Chapter Twenty-Four
Dammit!” Lucy cried out, as she stuck her scalp with a hairpin. She was too nervous, too excited to focus on the intricate style that really required another set of hands to do properly. She removed the pin, took a deep breath and let it out in three slow counts.
Just because tonight she was going to the theater for the first time since she’d come to London, would be sitting in a box, wearing an exquisite amber velvet dress with its newly lowered bodice, did not mean she couldn’t do this. She had to do this. If her hair looked insipid, it wouldn’t be fair to the dress.
“Miss, if you don’t mind, you could let me do your hair for you,” Charlotte offered hesitantly.
Lucy stared in surprise at Charlotte’s reflection in the mirror.
“Can you?” At Charlotte’s nod and hopeful eyes, Lucy lowered her hands. The girl was very young, just fourteen, had been hired more as a maid-of-all-work than as a lady’s maid since Lucy mostly liked attending to herself. “Well, let’s see what you can do.”
Charlotte seemed to bounce with as much excitement as Lucy felt about the play, but her hands as they unpinned her hair were steady and sure. She brushed Lucy’s hair thoroughly and then began separating the long waves into parts. Within a few minutes, Lucy could see a promising shape taking hold.
“You are quite good,” Lucy said, admiring Charlotte’s progress.
“Thank you, miss. I used to practice on my younger sisters. I want to be a lady’s maid someday.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lucy said. “We’ll see how you do.”
Lucy watched Charlotte as she worked, her young thin face, her girlish body that hadn’t even begun developing yet. Just fourteen and trying so hard to please. Lucy rarely thought of her early years in service, but right then, Charlotte reminded her so much of her younger self that it hurt.
What would she have said to a young Lucy if she could go back now? You’re going to be a mistress someday, give up any shred of morality and respectability. Run away?
But then Lucy caught her own reflection in the mirror, her hair exquisitely coifed, the slightest bit of paint setting off her eyes and highlighting her cheekbones. She knew Robert would be pleased with how she looked tonight, maybe so pleased she wouldn’t quite make it through the carriage ride looking so completely perfect.
Enjoy it, Lucy thought with a satisfied smile. That’s what she’d tell herself.
“By God, that’s the best money ever spent on a dress!” Robert exclaimed when she finally joined him in the front parlor, where he’d been waiting the last ten minutes. She looked magnificent, as if she’d been poured into that dress. If it weren’t the opening night of Sarah Siddons playing Lady Macbeth, after all the rumors of the actress quitting the theater for good, he’d march Lucy straight back upstairs.
But it was Siddons, and Lucy had said she’d never been to Covent Garden, let alone any other theater in London.
He stalked toward her, thinking he’d have to walk half behind her skirts all evening for decency’s sake.
“Do you think so?” Lucy frowned, drawing her gloved hand across the pale upper curve of her breasts. Actually, the luscious expanse of flesh was quite a bit more than the upper curve. He was certain if he looked just so…“I was worried you wouldn’t like it.”
Robert laughed, snatching her hand away and replacing it with his mouth. He found the nipple he’d been looking for and tugged it out of its meager confines with his teeth. He heard her moan, felt her soften against him.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Lucy exclaimed, suddenly pushing him away. “We’ll have to save that for later.” She threw him one of her looks and he shifted his cock in his breeches, looking for some sort of relief. “I rather think the waiting will heighten the fulfillment.”
“If I get any fuller, Lucy, you won’t be making it out of this room.” He reached for her again, but instead of kissing her, he tucked the errant nipple back beneath the fabric of her dress. “Shall we?”
She loved the theater. It was big and gaudy and completely like Harridan House, although everyone was wearing quite a bit more.
And the play was wonderful. The only Shakespeare she’d ever seen was when she was eight and a touring theater company had put on a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, full of fairies and people getting lost, and though her father had laughed and slapped his thigh—she’d been scared of the big donkey head. Tonight was different. She was very glad Mrs. Siddons had not retired.
When the intermission came, she hardly wanted to get up from her seat. Even though the first act was over, there was so much to look at in all the boxes and down below in the pit, but Robert insisted and she found herself in the shadows of the box, her back against the wall as Robert kissed her.
“I have been wanting to do that since we first sat down,” Robert whispered as he moved to her cheek, to her ear, her neck.
“Mr. Kemble and Mrs. Siddons didn’t keep you enthralled?” Lucy asked, even though Robert had found the one thing that could distract her from their surroundings.
“Siddons yes, but her brother leaves much to be desired. You, however, leave nothing.”
Just as Lady Macbeth plotted and pushed her husband to greater heights, each time the scenery changed, Robert teased Lucy, tormenting her with her own words that anticipation would only sweeten the fulfillment.
It was during the second intermission that a slender Gallic man parted the blue curtains and popped his head in.
“Forgive my intrusion,” the man said with a wink. “But as I am charged with obtaining refreshments for my wife and she is still in her seat, I thought I’d say hello and meet the woman who has so obviously bewitched you.”
“Ah, Molineaux. Lucy, may I present my friend, Raoul Molineaux? Molineaux, this is Miss Leigh.”
Molineaux’s gaze raked over her appreciatively. “A pleasure, Mademoiselle Leigh,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips.
“I’ve heard so much about you, monsieur,” Lucy returned, retrieving her hand. It was strange, at Harridan House, in the guise of Madame Rouge, she’d had any number of men kiss her hand in greeting, but somehow, it felt far more personal now that she was merely Lucy. “And your wife, naturally,” she added, “which one is she?” She surveyed the boxes for a woman who looked like she would match Molineaux.
Instead she saw Mrs. Marrack with her husband. The woman’s gaze flittered over Lucy but didn’t linger. Which was exactly what Lucy had expected, because she looked nothing like she had three years ago.
Molineaux coughed and Lucy flushed, realizing then what she should have known already: she could hardly force the man to stand at the edge of the box with her and point out his wife. She was a mistress and men didn’t introduce mistresses to their wives.
Molineaux turned his attention to Robert. “A pity, mon amie, that I cannot stay with you longer, but Madame Molineaux…” He shrugged.
“Naturally,” Robert agreed.
“I’m so sorry, Robert, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Lucy whispered after Molineaux had left, conscious that she had committed a faux pas. “Do you think he’ll forgive me? Do you forgive me?”
“It was nothing, Lucy,” Robert said, laughing, gesturing to a box across the way where Molineaux was joining a lovely woman with inky black curls that bobbed around her face as she laughed. “And it made him leave all the sooner. Now I have you to myself again.”
It wasn’t his laugh or his words that relieved Lucy, it was his hand running across her thigh as if he’d burn the fabric right off of her body.
But Lucy would not forget, for it was just as the women in Miss Partridge’s living room had said: everything, her situation, her stability, depended on Robert. Which was why it was even more important that Lucy prepare for her life after—for the tavern she didn’t really want.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The weeks flew by, lulling Lucy into a sense of security and contentment. London was a different town for her. There were
the plays and the pantomimes, the excitement of horse races or the occasional outing to the country. But surprisingly to Lucy, what she liked best were evenings at home with Robert.
She admired him. Not just his body, but the way he lived his life, unapologetic and following his own desires and interests. And when he talked about business, or politics, or science or any of a number of topics that had captured his attention, she hung on his every word. He was curious about everything and it made her equally curious.
Although Lucy never pretended to herself that this time of her life could last forever, the dreams of a respectable future that she had nurtured while working at Harridan House no longer held any appeal. This life of sin was not perfect, but it was better than anything else she could imagine.
It was early November when Lucy realized she was with child. Dr. Berry, the physician who lived on the other side of the street, confirmed her suspicion.
She had known it was possible, that a child was always a danger of sex, but Lucy had no idea how Robert would react. Would he support her and the child? Would he tire of her as soon as her body was swollen and ugly? She thought of all those courtesans she had met and their talks of contracts.
She should have paid far more attention that day at the lawyer’s. Certainly the man had said something about children, but Lucy hadn’t really listened to that part.
How could she tell him?
She went to Mary because she was her sister—family—and right then, Lucy needed family.
For the first time since she left Harridan House, Mary didn’t insult her. Her expression was deadly earnest when she stood up out of bed and took Lucy’s hand.
“You can’t have it, Lucinda,” Mary warned her. “I know a doctor…He’s the one who fixed me when I needed it.”
The shock was not so much from the idea of the abortion but from the fact that Mary actually seemed to have Lucy’s best interests in mind. Not that Lucy agreed with the option. She lived a different life; Mary didn’t understand. Even if Robert put Lucy aside for it, she didn’t think she could do what Mary suggested.
Lucy nodded slowly, until her sister released her hand.
“All right, then, we’ll go now,” Mary said. She started toward her dresser energetically.
“Mary, I have to think,” Lucy hedged. She didn’t want to wholly reject the first real sign of compassion Mary had shown in two years.
“You’re keeping it, aren’t you?” Mary dropped her hands from the wood cabinet and shook her head with a bitter laugh.
Again, Lucy nodded.
“What about our pub, Lucy, our dreams? You’re giving it all away, keeping this child. He’ll tire of you and then you’ll have lost your employment.”
“I have to, Mary.”
“Then what are you doing here, sister?” Mary goaded scornfully. “You’d better hurry home and start your packing.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lucy put the conversation off for three days, but when Robert arrived at the apartment before dinner on the third day and found her pacing the sitting room as if she’d walk a trench into the wooden floor, she could barely put it off a moment longer.
But she did. She waited through dinner, waited until they were back in the sitting room having a digestif of Armagnac, his free hand lazily wandering over her legs, which were draped across his thighs in the most inelegant but utterly enjoyable way.
“Robert,” Lucy began, as if it were a topic of the least concern possible, “what should happen if we should have a child?”
“A child?” he repeated, his hand never stilling. “Surely you’ve learned something about prevention of conception in your years at Harridan House?”
“Yes, but what if there were an accident? It isn’t as though the sponges are as good as those sheaths you hate.”
“I would make provisions for the child as I have done for the others.”
“Others?”
He looked rather amused at that, and Lucy almost pushed his hands away. The one thing she hadn’t imagined was that he might laugh at her.
“A man doesn’t get to be my age and not have a few by-blows. There are three that I know of. A boy and two girls. Well, four if Lady Greenaway is to be believed, but as that young man is officially a Greenaway, it would do little good for me to acknowledge him.”
“Three?”
“Yes, two are in London. Meg, the oldest, is married now. I see my son fairly regularly. The other girl, Alissa—when her mother died, I sent her to school.”
It was both a shock and a relief to hear about his children and how he cared for them.
“I may not be the most attentive father,” Robert admitted, “but I do look after them.”
Which was more than many fathers did for their own legitimate children, Lucy acknowledged. Her father had been one of those.
“So you wouldn’t be angry then, if I did. I mean, because it would create difficulties, in our relations I mean.”
He gave her the force of his full attention then.
“Lucy?”
She nodded, biting her lower lip, struggling not to look away and hide. “Because, truly, Robert, I’d understand…”
“Lucy.” His tone was much more warm, kind, melting her really. He pulled her toward him, wrapping her in his arms. “My dearest girl.”
She settled against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart, willing hers to match his pace.
“You have nothing to fear.”
Which was the moment that Lucy learned that her passionate, rough, ofttimes crude and demanding lover could be utterly and embarrassingly sweet.
And when she understood that the expansive tugging in her chest was love.
Love.
Lucy wasn’t a romantic. She hadn’t been for over a decade and she certainly wasn’t one now. She had entered her latest employment with eyes wide open. She had given up respectability and virtue for the fleeting passion and contracted generosity of a life of gallantry.
She had thought she understood the situation, knew the pitfalls and had taken steps, though not extensive, to forestall pregnancy. However, she had taken no pains to protect her heart. Now Lucy knew that was a grave mistake. It was one thing to walk away from an affair financially improved and emotionally independent. It was quite another to know she would pine for Robert even after he had tossed her aside.
There would always be the child to link them, even after many years. She would mother his child and watch him with woman after woman, perhaps even a wife. Perhaps even that Miss Ambrose he claimed to dislike.
Her heart her own she could bear anything. Her heart his…
Lucy shook her head to disperse the thoughts. There was no use for that sort of maudlin self-pity. Thinking about the future was only borrowing trouble, and trouble Lucy did not want.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The necklace was exquisite. Lucy had seen jewels glittering off the bodies of the ladies who frequented Harridan House incognito and in the collections of her former employers, but often as not they were paste. There was no doubt in her mind that these were the genuine article. The cut, the purity, the way the stones caught the light, were all magnificent. It was far beyond the little baubles he’d given her thus far.
She turned away from the window and looked back at him, to where he still lay on the bed.
“So this is what you were doing this morning,” she said, undoing the clasp. He was by her side in a moment, taking the necklace from her and draping it across her chest.
“I wish to give you a gift, Lucy,” he murmured. “Lift your hair a bit.”
She reached back and gathered her hair up above her head while he fastened the clasp. When he was done, she let her hair down and walked over to the mirror.
“They’re so lovely.”
Emeralds and diamonds winked back at her, cascading down her neck to dip almost into the hollow between her breasts.
“Thank you very much, Robert, really it’s too generous.”
>
Robert laughed. “I’m quite certain your Miss Partridge never said such a thing in her life.”
“Oh,” Lucy said, quietly. Then she laughed as well. “As it’s only what I deserve, what else do you have for me?” she teased. She turned back to face him, her hand up in the air as if he should place another black velvet case in it.
“Exactly so,” Robert approved, “because I do wish to give you a gift, but it’s not one I can simply present to you fait accompli. It requires your participation.”
“Oh?” This time Lucy said the word with a flirtatious inflection of her voice and tilt of her head. “I think the gift you would give me has already taken root.”
“A house, my dear, deeded to you,” he persisted. “But I thought perhaps you might wish a country house rather than one in the city. Of course, in that instance, we will keep your rooms here as they are.”
A house. Her house! Then the initial shocked wonder turned. Was this her congé? Did he wish to “put her out to pasture,” so to speak?
For the briefest moment she wanted to reject the house, yell at him that the only gift she really wanted was for him to let her stay, to love her the way she loved him.
Which was an appalling thought and Lucy pushed it away immediately.
“Because I’m carrying your child?”
The pleased smile he’d been wearing fell.
“Is it not natural?” Robert demanded. “I wish to ease any fears you may have about the future.” He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him, pleading with her to understand.
Ease her fears? Of course he wished to. He was Sir Robert George, whom she loved, who was both fiercely passionate and surprisingly tender.
Just as his lips touching hers now carried that intoxicating mix—passionately tender.
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