Panic slipped through him. “What do you mean?” He grasped her arm and spun her around to face him. “What things?”
“My clothes, the moonflowers . . . I can’t stay here.” She looked down at her toes, the widow’s jacket pulled tight around her unbound frame. He wanted to pull her into his arms, comfort her, but he suspected such an act would be misinterpreted.
“Lusinda, the damage is done. Your leaving will not change what has happened.” He raised a thumb to brush away a tear track, then tried to pretend that the bit of moisture on his thumb meant nothing to him. He gentled his voice. “It’s even more important now that you stay.”
“Why?” she challenged. “You’ve indicated by deed that you have no interest in me. It’s exceedingly obvious that I would offer little leverage to coerce you in any way.” She turned and began to dash up the stairs.
“What if there’s a child?” he called after her. Surely, she would recognize that she’d need his assistance if that brief moment in the carriage had resulted in conception.
She stopped her progress but did not turn around.
“A brief coupling, even one such as we experienced could result in a babe,” he said, hoping she’d turn around, hoping she’d reconsider. What if even now a baby, his baby, was growing inside her womb? The thought pleased him, resurrected yearnings that he hadn’t realized existed.
“How very like you, Locke, to have already anticipated the possible outcomes of our venture.” Her voice held a saddened quality, like that of a much older woman. His heart twisted. What had he done to her?
“Do not fear,” she said. “If a child comes from our actions this evening, no one will know that the babe is yours. That way it can not be used against you.”
“That is not what I meant,” he called, but she continued on her way up the stairs without a backward glance. Leaving him alone and empty once more, in a house that wasn’t his, with an objective he couldn’t hope to complete.
WHAT A FOOL SHE HAD BEEN. SHE COULD FEEL TEARS burning her eyes. She had let her emotions take precedence over her brain. Even as the tender flesh between her legs throbbed from the surprise encounter, she did not regret the loss of her maidenhead. She had come this far without anyone testing its existence; she had no reason to believe the next twenty-five years would not be more of the same. In truth, the experience taught her something she had maybe suspected—that the women at the Velvet Slipper were better actresses than the ones on Drury Lane.
No, what hurt the most, the pain that had brought tears to her eyes was Locke’s reaction. How he quickly disowned any responsibility of their experience. He was only interested in her, it seemed, if she was one of the actresses at the Velvet Slipper. Once he’d discovered she was an honest woman, he physically set her aside, wanted nothing more to do with her.
Well, she’d have nothing more to do with him. That was certain. She’d given him her maidenhead, but he couldn’t have her self-respect. She pulled out her valise and began to pack her clothes. Aunt Eugenia would welcome her. She would know what to do.
And if there’s a baby?
That, perhaps, was the most upsetting of all the things he’d said. Could it be true that such a brief intimate joining could result in a child? She placed her hands on her belly, almost as if she’d be able to detect movement if the seed had been properly planted. As much as she would love to have a babe to hold in her arms and watch grow, the whole process of childbirth scared her. Her mother had died while delivering Rhea and could have easily died while delivering Lusinda. A Nevidimi birth during a full moon had inherent risks. If her mother hadn’t found a blind midwife, she could well have perished delivering Lusinda. That’s what scared her. The possibility of an early death when she had so much yet to experience.
Like the pleasurable aspects of intimacy, a tiny voice whispered. She ignored it. If there were pleasurable aspects, she’d have to experience them without Locke.
She reached for the next item of clothing and picked up the colorful munisak, woven to mimic the shimmering colors of the desert. Tears moistened her cheeks. Why didn’t he want her? The man who didn’t turn away from her when she was in full-phase. A man who instinctively seemed to know her whenever she entered a room, whether he could see her or not. A man of great intellect and knowledge who managed to calculate risks and obstacles in a blink of an eye, but unable to calculate the extent of her feeling for him. That last thought pulled her up short. It was true. He was special to her. She had blindly fallen in love with a man who wanted her only for her ability to commit larceny.
She dropped the munisak to the floor, then fell on the bed to let her tears flow.
SHE WAS CRYING. HE COULD HEAR HER SOBS FROM THE opposite side of her closed door. Each delicate sob echoed again and again in his heart. How could he have been so ignorant? How could he have been so blind? Lusinda was nothing like the doxies he was more familiar with. How could he have assumed . . . ? And then after he’d insulted her respectability, he allowed her to think that he considered a possible pregnancy a threat to his well-being. He was a cad. He was worse than a cad. He knocked lightly on her door.
The sobs stopped, but no invitation was forthcoming.
“Lusinda? May I enter?”
There was no sound. He turned the knob, expecting to find the door locked, but the knob turned easily enough. The door even opened an inch . . . then slammed into the backside of a wooden bureau.
Best to give her some time, he thought. There’d be opportunity to talk in the sensible light of morning. If for no other reason than to plan their next mission. If the list wasn’t in Farthington’s safe, then it was time to visit the Russian ambassador. He walked down the short stretch of hallway to his own room. Yes, best wait till tomorrow.
But the next morning she was gone.
“OH DEAR!” AUNT EUGENIA WAVED A FAN IN FRONT OF her face with such ferocity, it threatened to straighten her pinned-in curls. “Oh my!”
Although she knew Aunt Eugenia would have some comforting advice to offer, she wasn’t expecting this dramatic reaction.
“Lusinda.” Her aunt bit her lower lip. “What I don’t understand is how Locke unintentionally took your maidenhead. That is generally not something one does by accident.”
Lusinda did not wish to go into all the details, especially her part in reenacting a tableaux from the Velvet Slipper. “There was some awkward positioning and an unexpected jolt, and, of course, there was the matter of the moon.” She reached for her cup of tea.
Her aunt nodded in sudden clarity. “You were in phase and he didn’t realize you were there. I suppose that could happen.”
It could?
Lusinda looked at her aunt aghast. Of course, Eugenia didn’t realize Locke always managed to know where she was, in phase or out.
“You poor dear. Was it terribly dreadful for you?”
“Not dreadful . . . Not exactly . . .” she said, a bit wistfully. The moments before the “unfortunate accident,” as she had come to refer to it, were quite pleasant. In many ways, they would be worth repeating, especially if Locke was correct about the pleasurable conclusion of such activities. As Locke was generally correct, she had no reason to think this was not true. “But I was concerned about the possibility of being with child.”
“I suppose there’s always that possibility, but there’s no need to concern yourself over that now. What’s done is done, I’m afraid. You can’t very well unslaughter the dinner roast.”
Lusinda cradled her cup of tea, accepting the wisdom of that philosophy, though wishing it had been phrased a bit less graphically.
“There is one thing, however, I am concerned about,” Eugenia said. “Will you be able to continue your, eh, business relationship with Mr. Locke? Or are we back in the recovery business?”
The last was said with a bit of a worried brow.
“Is there a problem, Aunt? Is Locke’s stipend not sufficient? ” Lusinda asked.
“No, quite the contrary. We had so much capital in that regard that we are actually looking forward to winter this year. There will be new gowns to buy, and muffs. Rhea wants a pair of ice blades. Why even Shadow is getting plump and lazy. No, quite the opposite. I was concerned Locke’s stipends would stop unexpectedly. This house could use some repairs before the weather changes, and I’ve been thinking of expanding the garden.”
Lusinda was unsure how to answer. “We haven’t completed our original mission yet, but I don’t know if I can face him again.”
“He didn’t dismiss you then?” her aunt asked with a hopeful lilt.
“What are you doing back?” Portia stood in the doorway to the breakfast room, her hand curled in a tight fist. “This isn’t your home anymore.”
“Portia!” Aunt Eugenia scolded. “How rude! Apologize to your sister immediately!”
“Not until she apologizes to me for trying to steal my beau.”
Lusinda looked to Aunt Eugenia, who explained with a sigh, “That Mr. Ramsden has called every day since you last left.”
“That was only two days ago,” Lusinda said.
“That is plenty of time to fall in love,” Portia said dramatically.
“I have not heard him say that he loves you,” Aunt Eugenia observed.
“That is because you won’t leave the room when he calls upon me.” She glared at her aunt.
“With good reason,” Aunt Eugenia spoke beneath her breath, but Lusinda heard and understood. She was afraid Portia might accidentally compromise herself as well. That would be a tragedy as Portia, with their new finances, had the means to attract a suitably prosperous husband who would truly care for her. Portia wouldn’t have to worry about the timing of her delivery in connection with cycles of the moon. Portia had a reason to covet her testament to innocence, whereas Lusinda had not.
“It’s good you are home, dear.” Eugenia patted her hand. “Portia has persuaded me to invite Mr. Ramsden to dine with us this evening. I would have sent for you to join us, but now you are already here.”
The front door registered a fierce knocking. Portia’s face lit up like a candle. “That’s probably Mr. Ramsden now. He simply can’t stay away.”
A housekeeper, a newly acquired addition made possible through Locke’s generosity, entered the room to announce the arrival of a Mr. Locke. Turmoil swirled in Lusinda’s stomach. She knew she’d have to face him eventually, but she thought he’d allow her more time to compose herself.
“Would you like me to come with you, dear?” Aunt Eugenia asked with a squeeze of Lusinda’s hand.
“No. I had best face him myself,” Lusinda said, though in truth she lacked real conviction behind her words. As she left the room she heard Portia behind her. “It’s not fair. She’s allowed to entertain without a chaperone!”
Lusinda smiled. The disparity in their ages meant nothing to Portia. She still believed Lusinda required a pristine reputation to be marriagable. However, a marriage proposal for Lusinda was unlikely under the best of circumstances . . .
That drew her up short. If indeed she carried Locke’s babe in her belly right now, that would most likely ruin Portia’s reputation, just as it would hers. It hardly seemed fair, but much in society wasn’t. She thought of the postcard she had received years ago and kept hidden in her bureau drawer. Perhaps it was time to ask Aunt Eugenia about the existence of Nevidimi in America. She could leave and start a new life and thus have no negative impact on Portia or Rhea. Surely America would be far enough away for Locke. She would miss Aunt Eugenia and Portia and . . .
Rhea. How could she leave her baby sister? As quickly as the thought arrived, she answered it to her satisfaction. She could take Rhea with her. Lusinda smiled. There, it was all solved. If it came down to disgracing her family, she would leave.
She paused in the hallway outside of the parlor and drew a deep breath in preparation for facing Locke. It would be difficult seeing him, now that she understood how little respect he carried for her, but she must be strong.
“This one is called a white-petaled nose-fluffer,” he said in authoritative tones. Just hearing his voice made Lusinda’s throat thicken.
“No, silly, that’s a daisy.” Rhea giggled.
“Not a nose-fluffer?” he said, astonished. “How about this one? I’m told it’s a rare pink stinky-soft.”
Lusinda carefully peeked around the corner and saw Rhea clutching her sides with laughter. Locke had a childish grin on his face, the like she could not recall having seen before. Of course, he hadn’t had much of a childhood, yet he had managed to charm her little sister.
“No, no, that’s not a stinky-soft. It’s a rose,” Rhea cried. “Auntie grows them in the garden.”
Rhea dipped her hands into a box and pulled out Shadow dressed in a pink doll’s dress and a straw hat tied with a ribbon. “This is my cat, Shadow.” She held the poor animal aloft for Locke’s inspection. “We call him that because he’s black like a shadow.”
“Yes, I’ve met Shadow before.” Locke’s voice rose in a high falsetto, as he shook the cat’s dangling paw. “Hello, Shadow. How do you do?”
Lusinda put a fist to her mouth to keep from laughing. Her heart melted at the tender sight.
“How did you meet Shadow?” Rhea asked in childlike innocence.
“Your sister introduced me.”
“Portia?”
“No, your other sister.”
“Sinda?”
He nodded. Just then Rhea spied Lusinda in the doorway.
“Sinda! Shadow and I are going to have a tea party. Will you come?”
Locke leapt to his feet. A bouquet of freshly picked flowers, all of which she recognized from the conservatory, in his hand. His gaze captured hers and all the boyish laughter faded to a sad, pleading smile.
“Not now, my sweet,” she said. “I need to speak with this gentleman.”
“He can come to my tea party too.” Rhea tugged on his jacket. “Would you come to my tea party?”
He dropped to one knee, placing him at Rhea’s level. “I don’t think I can stay for the party, but perhaps you’d like these flowers to decorate the table.”