful. Savitri spent it uncomfortably self-conscious, constantly terrified of giving away what she’d done through some misguided word or gesture. She was most afraid of Penelope. The girl was old enough and had spent enough time with Savitri that she might notice something was wrong, and perhaps she was even capable of putting it together with that strange visit of her uncle’s to the schoolroom.
She needn’t have worried. Penelope was too overwhelmed by her own problems to notice anyone else’s. Alexander had kept his promise to not tell her parents how she had snuck into the ball, but her mood continued to darken. She repeatedly grew distracted during Savitri’s lessons, wanting only to reminiscence on Calcutta and India. Such talk was salt on Savitri’s wounds. She was hard put to refrain from snapping at the girl, At least you still have your mother with you!