Virginia Henley (9 page)

“Well, I suppose you could say that,” she answered carefully.

He looked at her sharply, the rake of his jaw thrust out angrily. She felt frightened of him when he was angry.

“What did you do in return for the bracelet?” He almost sneered.

She cast down her eyes and whispered, “I stole it when we visited the Silver Vaults.”

The crack of his laughter startled her. Relieved that his dark mood had passed, she laughed with him. His lips brushed her forehead and he said, “You’re incorrigible!”

She was disturbed by his closeness. It was pleasant but instinctively she knew his behavior was a little too familiar. She looked down at her lap and fingered the plain material of her dress. Suddenly she burst out, “I hate brown!”

“So do I,” he agreed.

“Then I’ll never wear it again,” she vowed.

Madame Martine welcomed Patrick effusively. She remembered him very well, as only a few days ago he had brought his sister in and spent a good deal, promising he would soon return with his younger sister. She whisked Kitty away to a tiny fitting room, leaving Patrick to sip sherry as he relaxed on a blue satin, Louis XIV love seat. She dressed Kitty in a child’s pink organdy dress with frilled white pantaloons showing beneath and swept her before Patrick.
“Ta soeur
!”

Patrick’s eyes met Kitty’s and they both went off into peals of laughter. “You look delicious, my sweet, like icing on a cake.
Madame
, I assure you this is not my sister.” He smiled charmingly. “May I suggest something a little more sophisticated? She will need everything—underwear, dresses, negligees.” Madame Martine realized her
faux pas
instantly. She had taken them for brother and sister because they had the same vivid, dark beauty.

Kitty spoke up, “I look much younger than I really am,
madame
, and I should like some grown-up gowns with plunging necklines. I’m almost sixteen.” Patrick had the decency to flush as Madame Martine’s eyebrows rose. In her business one couldn’t afford scruples, but she felt morally justified in her decision to charge him double for everything. She started with day dresses in exquisitely sprigged muslin, then gowns for evening wear that had been made up for other customers. “
Mademoiselle
is so petite I will have to get the girl to pin it tighter.”

As soon as she left, Kitty, who was standing on a raised platform in front of Patrick, lifted her skirts to show off her legs. “Look, Patrick—silk stockings, just like I’ve always longed for!”

His loins went taut and he began to stiffen. She had only intended to show him her ankles, but elevated as she was he saw the shapely calves and caught a glimpse of her bare thigh, that very exciting area above the garters where the stockings left off and the most intimate part of the female began. He was acutely aware of the savage pulsing of blood into his shaft.

“They come in all kinds of shades. May I have some pink ones and some flesh-colored ones?”

“And black,” he said huskily, as he shifted position to ease the tightness of the cloth of his trousers. Kitty only had eyes for the pretty shoes with bows across the toes and tiny high heels. They made her feel different as she strutted about in them. Most of the dresses would have to be delivered when they were finished, but many of the articles of lace underwear, shoes, stockings, etc., were boxed up and ready to be taken with them. Madame Martine came out of the dressing room to have a private word with Patrick. She carried
three or four transparent nightgowns in delicate shades over her arm, which she indicated. “She absolutely refuses to try any of these on,
monsieur
.”

“Why?” asked Patrick, puzzled.

“She simply refuses to believe a lady would wear such a thing to bed. She says nightgowns have to be made of flannel to keep you warm.”

Patrick laughed. “Wrap them up; we’ll take them.”

When they left the shop Kitty was wearing a yellow silk organza, which fell in ruffles down the back over a crinoline. Her hair was gathered up at one side with a bunch of silk primroses and she carried a parasol to match her dress. She insisted on wearing two pairs of frilled gloves at the same time. “See how pretty the double rows of frills are?” she asked Patrick.

“Like your eyelashes,” he murmured.

She loved the compliments he had suddenly begun to pay her, but his voice was so intimate that it made her blush. She couldn’t escape the feeling that he knew something she didn’t. She was anticipating what would come next and could sense his anticipation, but vaguely she felt they were not anticipating the same things. Suddenly her attention was drawn to a man beating his horse in the street. Without a moment’s hesitation she wrested the whip from him and laid it about his back with a sweeping stroke.

“Now you know what it feels like!” she said passionately, her eyes blazing.

Patrick was momentarily stunned at her actions, but gallantly backed her up in condemning the carter’s treatment of the poor beast. Out of his past came a picture of his pretty Irish mother taking a whip to some fellow for his insolence.

“What a difference your new clothes make. Suddenly you have the confidence of a duchess. Lady Jane Tut to the very
life!” he teased. He helped her into the carriage and gave instructions to his driver. He sat opposite her so that he could view her to advantage. “You saw yourself in a mirror at Madame Martine’s so you must realize how very beautiful you are.”

“Yes, I do look beautiful, don’t I?” she asked ingenuously.

“As a matter of fact, you are a very showy female. In Lancashire we have an expression, ‘You pay well for dressing.’ Now wherever I take you, all the men will be staring at you, and I’ll hate every moment of it.” The glint in his eyes belied his words.

“You’re teasing me!” said Kitty with a laugh.

“On the contrary, my dear, it is you who are teasing me,” he said softly.

His eyes lingered on her lips until she said breathlessly, “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what, Kitty?”

“Well … like I look at food when I’m very hungry— sort of longingly.”

He took her hand and put the tips of her fingers to his lips. “I would love to eat you,” he said suggestively. “Just one taste would satisfy me.”

She looked at him very seriously and said, “Patrick, you know that’s a lie; nothing would satisfy you but the whole.”

He was startled for a moment and wondered if she realized she had just made a very racy pun. It was hard to tell with Kitty. One moment she was all little girl; the next she could do or say something so sexually provocative, he became hard instantly.

The carriage went downriver past the Tower of London. “Oh, let’s go to the Tower, please, Patrick.”

“How can I refuse you anything when you ask so prettily? However, first I think we are in need of sustenance.”

The carriage stopped at Wapping Wall outside the Prospect of Whitby. “Oh, isn’t this a public house?” she asked doubtfully as he helped her down.

“Yes, it’s a pub, the best on the Thames. It has been here since 1509.”

“Well, do you think it quite proper for me to go into a place like this?”

“Well, some ladies would refuse, but this morning you were the girl who wanted to go everywhere and experience everything, weren’t you?”

She tucked her arm in his and smiled up invitingly. “What are we waiting for?”

He led her upstairs on the riverside. It was high tide and the Prospect stood on tall timbers, out in the river’s waters. Kitty received many admiring glances and she noticed that she was the only woman in the room. Patrick ordered for them both. They had pâté, whitebait and trout broiled in heavy butter. “In the last century, thieves and smugglers frequented this place. The hangman too—the public execution area is just across the street.”

She shuddered. “The atmosphere is strange here.”

“Wait until you go up in the Tower,” he promised.

Instead of white wine to go with the fish, he ordered her mead and mulled wine for himself. “Do you like it?”

“It’s delicious,” she said dreamily. “I feel like Queen Guinevere, sipping mead.”

“Much more beautiful,” he assured her.

He took her to the Tower as he had promised and guided her toward the Jewel House.

“There are three floors of armor, but you must be prepared to climb to each floor, and then coming down there’s over a hundred winding tower stairs to the exit, so please, sweetheart, can we skip the armor today?”

“Oh look, there’s one of the ravens. You must bow to him, Patrick.”

He laughed, “I’m Irish too, or have you forgotten?”

“I can feel the sadness here, can you?” she asked wistfully.

“Of course; and evil and pain, but don’t let it spoil our day. Come, look at the jewels, they will really thrill you.”

Kitty was in thrall as she viewed the crowns and scepters encrusted with precious gems.

He whispered in her ear, “Do you like diamonds, Kitty?”

“I like pearls,” she said softly.

“Pearls are for tears,” he protested.

“To be Irish is to know the world will break your heart before you’re forty.”

“My God, it must be this place. Let’s get out of here,” he said, laughing.

They were driving past Green Park when he said, “Half-Moon Street is just across the park.”

“Oh, could we get out and walk the rest of the way?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” He told his driver to deliver the packages to Mrs. Harris in Half-Moon Street. “Tell her we’ll be arriving shortly. You can return the carriage to Cadogen Square, I won’t be needing you again today.”

He took her hand as they strolled through the beautiful park. Kitty put up her parasol and almost skipped along at his side. “Oh, Patrick, this has been the happiest day of my life.”

The sun was sinking behind the trees and people were making their way home after an outing in the park. They received many cold stares and there was much tut-tutting as they strolled hand in hand in a public place, seemingly lost in a world of their own.

Before they reached the top step, the door was flung wide and Mrs. Harris was curtsying to her new master.

“Good evening, Mrs. Harris. This is your new mistress, Kit … er, Kathleen Rooney.”

“Good evening, ma’am.” She sketched another curtsy. “All your packages arrived and I’ve taken the liberty of unpacking them in your bedroom, ma’am.”

Mrs. Harris was very pleased when she saw how young Kitty was. She felt certain she would be able to take the upper hand. It was plain to see his nibs was badly smitten with her, as he couldn’t take his eyes from her for more than a few seconds at a time. She knew he would have a formidable temper if aroused, so she hesitated over her next words for fear of spoiling his obvious good mood.

“Milord, I’m sorry to have to tell you, but the cook never showed up today.”

“Well, never mind, Mrs. Harris. Fortunately Shepherd’s Market is just two steps away round the corner. Ye Grapes can provide us with a light supper, if you would be good enough to step round there for me?”

“My pleasure, sir,” she answered, relieved that his easygoing mood had not altered.

“The wine you sent arrived this afternoon. I put some of it to chill.”

“Did it arrive intact, no bottle broken?” he asked, winking at Kitty.

“Oh, Patrick,” Kitty said with a laugh, “that seems a lifetime ago; I can’t believe it was only this morning.”

“Come, let me show you your new home while Mrs. Harris sees about our supper.” It was clearly a man’s establishment, with a richly patterned oriental carpet, a wine velvet couch and two leather wing-backed chairs in front of a small fireplace. There was a beautifully inlaid writing desk, but the whole effect was softened by masses of flowers Patrick had ordered. This sitting room was one floor up from the reception hall where they had entered. It was a tall, narrow house,
and above the sitting room on the third level was a spacious bedroom. The bed was enormous, with brocade hangings that matched the heavy curtains at the tall windows. The wardrobe and tallboy were in a polished red mahogany, and the pile on the rug was like plush velvet. Patrick opened a door off the bedroom to show Kitty the bathroom.

She was utterly delighted. “Oh, a bath just for me! This is the nicest room of all; I’ll spend all my time here.”

He was delighted at her pleasure in everything.

“Oh, who picked out all this beautiful soap and dusting powder?”

“I did, of course,” he said with a smile.

She stripped off her gloves and washed her hands with the rose-scented soap. “Mmm, smell me,” she invited, holding her hands up to his face. He buried a kiss inside her palm and quickly closed her fingers over it. She was delighted at such a pretty trick. When they went downstairs to the sitting room, Mrs. Harris had laid out a cold supper for them. She was glad to see they were in a playful mood; that meant bed right after they’d eaten and she would be free to go belowstairs to her own room for the rest of the evening.

Patrick carved the bird and poured the wine. Later he peeled a peach for her. It was the first time she had ever seen a peach in her whole life. She decided she liked them excessively. He led her to the couch to finish their wine. He looked deeply into her eyes and offered a toast. “To this moment, and the moment yet to come,” he said meaningfully.

She was acutely aware of his nearness and thought, “This is what it would be like to be married, just the two of us alone.”

He said huskily, “What would you like to do?”

She looked at him from beneath her lashes and said, “Will you let me play with your … watch?”

There, she had done it again! Her words were erotically
suggestive, as if she were a practiced coquette, while at the same time she looked at him with innocent, trusting eyes. A desire such as he had seldom felt before swept through him. He murmured Robert Burns’ lines:

He crushed her to him. The scent of her breath excited him further and his mouth came down upon hers longingly.