Innocence and Impropriety

by Diane Gaston

  ‘Your father and Miss Dawes have been found. They are dead, Rose.’

  She nodded again.

  ‘I…I saw them.’ He could not think of words to speak, unwilling to tell her the horror of what he’d seen.

  ‘Were they whipped?’ she asked.

  ‘Whipped?’ Her question was odd, but the bodies had indeed been riddled with whip marks.

  She blinked. ‘I mean, do you know how they died?’

  Yes, he did know. The magistrate’s report listed every cut on their bodies, including on their genitals. A physican had concluded they bled to death.

  ‘Stabbing,’ he abridged.

  She turned away and moaned.

  He took her hand in his. ‘I’ve arranged for a proper burial, Rose.’

  ‘Must I attend it?’ she asked in a shaking voice.

  ‘No, you do not have to attend it.’

  ‘My poor father!’ Her face crumbled, and he took her in his arms again, holding her until her sobbing slowed, holding her still. ‘I know he did not seem like much of a father, Flynn, but he paid for my schooling. He wanted me to have a good life.’

  He stroked her hair. ‘When I last spoke to him, Rose, his concern was all for you.’

  She nestled against his chest. ‘I’m thinking I killed him. And Letty, too. They would be alive, if not for me. They wouldn’t have suffered—’

  He felt her shudder in his arms. ‘You are not responsible for this, Rose. Greythorne did this, and it is he who should hang for it.’

  ‘Oh, Flynn.’ She pulled away and looked at him with eyes of pain. ‘I’m thinking I could have stopped him. I…I knew about him, you see, but I promised not to tell.’

  His gaze flew to hers. ‘You knew about him? What did you know?’

  She inhaled a ragged breath. ‘I knew he liked to hurt women.’

  Flynn glanced away. ‘We knew it as well, Rose. Tanner and I. We did not stop him.’ He did not know if he could forgive himself that lapse. All he knew was, Greythorne would be stopped now, before he hurt Rose. He looked at her again. ‘How did you discover this about him?’

  ‘I…I cannot tell you. All I can say is, I knew someone hurt by him. Whipped by him. I’m thinking if I had not promised to be quiet about it, maybe he would have been put in prison.’

  He stood, drawing her to her feet and enfolding her in his arms again. ‘We are all thinking we might have stopped him. We will stop him now, though. I have to take you to the magistrate, Rose. He will ask you questions…’

  He explained to her all that he and Tanner had discussed, how Tanner would set the Bow Street Runners on Greythorne, how she would be guarded at all times, how they would pretend it was he, Flynn, who was her protector, not Tannerton.

  ‘You are my protector, Flynn,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll not forget.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rose walked with Flynn through St James Park after her interview with the magistrate. The trees and grass and lake were calming, and she could almost forget everything but being on his arm.

  The magistrate had questioned her about admirers. Rose left out Tannerton’s name, but was required to speak of Lord Greythorne’s interest in her. The magistrate produced the list Flynn had compiled from the cards she had received. He then asked her how many of these men she had ‘been with.’ His implication had been clear.

  This was the life she had chosen, she could almost hear her father say. Her eyes pricked with tears again. Her poor, poor father. Her father had loved her in his way, but now he was gone, lost for ever.

  And soon Flynn would be lost to her, too.

  Flynn’s eyes darted to and fro, alert, she knew, for any danger. The park was blessedly peaceful, however, and she was convinced she would be safe in daylight as long as she was not alone. She was safe with Flynn. Rose always felt safe with Flynn.

  ‘I neglected to tell you something,’ Flynn said in an ominous tone, a sombre contrast to the colourful riot of flowers they strolled by.

  Not more bad news. Could she beg him to withhold it? She had been trying to forget everything but walking with him, like the other couples who strolled in the park as if without a care.

  She sighed. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I have found rooms for you.’ He seemed to force some cheer into his voice. ‘A nice little place on Great Ryder Street, not too far from Madame Bisou’s.’

  ‘When must I move in?’

  ‘A few days.’ There was tension in his tone.

  They walked in silence along the lake where swans and geese glided past.

  Her throat grew tight. ‘What is to happen, then?’

  ‘Happen?’ He paused. ‘What is to happen is Lord Tannerton will have fulfilled the terms agreed upon.’ He spoke like a stranger, like she imagined a man of business might sound. ‘The contract will be complete—’

  ‘Yes, I know that,’ she broke in. ‘I was thinking, what will happen to us?’

  They stopped at the water’s edge. The swans swam to them in the hopes they carried crumbs in their pockets.

  He stared out at the water. ‘We have been through this, Rose. It will be over.’

  It had been foolish of her to ask when she knew the answer, like rubbing salt into a wound. She watched the swans swimming in pairs. At school she’d learned that swans mated for life. How did they select each other? she wondered. Did they know so quickly, as she’d known with Flynn?

  As if in silent agreement, she and Flynn turned and started walking on the path leading out of the park.

  Rose took a last look at the swans and turned to face him. ‘I’ll miss you, Flynn.’

  They entered a part of the path where the trees formed a canopy, blanketing them with shade and sheltering them momentarily from view.

  Flynn stopped suddenly and pulled her into the shrubbery. ‘Rose,’ he murmured, folding her in his arms.

  She hungered to taste his lips, and he obliged her, kissing her with desperation and need. She forgot where they were, or did not care. Knocking his hat off, she buried her fingers in his thick dark hair. He leaned her against the tree, pressing himself against her, lifting her a bit so she fitted against the hard shaft she felt under his clothes. He kissed her face, her neck, the bare expanse of skin exposed by her gown’s neckline.

  How could she bear this with any other man?

  Laughter and voices sounded, coming closer. He released her. The moment had passed. She straightened her clothing while he retrieved his hat. The people on the path walked by and their voices faded into the distance.

  Rose forced Flynn to look at her. ‘There’s no denying this between us, Flynn.’ All her desire was reflected in his eyes. ‘I’m thinking we must do this. Just once, perhaps, but we must do it. I’m not Lord Tannerton’s yet. I’m still a free woman. I’ll honour my obligation to him, but first—’ she broke off, her voice cracking ‘—first I want to be with you.’

  He wrenched away from her and stood, his gaze averted from her, arms crossed over his chest. Finally his arms dropped to his sides and he turned back to her. He nodded and the ache inside her eased.

  ‘Tomorrow.’ His voice was deep and resonant. ‘Tomorrow I will show you your new residence. The servants do not come until the following day, and you may move in the day after that—’

  The day Lord Tannerton would visit her, no doubt.

  ‘But tomorrow we will be alone.’

  She stepped towards him, putting her arms around his neck. He held her again, and they clung together for a long time.

  The next day, no one at Madame Bisou’s questioned it when Flynn arrived to take Rose out. Although it was an earlier hour than usual, his escort of her was too commonplace to remark upon. Katy, too, was silent, but Katy had been silent and preoccupied since Greythorne had killed and was supposed to be lurking about.

  Flynn had hired a hackney carriage, even though her new rooms were an easy walk. He instructed the jarvey to drive around the streets, a precaution against Greythorne discovering her new address. />
  But Rose did not wish to think of Greythorne. She was in such a fever of excitement she could hardly sit still. Only knowing they had the whole day together kept her hands off him.

  They switched vehicles at Westminster Abbey, its grey towers rising majestic above them. Some day she’d like to look inside the Abbey. It was said there was much to see there—old tombs and altars and things—the sort of experience she’d like to share with Flynn.

  But she had no desire to dwell on the fact that this would be her one precious day with Flynn. She would merely savour it.

  The hackney let them off near the Mason’s Yard on Duke Street. All they had to do was turn a corner and they were there, on a private little street one could almost miss unless looking for it. No one would see her enter with Flynn, she was certain, and just as certain no one could take heed of their leaving. She did not sing at Vauxhall this night, so they might stay as late as they wished.

  Inside, however, she felt suddenly sheepish. As she untied her bonnet, she glanced around the small hall, noticing the narrow stairway in front of her, the one that undoubtedly led to the bedchamber.

  Flynn, as well, seemed to take his time removing his hat and gloves. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Shall I show you the rooms?’

  ‘Very well,’ she responded, leaving her things on the table next to his. Rose cared little about the rooms, but perhaps by the time the tour was done the shaking inside her would stop.

  ‘Let us start at the bottom.’ He showed her to an even smaller staircase that led to the basement rooms. In the small kitchen was a basket of food. Fresh bread, cheeses, wine.

  Flynn said, ‘I thought we might get hungry.’

  She smiled at him. He thought of everything.

  She peeked into the servants’ rooms and followed him back to the main floor. In the front was a pretty little drawing room, behind it, a smaller parlour set up for dining.

  Flynn stared at her. ‘Shall we go abovestairs?’

  A thrill rushed through her. She nodded.

  His eyes darkened and he took her hand, leading her up the stairs. He first brought her into a cosy sitting room, its main piece of furniture an elegant chaise-longue, large enough for two.

  ‘The bedchamber is next,’ Flynn told her. He lifted her hand to his lips, and she felt the kiss echo in every part of her. He backed toward the doorway, pulling her along. When his hand rested on the doorknob, he paused. ‘Are you sure of this, Rose?’

  Her nerves had fled with his kiss. ‘I am sure.’

  He opened the door.

  Prominent in the room was the loveliest bed she had ever seen. Its wood was dark and it had four posts and beautiful ivory brocade bed curtains and bed cover. It was every bit as pretty as the bed in Miss Hart’s room in Mayfair, but Rose had never thought to sleep in one like it.

  The thought that she must share this bed with Tannerton flitted through her mind, but she ruthlessly chased it away. Today there was no one but Flynn.

  He looked at her questioningly.

  She laughed and pulled him into the room. ‘I’ll not be changing my mind, Flynn.’

  She kicked off her shoes and tugged him over to the bed.

  He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘I’ll not change my mind either, Rose, but I want this to be right for you. We have all day for lovemaking…’

  She unbuttoned his waistcoat and spread her hands on his shirt. ‘I was thinking the same.’

  His eyes were fixed on hers as he shrugged out of his coat, letting it fall to the ground. Rose slipped off his waistcoat and turned around so he could undo the laces of her dress. It seemed right for him to touch her, to remove her clothes. She marvelled that it could feel so right.

  In the courtesan school, all the talk of undressing had seemed silly to her, but now she understood its power. Every layer removed brought them closer, and she wanted to be close to Flynn. Katy had always insisted that lovemaking brought pleasure. Rose could now agree and they’d barely begun.

  Her dress slipped to the floor, and he worked next on the laces of her corset. When that too was tossed to the floor, he stood behind her and removed the pins from her hair. As her hair cascaded down her back, he combed it with his fingers. Nothing could feel so glorious, she thought—until he reached around her and cupped her breasts. Glorious was too tame a word for the sensations he created. Suddenly even the thin muslin of her shift seemed too thick.

  She turned. ‘Sit on the bed and I’ll remove your boots,’

  This task was harder than she’d imagined, and she had to tug hard to free his feet, almost falling backward when the second boot came loose.

  She laughed, hurrying back to him. She’d suddenly remembered more of what she’d been taught at the courtesan school.

  ‘Watch me!’ She slowly pulled off her shift. Standing before him naked, she was exhilarated by the appreciation in his eyes. She lifted her arms and did a joyous pirouette. ‘Your turn,’ she cried playfully.

  He gave her a wry look. ‘I cannot compete.’

  She climbed on the bed and sat cross-legged, pretending to appraise him. He made a show of removing his stockings, his shirt, his pantaloons, and finally his drawers. Her lively mood fled for a moment as she ran her eyes over him. He was lean and muscular—and, she noted, a smile growing across her face, very aroused.

  ‘Do I disappoint?’ he asked, his voice rumbling and low.

  She slowly shook her head and lay back against the bed’s pillows. ‘Never.’

  He climbed upon the bed, but did not touch her, taking time to simply gaze at her. Rose realised what happiness could be. Happiness was being alone with Flynn, knowing he was hers, all hers for the moment.

  He smiled and very slowly brought his lips to hers in a slow lanquid kiss that made her feel as pliant as grass on the hills of Killyleagh. She savoured the warmth of his lips, the stroking of his tongue, the scent and taste of him, as she might relish a whole day to wander the countryside, no hurry to rush home.

  His hand skimmed her bare skin, easing any remnants of tension. Time seemed to stand still, and she had the notion her precious day would never end.

  He broke off the kiss, letting his lips slide downward, to the sensitive skin of her neck and to the now-aching flesh of her breasts. His mouth closed over one nipple and sensation shot deep inside her, making her arch her back and knead her fingers into his buttocks. It surprised and delighted her that his muscles were firm.

  The delicious things he did to her breasts made her writhe beneath him. Need grew, and suddenly the slow pace seemed torturous.

  ‘Flynn,’ she rasped, her tone urgent.

  ‘Soon,’ he murmured as his kisses trailed farther down her body.

  The pleasure was excruciating. She flung her arms over her head, unable to bear another moment.

  ‘Why not now, Flynn? Now, please?’ she begged.

  He lifted himself above her in all his glorious manhood. She was breathless with anticipation, every nerve in her body throbbing with need of Flynn, to unite with him, be one with him, to bind herself to him for ever, even though she would lose him again in a day’s time.

  No, she would not think of losing him now, not when he sought that private part of her, not when he sought to join her as completely as she could imagine.

  Her legs spread and his pace slowed again. He entered her with a gentleness that she knew was borne of his love for her. She urged him on, wanting him inside her totally, unable to be still when it seemed ecstasy was so near.

  With one final thrust, he plunged into her. She cried out with the pain of it and felt the moisture of her blood.

  He froze, still inside her. ‘Rose? What the devil?’

  ‘Do not stop, Flynn,’ she said, moving beneath him, the need returning as quickly as the pain fled.

  But he pulled out of her and sat up. ‘You are a virgin!’

  Rose sat up as well. ‘Was a virgin,’ she corrected, misery invading. ‘But I’m not understanding why that means anything.’
<
br />   ‘It means a great deal!’ His voice rose in pitch.

  Flynn rang a ragged hand through his hair. He felt a pang of guilt for shouting at her, but nothing to compare with the guilt of taking her innocence. His emotions were scattered helter-skelter, but the raw physical need of her still pulsed within him.

  She was a virgin. Not a courtesan. Not an experienced girl.

  He got off the bed and padded over to a small bureau in the corner. From the pitcher that rested on top of it, he moistened a towel. He had prepared the water and the towels, but not for this purpose. Not to wipe away blood.

  He handed the towel to her and moistened another one for himself.

  She looked as if she might weep. ‘You must explain to me, Flynn, why it means anything at all, because I’m not understanding still.’

  He could not even heed her question. ‘You deceived me, Rose.’

  ‘Deceived you?’ She blinked rapidly. ‘How? You never asked me, Flynn. I would have told you.’

  ‘The devil with that. You were trained to be a courtesan. What else was I to think?’

  She gaped at him. ‘You knew about the courtesan school?’

  He glared back at her. ‘Katy told me. She told me you were trained by Harriette Wilson, for God’s sake. What virgin is trained by the most notorious courtesan in London?’

  She looked away. ‘She only called upon us the one time.’

  ‘Katy met you on the street, she said.’ He was still trying to make sense of this. It changed everything for him. Everything.

  She pulled off the bed linens and wrapped them around herself. ‘I’m thinking there are many virgins who walk to the shops. That is where I met Katy and Mary.’

  He shook his head. ‘You told me yourself you had been with other men.’

  She blinked. ‘I never did.’

  He took a step closer, suddenly realising he was still naked. He snatched up his shirt and wrapped it around his waist. As he was tying it, he gave her an accusing glance. ‘You told me you had gone driving in the park.’

  ‘And you thought that meant I was bedding a man? It was an outing for us. Robert Duprey took us in turns.’