Whisper To Me of Love
Page 23
Amazed at herself and ignoring the quaking in the pit of her stomach, Pip met his gaze squarely and said bluntly, “If I am to be your mistress, it is going to cost you a great deal ... a very great deal of money.”
“I see,” he bit out furiously, a cold, golden light glowing in the depths of his eyes. “And just what are your terms, my dear?”
Not hesitating, disregarding the pain in her heart, Pip replied stoutly, “A house. I want a house in the country that will be mine alone. And money.”
Royce was astounded at the feeling of disappointment that slashed through him at her words. What he had expected from her, he didn’t know, but he had believed what they had shared had been priceless, a moment that he would never forget ... that he never wanted to forget. It was obvious, however, that he had misjudged the situation completely, that she was nothing but a mercenary little bitch! Furious for allowing himself to be utterly beguiled by that lovely face and yielding body, he barely restrained the savage urge to shake her senseless, to make her admit that what they had shared had been precious. But then, what could he expect from a little tart plucked from the gutter? He should have known better!
Eyes narrowed dangerously, he finally asked in a sneering voice, “What, no jewels? No gowns? No expensive carriage and fine horses to take you all over town? Or am I to understand that those things are just automatically part of the payment?”
Pip had been concentrating so hard on forcing herself to act with hardheaded practicality, concentrating grimly on the future she must secure for her brothers and herself, that she had not thought beyond the most important items. As she heard the scorn in his voice, her heart twisted, and wishing dully that this ugly scene were over, she almost retreated from her stance. But what else could she do? she wondered miserably, especially now! If she didn’t want to be passed from protector to protector until she ended up like her mother, it was vital that she lay down the most advantageous terms for herself and her brothers.
Mortified by what she was doing, yet unable to see any other way out of her predicament, she jerked her head away and muttered in a small voice, “Yes, all those things too.”
Royce took a deep, angry breath, but his voice was cool as he said, “Very well. I shall see to it.”
Startled, Pip glanced at him, unable to believe that he was giving in so tamely. “Y-Y-You’re not going t-t-to a-a-argue with me about it?” she stammered uneasily, her thickly lashed gray eyes very big in her small face.
Royce smiled grimly. “Of course not! I’m a rich man,” he snarled softly, “and I’ve always been willing to pay for my pleasures ... no matter what the price.” He pulled her to him and kissed her cruelly, showing none of the tenderness he had earlier. Lifting his mouth from her bruised lips, he said savagely, “And believe me, you will earn every penny I expend on you, sweetheart!”
Pride stiffened her spine, and her chin held high in the air, she said in a gritty little voice, “I intend to!”
“Very well,” he snapped, “we understand each other.” He cast a disparaging glance at her torn gown and said coolly, “And I think the first order of business ought to be some new clothing for you.”
Before Pip could protest, he strode over to the velvet bell rope that hung just behind his desk, and giving it a vicious yank, he turned back to face her. It was an uncomfortable few minutes as they stood there silently glaring at each other, neither one willing or able to think of anything to say that would bridge the chasm that had suddenly sprung open between them.
It was with relief that Pip heard the tap on the door and watched Royce cross the room and fling it open. Chambers waited on the other side of the door, his polite expression fading just a bit when he caught sight of Royce’s face, and his eyes widening in shocked dismay when he glimpsed Pip’s forlorn features over Royce’s shoulder. Fortunately, before he noticed the torn gown, in a tone of voice Chambers had never heard from him, Royce said bluntly, “Find Spurling and tell him to bring me a cloak. Immediately! ”
Ever the polite butler, Chambers bowed slightly and said with stiff punctiliousness, “Of course, sir. I shall see to it this very instant.” Chambers hesitated a moment, then added, “I was on my way to find you when you rang, sir—Lady Whitlock and Lady Devlin have just come to call.” Shooting his employer a nervous glance, Chambers continued, “I placed them in the blue salon—they indicated that they had come to call on a matter of some importance.”
A black frown darkened Royce’s already angry face and he cursed under his breath. Lady Whitlock was a meddling old busybody who was noted for pouncing upon the unwary and lecturing them incessantly on whatever charity had lately caught her fancy, and if she was not lecturing, she was soliciting funds for one worthy cause or another. To save the downtrodden was her mission in life, and she carried it to the extreme, most members of the ton avoiding her like the plague. Unfortunately Lady Whitlock went everywhere, and she seized every occasion to expound upon whatever happened to be her pet project at the time. Her only redeeming feature, and opinion was divided about it, was the fact that she spent a great deal of the huge fortune she had inherited from her husband on these same good works. Only last week she had trapped Royce as he had strolled toward White’s and he had not been able to escape from her clutches until he had promised to contribute an enormous sum of money to a fund to provide food for the hundreds of stray and homeless mongrels that roamed London’s streets. Since he had seen his banker that same afternoon and had seen to it that Lady Whitlock received the funds she had requested, he was puzzled by her presence here at his house this afternoon. And as for her companion, Lady Devlin ... His frown grew even blacker. What the devil could she want?
Glancing down at his casual attire, he pulled a rueful face. Lord, he couldn’t meet them this way. Looking at Chambers, he smiled wryly and murmured, “Better have Spurling bring me a waistcoat and jacket while he’s about it.”
Silence descended in the room again once Chambers departed, and it was only broken when Spurling arrived with the requested items. Taking them from the obviously curious valet, Royce thanked him and added, “Tell Chambers that I shall want my curricle brought round. Just as soon as I finish with the ladies, I shall be leaving the house for a while.”
After Spurling had left, Royce threw the cloak in Pip’s direction and hastily donned the waistcoat and jacket. His voice cool, he said, “I shall not be very long. Wait here until I return, and then we shall see about procuring some other garments for you.” His mouth twisted and he added dryly, “After all, you did earn them, didn’t you?”
Pip hated him in that moment, but before she could hurl a scathing reply at him, he was gone, the door shutting with unnecessary force behind him.
Entering the blue salon, Royce found that Chambers had served the women some lemonade and cream cakes, and smiling politely, he commented, “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, ladies, but I’m happy to see that my servant has already seen to your comforts.”
The two women were sitting on a long Sheraton sofa covered in a blue tapestry material, their full skirts artfully arranged about their ankles. Already familiar with Lady Whitlock, Royce nodded politely in her direction before fixing his gaze on the wife of the Earl of St. Audries. He knew Lucinda Devlin by sight, but he had never been formally introduced to her. Lady Whitlock, with a great deal of fluttering lashes and arch looks, rectified this omission.
At forty-two years of age, Lucinda Devlin was still a striking woman. Her dark, lustrous hair, cleverly arranged in a chignon with a few tendrils of hair curving at her temples and cheeks, was as yet untouched by any sign of gray. And while there were some signs of aging on her face, an occasional faint crease near the long-lashed hazel eyes and a line or two at the corners of her voluptuously curved mouth, her body was that of a woman half her age, her bosom high and firm, her waist slim, and her hips slender. It was obvious from the sexually appreciative look she slanted up at Royce as he bowed over her extended hand that she enjoyed masculine company,
but Royce could not for the life of him figure out why she was here with a silly, frumpish old creature like Lady Whitlock.
The contrast between the two women as they sat on the sofa was quite conspicuous. Lady Whitlock would not see sixty again, and it showed, her wispy, flyaway white hair framing a deeply seamed face that had not been attractive even when young; her ill-fitting, hideous gown of puce silk clashed violently with Lucinda’s expertly styled frock of apricot muslin. Lucinda was noted for her various lovers, while Lady Whitlock was equally noted for her sincere dedication to those less fortunate than she. They were an odd pair, to be sure, and as the three of them continued to make polite conversation, Royce could not help wondering what brought them to his house together—especially in view of the fact that it was well-known that he was not on the best of terms with Lucinda’s husband.
As if in answer to his unspoken question, Lucinda put down her glass of lemonade and said casually, “You are being very kind to see us, but I am certain that you are wondering why we are here.” At Royce’s nod, she continued, “My cousin and I are here on a ... a mission of mercy, you might say.”
Cousins! Royce thought in astonishment. Who would have believed it, looking at the much older, frumpish Lady Whitlock and the lovely, stylishly attired Lucinda? Certainly not he, but at least it seemed he now knew why they were together. And as for a “mission of mercy” ... He cocked an eyebrow. “Yes?” he asked interestedly. “What can I do for you?”
Lucinda appeared slightly embarrassed, and with a pretty show of deference, she turned to her cousin. “Letty, this was your idea; perhaps you had better explain it.” Giving Royce a limpid look, Lucinda added, “Letty simply begged me to come along with her this morning, and while I don’t usually allow her to embroil me in her schemes, I thought it would be an excellent opportunity to finally meet you—I have heard a great deal about you.”
Not certain whether to be flattered or not, Royce merely smiled and fixed his attention on Lady Whitlock. After several false starts, Lady Whitlock finally said in a rush, “It is about that pickpocket person that you have here in the house.”
Royce couldn’t have been more astounded if she had suddenly blurted out that she was here to steal the family silver! Good God! What the devil did Pip have to do with this shatter-brained old woman?
“Pickpocket person?” he asked in a neutral tone. “What about her?”
Her faded blue eyes locked anxiously on his, Lady Whitlock murmured nervously, “Well, as you are no doubt aware, there has been a great deal of talk about her presence in your house—you being a bachelor and all—and I thought that it might be better if she were to come live with me.”
Lucinda laughed coquettishly. “I told her that it was all nonsense! But once dear Letty gets an idea into her head, there is no swaying her. She is quite convinced that this poor young thing would be much happier in a house with a woman in it.”
His brain very busy behind his polite expression, Royce answered dryly, “But there already is a woman in this household—several, in fact.”
Lady Whitlock appeared flustered, and for several seconds she fiddled uneasily with one of the expensive India scarves that she had draped about her person before she ventured helplessly, “Oh, you mean servants! But that is not the same; servants can only teach her so much, but as a lady of birth and breeding, I can instruct her more fully in the proper way to comport herself.” A note of almost pleading in her voice, her blue eyes fixed appealingly on his, she added in a low voice, “It is very important to me that she come to my home. I promise that I will treat her well, and you can be quite satisfied that you have done the right thing.”
It was apparent that Lady Whitlock was attaching much more importance to what should have been a simple request than necessary, and Royce had a very good idea why. I wonder, he thought idly, precisely what the one-eyed man holds over your poor head. Even Lucinda seemed astonished at her cousin’s actions, saying bluntly, “Why, Letty, I have never seen you this way! How can a little guttersnipe that you have never laid eyes on before mean so much to you?”
And deciding to test his surmise that the one-eyed man had something to do with Lady Whitlock’s visit today, Royce added smoothly, “Yes, exactly why are you so determined that your home will provide her with better advantages than mine? Or perhaps, it is someone else who wants her out of my house and into yours? Someone who suggested it would be to your benefit to approach me?”
Thoroughly routed, a flicker of stark terror in the depths of the faded blue eyes, Lady Whitlock surged to her feet, silken skirts rustling. Attempting to bluff her way clear, Lady Whitlock said agitatedly, “Well! I have no idea what you are talking about! From the goodness of my heart, I merely wanted to offer you a solution to a situation that might be proving embarrassing. As for someone else having anything to do with my being here—why, the whole idea is utterly preposterous! If you don’t want me to take the child, simply say so!”
“I don’t want you to take the pickpocket, who, by the way, is not a child!” Royce answered coolly, her reaction confirming his suspicion.
Looking completely mystified by her cousin’s erratic behavior, Lucinda also rose to her feet, albeit far more gracefully. Smiling up into Royce’s face, she murmured, “I’m afraid that dear Letty is not feeling quite herself today. Please accept my apologies for any inconvenience our visit may have caused you.”
“No inconvenience at all,” Royce replied gallantly. “It was my pleasure to meet you, and of course”—he bowed diffidently in Lady Whitlock’s direction—“I am always happy to see you, Lady Whitlock.”
Staring at him as if he were a deadly cobra, Lady Whitlock sniffed disdainfully and, gathering her puce skirts around her, sailed from the room, Lucinda following hurriedly in her wake. Royce followed them, signaling Chambers, who was waiting in the main hallway to open the door for them. The door had hardly shut behind the ladies before Royce demanded, “The curricle—you ordered it?”
“Yes, sir. I believe it is already in the street waiting for you.”
“Fine! I shall get Pip, and then we will be gone for several hours.” Royce hesitated only a second, then added bluntly, “As you may have gathered, she will not be returning to her usual duties, nor will her quarters be the same. Please have the master suite prepared, and have my things moved to it.” A glitter in the golden brown eyes that brooked no arguments, even if Chambers had been so inclined, Royce continued curtly, “She will be sharing the adjoining room with me until I can find her more suitable lodgings. In the meantime, I want her treated with courtesy and respect.”
If Chambers was surprised, not only by what Royce had told him, but by the mere fact that he had explained anything at all to him, his features did not betray it. His voice toneless, he bowed and said, “Of course, sir. I shall see to it at once.”
Hoping that Pip would prove as amenable, Royce strode quickly down the hall to his office. Finding Pip standing in the middle of the room, the too large cloak completely obscuring her slender form, Royce muttered, “Good! You are ready. Come, let us leave.” He smiled thinly. “I always believe in paying my debts immediately, and while it may take me a bit to find you your house, I can see to it that you have some clothes and jewels before this day is much older.”
Eyes downcast, her head bent, Pip slid past him, the cold, hard lump of despair in her breast nearly making her cry out from the pain of it. She had done it! She had sold herself to Royce Manchester, and the knowledge brought her nothing but a feeling of bitterness and regret. Not even the realization that she would gain a fortune, a future for herself and her brothers, could console her for what she had done. Wretchedly she wished she could call back the words, could relive those moments before her wicked tongue had placed her in this invidious situation. Her body still ached from Royce’s lovemaking, and she knew that it would fade rapidly, but the ache in her heart, the ache in her heart was forever....
Silently she let Royce guide her into the hall and out the do
or and down the broad steps to the street. She looked neither left nor right, but pride eventually came to her rescue, and straightening her slim shoulders, she lifted her head proudly. So what if she was going to be a rich man’s mistress? It had been good enough for her mother; why should she cavil?
She wasn’t even aware of the two other women just preparing to enter their carriage until Royce tipped his head and said coolly, “Ladies.”
Curiosity caused her to glance momentarily in that direction, but she was so lost in her own misery that beyond recognizing them as ladies of fashion, they held little interest for her and she turned to gaze listlessly ahead. Pip may not have found them particularly interesting, but one of them at least found her extremely interesting. Her face white, the hazel eyes dilated with stunned fury, Lucinda Devlin stared in shocked disbelief at the lovely features of the young woman being helped into the curricle by Manchester.
“My God, I don’t believe it! Hester’s brat!” she hissed viciously. “She’s alive!” Grasping Lady Whitlock’s arm painfully, Lucinda watched intently as the curricle was driven smartly away. Her voluptuous mouth thinned angrily, Lucinda turned to glare wrathfully at a suddenly very frightened Lady Whitlock and said grimly, “I think, dear Letty, that it is time that you tell me exactly why you wanted to house that young woman ... and who put you up to it.”
Unaware of Lucinda Devlin’s reactions, Royce and Pip rode swiftly through the crowded London streets toward the establishment of a modiste who was well-known to Royce. There was no conversation between them, and it was only when they had pulled up in front of a modest-looking little building near Bond Street that Royce spoke. He gave Pip a hard look and asked, “Do you have any name other than ‘Pip’?” His eyes bitter, a scornful bite to his words, he added harshly, “Somehow it doesn’t quite have the ring necessary for the career you have chosen. Surely your mother didn’t name you ‘Pip.’”