“I will see you again, Miss Havershaw?”
“I believe so, Mr. Locke.” She nodded, understanding his question was not a question at all, but a command. The stranger’s arrival gave her an excuse to leave the residence. She missed her family too much to pass on the unexpected opportunity. Locke may not like that she was taking advantage, but she smiled at him and left anyway.
IT WAS ALL HE COULD DO NOT TO RUN AFTER HER. THE room seemed a darker, colder place without the warmth of her smile, the bright beauty of her golden hair, the scent of her exotic perfume. He stared at the door softly closing behind her.
“Now that’s a nice bit of skirt,” Ramsden said after the knob turned back into place. “How cozy just the two of you. All alone in this empty house.”
James’s spine stiffened, but he was careful to keep his annoyance from his face. “Were you planning to visit the Silken Chamber, or was it the Velvet Slipper this time?”
Ramsden grinned, exposing two dimples in his cheeks. “For all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never known you to entertain a woman at your residence, at least not outside of a bedroom. ” His eyes narrowed. “She’s special to you, isn’t she?”
The words smacked him as if he’d dunked his head in the horse trough. “Special to me? No, I wouldn’t say that.” He couldn’t say that. Entanglements of that nature were unsafe to both parties. “She has some unique qualities.” He averted his eyes and found a paperweight on the desk worthy of inspection. “But I’d hardly call her special.”
“Good.” A slow smile spread across Ramsden’s face. “Then, you won’t mind if I call upon Miss Havershaw. I should like to sample some of her ‘unique qualities’ myself.”
Ramsden’s gaze settled on the map spread upon the desk. His lips tightened as he casually ran his finger across the stretch from the Tigris River to the Indus. “If you’ve been entertaining Miss Havershaw with tales of central Asia, she might be ripe for some nonintellectual pursuits.”
James set his teeth on edge, feeling a smoldering anger burn a path up his spine. It took a bit of effort not to wrap his hand around Marcus’s throat to make him eat those words. Still, anger would validate an attachment he wouldn’t allow himself. He waited a moment for his head to clear, then carefully rolled the map to remove it from view.
“I don’t think Miss Havershaw’s qualities would be to your liking. Besides, you’ve mentioned an appetite for a woman of a different sort. There’s a new establishment on Haymarket that you might find rewarding.”
Marcus narrowed his gaze. “I know you, Locke, better than your own mother. Have you forgotten that we spent a year in that hellhole in Bokhara? This one is special.”
James chuckled. “A common dog would know me better than my mother. I was raised in an orphanage, remember?” James secured the rolled map in a marked tube, mindful that Marcus’s point was well taken. He did know him better than anyone else, and concealing his emotions would take extra vigilance.
“In deference to our long-standing friendship, I shall keep my hands off the beautiful Miss Havershaw, but should I find her alone under a romantic full moon”—he twisted his lips in a leering smile—“all bets are off.”
James couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “Agreed.”
“Unfortunately, I promised to go to some dreary piano recital this evening, and I had hoped you might keep me company, old man.”
“Won’t the hostess insist upon some sort of invitation?” James asked, hoping that the lack of an invitation would ensure a quiet evening alone with Lusinda.
“Bachelors are always welcome. More fodder for the flame. Indeed, I’m hoping your presence will take a little of the heat off of me.” He turned from his preening and looked over his shoulder. “You owe me. I saved your life. Remember?”
James sighed, cognizant of the stripes on his back and the events that put them there. “How can I forget? If you’ll allow me the opportunity to freshen my attire, I’ll accompany you to . . .” He stood the map tube in the corner. “Where precisely are we going?”
“Didn’t I mention?” Marcus issued a victorious smile. “The Farthingtons.”
AFTER THE LONG DAY OF STRAINING TO TRIP STUBBORN tumblers into submission, Lusinda rejoiced in the handsome stranger’s interruption. She relaxed against the cushions in Locke’s well-sprung carriage, reflecting on how quickly her life had changed in the course of a week. Closeted away with Locke for several days, she’d had the opportunity to observe him, study him. Her original impression of intelligence was correct. One could see it, sense it really, in the easy manner he absorbed details, in his patience while she fumbled with his lessons of skill, in the soft quirk in his lips when her pronunciation mangled some Asian ruler’s name. He’d pretend that she mispronounced it on purpose in an effort to entertain them both, when in reality he must know she hadn’t mastered the language as well as he.
He was gentle and kind when he was with her, but still there was something in his manner that suggested he was not at his ease, even in the library he so loved. He kept his distance almost as if he were afraid to touch her. Although, he certainly hadn’t been afraid to touch her the night he caught her in his net. Her lips turned up at the memory. Her gentle, confident, and distant Locke had been quite shocked when he confronted her bare chest with his nimble fingers. Fingers that could sense the slight shift in a tumbler with perfect acuity, or feel the subtle change in the density of wood that would signal a secret drawer or compartment. Did those fingers feel her response, she wondered? Did they feel the tingling transformation of the tip of her breast when it encountered his flesh?
Heat sprung to her cheeks at the memory and she shifted on the cushions. A decent woman wouldn’t think these thoughts, she scolded herself. Shame on her for peeping in the bawdy houses while in full-phase and watching those women, the ones who never shared daylight with decent women, the ones who offered their breasts freely for a man’s manipulation. A tingling surge of sensation shot straight to her core. How would it feel if Locke were to lift her breast from a low-cut gown and twirl his tongue around the rosy tip like some of those men did. Dear heaven! A delicious blast of sensation fairly liquefied her core and she felt in danger of sliding right off the bench.
The carriage rumbled to a stop. She had a moment’s reprieve to catch her breath and calm herself before the driver opened the door and lowered the steps for her departure. She stepped out into the late afternoon sunlight, letting the gentle breeze cool her heated cheeks before she carried Shadow up the short path to the front stoop.
Inside, the normally serene household was pure chaos. She could hear thumping upstairs and muffled shouts. Mrs. White, the housekeeper, hurried past with a sloshing pail of water in each hand, up the stairs. Shadow struggled to escape her hold. Once she put the cat down it ran for cover under a table. Wise choice, she thought.
Her aunt walked down the hallway with several dresses tossed over her arm.
“Aunt Eugenia, what has happened?” Lusinda asked as the stout woman rounded the newel post toward the stairs.
“Lusinda! How wonderful to see you, dear.” Her aunt’s eyes widened. She raised her arms as if to hug her, then reconsidered when the dresses shifted on her arm. Lusinda caught the garments before they slid to the ground.
“Do you recall that society boon we extracted from Mrs. Farthington?” Eugenia asked. “The invitation to a society gathering so we could give Portia some proper exposure? Well, we’ve been invited to a piano recital. Isn’t that exciting? ”
Her aunt beamed as if she had swallowed the moon. Lusinda felt as if she had stumbled into a stranger’s household. She certainly hadn’t expected to find the house in such turmoil.
“It’s fortuitous that we used some of your new earnings to update Portia’s wardrobe. Oh, I feel like a young girl again!” Her aunt giggled, a sound rarely heard these days by anyone but Rhea. “Are you here for a visit? Did Mr. Locke come with you?”
Eugenia swept her glance behind Lusinda as if Locke were hiding behind her skirts.
“No. Mr. Locke is otherwise engaged this evening.” Lusinda replied. “I thought to use the opportunity to look in on you and the girls.” She tried to keep disappointment from her voice. It hardly seemed fair that the one evening she had managed to leave Kensington house, her family was preparing to leave her as well.
“Oh dear,” Aunt Eugenia bit her lip, obviously torn between conversing with Lusinda and attending to the chaos above. “The invitation was extended to you as well, but with your absence I responded that you were not feeling well.” She glanced toward the tall clock in the corner. “Of course, there’s that other difficulty . . .”
One glance to the lunar dial explained it all. The waning moon was unreliable. One minute Mrs. Farthington could be addressing her guest, the next she could be entertaining a ghost. Hardly the item Lusinda wished to read in the society column of the paper.
“I understand.” Lusinda replied rather glumly, just once she’d like the opportunity to enjoy what the rest of society took for granted.
Portia’s shrill cry for her aunt exploded down the stairs. Eugenia’s lips tightened before she cast an apologetic smile toward Lusinda. “Let me run these dresses up. Perhaps we can chat before the party.” She turned and made her way up the stairs without waiting for Lusinda’s acknowledgement.
Lusinda moved to the front parlor and sat in a familiar chintz chair, the only familiar chair in the room. Obviously, some of her earnings had updated the parlor furnishings as well. So she sat feeling more like a visitor than a resident in her own home.
In the past, the family’s limited funds had kept them home reading and playing games in the evenings while others enjoyed the night air. Now that Locke had met his end of the bargain, Lusinda could see the sacrifices her aunt and sisters had endured for the sake of their meager resources. Portia’s enthusiasm was to be expected, but her aunt’s excitement brought with it a revelation of her sacrifice.
Portia drifted into the parlor in a swirl of crisp organdy and flowing lace. Lusinda’s breath caught. Her sister looked so beautiful and fresh, like a moonflower newly unfurled in the soft evening breeze. With her hair artfully arranged on the top of her head and bits of lace interwoven in the braids, she looked quite the young woman, no longer the little sister.
“What are you doing here?” Portia asked. “Aunt Eugenia said you had accepted a position as a governess.” Her lips twisted in a smirk. “Have they released you all ready?”
“No,” Lusinda said, scrambling for a response. “They’ve given me the evening off. I thought I’d return to see if I’ve been missed.” She smiled before squinting slightly. “Are those my pearls?”
Portia quickly covered the necklace with her hand. “Aunt Eugenia said you wouldn’t be going tonight, so I borrowed them.”
“They look beautiful on you, dear. Wear them in good health.” A bit of longing tugged at Lusinda’s chest. Her sister indeed looked lovely, and, thanks to Mr. Locke, she was able to accept invitations without thought to the lunar conditions. How wonderful it must be to not have to depend on a new moon for a night of normalcy with one’s friends. Of course, she modified, her own situation had robbed her of forming close friendships. She’d hid behind excuses and lies all because of the chance occurrence of a moonbeam.
Portia’s shoulders relaxed. “I suppose I should have asked first.”
“Nonsense. It is good that one of us is able to get some use from them.” The longing tugged a bit harder. “The rose in your sash beautifully complements your complexion.”
Portia’s eyes widened in pure delight. “Do you think so?” She swirled past Lusinda deeper into the parlor, setting the lace points in a sway. “I’m so excited, Luce. I know we aren’t acquainted with many of those that move in society’s circles, but this is a good start, isn’t it?”
How was Lusinda to know? She never had a formal introduction to society herself. “I’m sure it is, dear. I’m sure it is.”
Aunt Eugenia bustled down the steps in a new black bombazine. “Portia? Portia, where are you? We haven’t time to—oh, there you are.” Her beaming smile turned apologetic when she shifted her gaze to Lusinda. “I’m so very sorry we haven’t had time to chat, dear. How is your work progressing with Mr. Locke?” She glanced around the room. “I’m not sure what we would have done without him.”
“Locke?” Portia asked. “Is that the family whose children you watch?”
“Do you have your fan?” Eugenia asked Portia. “Your wrap?”
Portia opened her mouth to protest, but Eugenia interceded. “Our Portia has developed quite an eye for fans.” She placed a hand on Porita’s back to encourage her exit. “Don’t dawdle now. We don’t want to be late. Go along. Shoulders back, head held high.”
Just as Portia left, Rhea appeared at the doorway. She launched herself at Lusinda, passing Portia on her way.
“Sinda, where have you been? I missed you?” Rhea said, hugging Lusinda’s leg through the petticoats.
Eugenia turned toward Lusinda. “I’m afraid we must be off, dear. You’ll be here when we return? Perhaps we can sit down then with a cup of tea and—”
“I’m going with you,” Lusinda said, acting on impulse. She wasn’t relishing the evening sitting alone with Rhea, waiting for the others to return. She’d been alone so long. Perhaps she could postpone the onslaught of loneliness a bit longer.
“But the moon,” Eugenia cautioned. “It’s a bit risky . . .”
“I’m not going to the party,” Lusinda explained. “I thought I’d ride along in the carriage on the way. That way we can spend a little time together . . .”
“Me too, me too!” Rhea cried. “I want to go to the party.”
“You can’t go,” Portia snapped, returning with her necessities in hand. “You’re too little.”
Aunt Eugenia regarded Lusinda oddly, as if she questioned her wisdom. “I don’t like the idea of leaving Rhea home alone. Mrs. White has her hands full without that added responsibility. ” She hesitated a moment. “I suppose the two of you can ride along, but you must stay in the corner, dear. I did tell people you were ill.”