Enslaved (9 page)

“Not patient by nature,” he finally admitted, “but I’ve had to learn the trick of it. Reading the law requires a great deal more standing about than you might imagine.” Indeed, between waiting for judges and juries to make their determinations, he sometimes felt as though he spent half of most days on his feet and the other half on his bum.

“To hear you talk, you must not like it much.”

He shrugged. “It’s what I do. I suppose I haven’t given liking it all that much thought.”

“Maybe you should.” She planted her forearms on the table and leaned toward him, reminding him of the other night at The Palace when she had practically crawled across his table. “You don’t strike me as being very happy, not even a little happy. In point, you seem rather tense.”

He stiffened, feeling as if a mirror had been held up close to his face. “As you don’t know me, you aren’t in a position to make judgments about my mental state.”

Rather than argue the point, she said, “Then tell me something about yourself, something personal.”

“Daisy, we’re at table. This is neither the time nor place.”

Pretending not to hear him, she said, “Very well, then, I’ll start.”

“Daisy, I don’t want to—”

“Would it shock you to hear that the evening you came to my dressing room at The Palace, I touched myself behind the dressing screen?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it would. It does”

“I was wet for you before you carried me offstage, and once we were alone together in my dressing room, I realized how very wet I was. I’m wet now, in fact.”

“Daisy!”

“What, you don’t believe me? I can show you, if you like.” She made as if to push her chair back from the table.

“No!”

“Take me to your room, then, to your bed. Or you can take me right here atop the table if you prefer. On second thought, we might give poor old Jamison quite a start were he to walk in, so perhaps your bed would be the better spot after all.”

“I’m not taking you to bed or anywhere else. I’m off to the office. Finish your breakfast and your lesson.”

She frowned. “I’m not a child, Gavin, to be told to eat my porridge while it’s warm and brush my teeth before bed.”

“Then stop acting like one and—”

“A tart? Or perhaps you were thinking more along the lines of slut, slattern, whore?”

He shoved away from the table and stood, his British reserve at odds with his flushed face and the bulge in his trousers. Seeing the latter made Daisy smile as well as hope. She was getting to him. It was only a matter of time.

“I don’t know why you insist on debasing yourself every bloody time we’re alone together, nor do I presently have time or inclination to find out. By the by, I’ll be dining at my club this evening, so perhaps you’ll study your elocution manual as well as your audition lines.”

Watching him stalk from the room, Daisy picked up her teacup, using the rim to hide what she felt sure must be a decidedly Delilah-like smile.
You can’t put me off forever, Gavin. You may think you can, but you can’t. Sooner or later you’ll give in and I’ll have you.

And after I’ve given you pleasure such as you’ve never known before and aren’t likely to ever know again, I’ll walk away and leave you without a line just as once you did me.

“But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into
happiness through another man’s eyes!”
—W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE
, Orlando,
As You Like It

D
aisy spent the following week reading the script for
As You Like It
inside and out, studying the sundry other great works of dramaturgy Gavin had amassed in his library, and practicing her diction. In between tasks, she made time to become better acquainted with the other woman in Gavin’s life, his cat, Mia. The feline had been wary of her at first, but Daisy had always had a great fondness for cats. She quickly discerned that Mia liked to sleep in the sun spot at the bottom of Gavin’s bed. Stroking the cat’s soft fur, she summoned a soothing voice and explained she wasn’t out to steal Gavin away, only to borrow him. As for the province of the bed, while she certainly planned on visiting, by no means would she be spending the night. In light of that, surely they could work out some mutually beneficial arrangement? The heart-to-heart, sweetened with some nibbles of poached salmon purloined from the kitchen when Jamison’s back was turned, had the desired effect. Mia stopped hissing every time Daisy entered the room and on one occasion even consented to curl up alongside her on the sofa seat.

Even if bribery was involved, it felt good to have made a friend.

In the course of the past week, Daisy had been amazed by the late hours Gavin kept. When he wasn’t seeing clients at his office or called to court, he divided his time between The Garrick and his fencing club. Even though she still kept theater hours, she was frequently in bed long before he came home at night. She couldn’t shake the feeling he was deliberately avoiding her.

Otherwise, their arrangement was working out famously. So far Gavin had been scrupulous about honoring the terms. Other than Jamison, who moved about silent as a ghost, she had the flat to herself during the day and most of the night. If she ran short of money, she’d only to mention as much to her benefactor and more appeared as if by magic. If she wanted to leave the flat for a walk or some other outing, she was free to do so. Her gilded cage was proving to be no cage at all. She had nothing of which to complain and much for which to be grateful—and yet she frequently felt lonely. She missed her dear ones dreadfully and the excitement and activity of her old stage life to a lesser degree. More and more of late, though, she found herself missing Gavin. When they were children at Roxbury House, they’d been inseparable. Now that she lived under his roof, she scarcely saw him. The week before he made it plain he didn’t mean to sleep with her. She was almost to the point of believing he only thought of her as a friend.

Harry’s impromptu noonday visit was a welcome surprise indeed.

Daisy stepped back from the door so he could enter. “Harry, how lovely to see you, but I’m afraid Gavin isn’t at home. I don’t expect him for hours, if at all.”

Handing her his hat, he admitted, “Actually, it’s you I’ve come to see. We haven’t had much of a chance to catch up since you’ve been back. That is, if you’re not too busy?”

“Hardly.” She rolled her eyes. “Gavin has me reading one bloody elocution manual after another. If I have to recite ‘The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain’ one more time, I’m sure to go stark raving.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “In that case, I’ll think of my dropping by as a well-timed rescue mission.”

“Yes, please do.” She caught sight of Jamison’s graying head poking out from the pantry. “Thanks, Jamison, but I can manage my mate, Harry, without help.”

Entering the alcove, the servant stared at her aghast. “But miss—”

“No buts, ducks.” Shooing him off with a wink, she commandeered Harry’s arm and ushered him into the parlor. Sundry plays and scripts were scattered about the floor and furniture. She’d never been particularly tidy and, now that she had space to spread out, she took advantage of it.

“Sorry,” she said, moving a copy of
Othello
off the sofa cushion so he might sit. “I’m sure my mess must be driving Gavin mad. Perhaps that’s the real reason he’s so rarely at home.”

Sitting, Harry shook his silver-blond head. “I doubt it. As much as he loves making order of chaos, I’m sure it’s other matters that keep him away.”

“Work, you mean?” She realized she was fishing and Gavin’s absences must hurt her pride more than she might care to admit.

He hesitated before answering, “Well, one doesn’t become a leading London barrister by being a shirker—a photographer, perhaps, but never a barrister.” He shot her a wink.

Settling into a chair across from him, she said, “Dear Harry, you haven’t changed a jot. I feel as though fifteen years have fallen away, and at any moment you’ll draw out that hankie of sweets. Oh, speaking of refreshment, I suppose I should have asked Jamison to bring us some tea. I’m learning that’s what one apparently does in this country when visitors call during the afternoon.”

She started up, but he held up a hand to forestall her. “Don’t, at least not on my account. I’m not a visitor but an old friend, and afternoon tea has never been a custom I’ve slavishly observed. I’d love a whiskey, though, if you have it.”

She smiled. “Thanks to Rourke, we’ve a steady supply of scotch laid in. In fact, I’m amazed there’s anything left to drink in Scotland.”

She poured out the drinks, a small one for herself, and they settled in.

Swirling the amber liquid about in his glass, Harry said, “You and Gav and to a lesser extent Rourke were like wolf cubs traveling in a pack. I always felt a bit of an outsider. Looking back, I think that was why I always arrived late to our monthly attic meetings. You all complained, Rourke especially, and yet you never once started without me. Having you all wait on me, well, I suppose it made me feel special, as though you cared.”

She wished she might talk to Gavin like this. He kept his thoughts and feelings locked inside. “Oh, Harry, of course we cared. I’m sorry I never knew you felt that way.”

He shrugged. “It was no one’s fault, just the nature of our circumstances. You three were all younger and still eligible for adoption whereas I was the hired help, and grateful to be so, I might add. After a winter living off rotted vegetables and whatever other leavings I could scrounge from the market in Covent Garden, Roxbury House seemed like Heaven, the kitchen especially.”

Daisy nodded, recalling the wonderful smells of the pies and tarts and loaves of bread the cook had turned out daily by the dozen. “Roxbury House was the only home I’d ever known, the longest I ever lived any place. Once the Lakes adopted me, we rarely stayed put longer than a few months.”

He leaned forward. “You’ve seen a great deal of the world. Growing up in Paris must have been exciting. Callie and I mean to go as soon as she can break away.”

She shrugged. Having spent so much of her life in Paris, she saw it as simply another big city not entirely different from London. “The city is beautiful in parts, less so in others. We lived for the longest time in the Jewish quarter in a flat on the Rue des Rosiers. It was a third the size of these rooms and not nearly so grand, but there was the loveliest patisserie just around the corner and the baker used to give me the leftover challah bread to take home at the end of each day. Most places are what you make of them, I suppose.”

“Being at the center of things must have afforded you a great many opportunities as a performer. The running joke is that the Prince of Wales spends more time in Paris than he does in London, mostly in music halls consorting with can-can girls. Oh, Daisy, forgive me. That didn’t come out right.”

There it was again, her past rearing its ugly head. Even catching up with an old friend, she couldn’t escape it. “No need to be sorry, that’s what I am, or at least what I was until recently.”

What she didn’t say was that she’d spent a less than memorable night with England’s heir, Bertie, as he was known among his familiars. By the time they got into bed, he’d been too much in his cups to do more than fondle her, but he presented her with a handsome gift afterward all the same.

“Daisy, I assure you, I’d be the very last to judge you. If you only knew the things I’ve done, or come close to doing in the service of getting on in life … Well, never mind that, it’s a sordid story best kept for another day, but suffice it to say sometimes The Powers That Be give even we reprobates a second chance in the form of a pure-hearted person who loves us enough to see us for who we might be rather than who we are.”

“You’re speaking of your wife, aren’t you?” At his nod, she said, “I hope I get the chance to meet her some day, though I wouldn’t want to impose myself or put her in the awkward position of having to receive me. I understand from Gavin she’s active politically.”

Hadrian nodded. “Until recently, she led the London arm of the British women’s suffrage movement. She’s stepped aside but continues to do much good work from behind the scenes, not only to advance women’s liberty but also the plight of London’s poor. As for imposing yourself, that’s rubbish. Callie is the most compassionate and open-minded of women. She’s managed to look beyond my black reputation, thoroughly well-deserved in case you’ve any doubt.”

“It’s different for men. A man is allowed, even encouraged to experiment sexually, whereas a woman who openly takes a lover is outcast.” She hoped she didn’t sound as bitter as she felt.

Grinning, he shook his head. “You and Callie already have a great deal more in common than you may think. It sounds exactly like something she would say.”

“In that case, I shall very much look forward to making her acquaintance. I’ll even promise to be on my best behavior so as not to embarrass Gavin.”

At the mention of their mutual friend, Harry sobered. “He cares for you very much, you know. He always has, only before he saw you as a little sister in want of protecting. Now that you’ve found each other again, I rather think he’s the one in danger of having his heart trod upon.”

Ah, so they’d got ‘round to the point of his impromptu visit. “You’re worried I’m not good enough for him, that I’ll hurt him?” It wasn’t really a question.

He snorted. “Not good enough? Hardly. If you’re looking for someone to help you come up with all the reasons why it can’t ever work out for the pair of you, then I’m afraid you’re talking to the wrong person. Callie is a lady born and but one step removed from qualifying as a living saint. She could have done far better for herself than a former pickpocket and whoreson, but for whatever reason, she chose me, and I’m thankful every day she did.”

“What are you saying?”

“If you truly care for Gavin, don’t allow differences in money or station or petty opinion stand in the way of your being happy together. But if you’re just out to have a bit of fun and then be off, he isn’t the man for you.”

She shook her head. “I’m not the sort of woman who settles down to domesticity. Oh, I could put up a jolly good front for a while, I’m an actress after all, but eventually I’d let my guard slip and show how much I hated it all, and before it was over we’d end up hating one another, too. I couldn’t bear that.”

“Gavin doesn’t strike me as the sort who’d expect to come home at night and find you waiting with his pipe and slippers. All I’m saying is don’t toy with him, Daisy. He’s far too fine to be used that way. If it’s a plaything you want, a casual dalliance, there’s no shortage of scoundrels in London who’d be delighted to accommodate you. I should know. Before I fell in love with Callie, I was the very worst of them.”

He wasn’t telling her anything she hadn’t discovered already. On the crossover voyage, the ship’s captain had invited her to dine privately in his cabin and once in London, Sid, the owner of The Palace had propositioned her before the ink on her contact had fully dried. For whatever reason, including no particular reason at all, she turned them both down. Even so, all Harry’s preaching about love and marriage was sinking her spirits if only because the picture he was painting seemed so very staid and conventional, so very deadly dull. As the old saw went, variety was the spice of life. It was grand to see Harry so happy and content, and yet though she didn’t care to be a spoiler, the cynic in her had to resist mentioning he and his Callie were newlyweds still.

Rather than dampen his bliss, she said, “The French have a very different view on love and marriage. Not all lovers are meant to marry or stay together the whole of their lives, for that matter, and yet those sorts of light liaisons can be valuable all the same.”

He cocked a sandy-colored brow and studied her for an uncomfortably long moment. Finally he said, “Is that really what you’re looking for from your life, another
light liaison
?” When she didn’t answer, he went on, “Falling in love with the person who completes you and having that person love you in return is the most extraordinary experience in the world. Trust the word of someone who’s had more sexual exploits than he cares to count—there’s nothing that comes near to matching the experience of true love, nothing at all.”

After Harry left, Daisy took herself out for a good long walk to mull matters over. Several hours later, she found herself standing in the midst of Covent Garden Market. Harry had mentioned the market time and again when they were children, describing the fruit and flower vendors, the butchers and bakers and fishmongers in great detail. After his bringing it up again that day, she was curious to see it for herself.